Chapter 13
13
T he ambulance screeched to a halt in front ofCHI Poissy hospital. The driver leaped down and opened the back door while the attendant inside unsecured the gurney and pushed the end forward so it could be carried down. Chastity jumped down from the ambulance and promptly fell to the pavement. She had no strength in her knees, and it was only by sheer will that she got up again and ran after them.
The first responders pushed the gurney between them, shoving the swinging doors open with a bang as they brought their charge through. A triage nurse met them.
“Seven-year-old boy with a severe concussion. He’s unconscious.”
“What happened?”
“He was hit by a car.”
“Get Docteur Bellamy in here,” the triage nurse yelled to an aide that was stationed nearby. She began cutting off Thomas’s clothes as the team rushed in to draw blood and prep him for scanning. The neurologist was not long in appearing.
“What do we have here?” The details were repeated to himas the triage nurse inserted an IV. Another nurse placed the monitors on the boy’s chest and forehead. After a brief glance at hisvitals, the doctor said. “CT his head. Now.”
They pushed the gurney through another set of doors, and one of the nurses finally turned to Chastity, kindly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait in the waiting room over there. You’re not allowed in this section, but we’ll give you news as soon as we have some.” The nursepressed Chastity’s arm and went through the swinging doors. Chastity nodded dumbly but remained rooted to the spot.
The doctor examined the screensas the inert patient was pulled through the hollow white tunnel. “We’ll need to relieve that cranial pressure,” he said, shaking his head.“I’d be more comfortable getting a pediatric neurologist in here since he’s so young.” Then, speaking decisively,“Page Docteur Toussaint.”
The triage nurse replied, “Docteur Toussaint is at a conference this whole week. There’s another doctor who’s covering for him while he’s away. He’s normally on leave—”
“Has he retained his hospital privileges?” Upon being assured that he had, the doctor barked, “Get him in here.”
Chastity walked numbly over to where the waiting room was indicated and searched for a seat. The floor was blue, and the chairs were orange plastic. The fluorescent lighting was garish and made a soft buzzing sound. An older couple sat across from her, the wife’s hand tucked into the husband’s arm. She gave Chastity a sympathetic glance but didn’t say anything. A teenagerbounced his knee up and down, absorbed in a video game. Chastity sat stiffly on thechair nearest to the door.
She couldn’t cry. It wasn’t the lack of privacy that prevented her. It was the horror. She was conscious of a sensation of icy cold in her limbs while her chest was burning hot. A lump in her throat prevented her from swallowing or speaking. She raced through the scene, again and again.
Here, kitty, kitty…
Mom, if I thought a kid was in trouble…
Hold on, sweetie.
Oh, if only I could go back and get his attention away from the cat. He wouldn’t have run into the street. Over and over her thoughts turned. The cat. Tommy, no! The screech. His lifeless form.
The winter sun began to set outside, making the fluorescent lights seem even more harsh. The short wait was already interminable.
Early in the morning, Charles strode through the corridorson hisway to the pediatric ward. He stopped at the nurse’s station to pull the chart and ran his finger down the notes from yesterday’s surgery, taking in the patient’s post-operative condition.
“ Bonjour, docteur .” An attractive nurse smiled up at him, and he frowned at her, muttering a reply before walking over to the ICU recovery area. The progress for his young patient was far from certain, and not all the cranial pressure had been alleviated.
“Ah. You’re here. Bonjour, docteur.” He looked up at the sound of Martine Garcia’s voice, a dynamic, middle-aged woman, and his favorite nurse in the hospital.
“Hello, Martine,” he replied, his eyes twinkling. “I see everyone is keeping you busy.”
“Aw, now that my own children are grown and out of the house, I need some other ones to look after.” She flashed him a grin.
“On top of the pediatric cases,” he teased. She had a reputation for being no-nonsense with the more belligerent patients, and theywere always the older ones.
“Right you are.” She laughed heartily. “When will we have you back full-time at the hospital?”
“I’m halfway through my year-and-a-half sabbatical, so not for another nine months.”
“We sure miss you around here. Docteur Toussaint is great, of course, but you know he’s married. And old,” she added with a glimmer of a smile.
Charles couldn’t help but laugh. Martine was only fifteen years his senior, but she treated him to just enough informality to put him at ease, and nothing missed her sharp observation. It was impossible to escape the lures cast out at him with—as Martine would say—his inebriating combination of looks, wealth, medical degree, anda title.
“I’ve been meaning to stop by to ask how my intern is doing,” Charles said.
Martine smiled and sighed as she reached for the boxes she had pulled from the supply closet. “I wish there were more like him. He doesn’t put on any airs, and you can tell his concern for the patients is genuine. Too bad he’s only here for a few months.”
“Hm. I’m glad to hear he’s doing well. If he continues to be a good fit, perhaps he’ll apply here.” Charles spoke briskly, ready to move on. “Now, for our young patient in Room A. I see your notes here. I’ll take a look at the ICP and see if we need to schedule a decompressive craniotomy. Who’s been with him?”
“His mother hasn’t left his side. I don’t have the sense she gets much support. One visitor, no family.”
“I’m on my way there now.” He closed the chart with a snap and walked down the corridor past two open rooms, one of which was empty, before reaching the correct room. He entered it, his eyes on his young patient’s still form.
A slender woman, with long auburn curls that hid her face, leaned on the bed, her forehead resting on hands clasped in prayer. Almost immediately she turned towards him, lifting a tear-stained face, and wiping her nose on her sleeve. He stopped short in surprise, but she was the first to speak.
“You.” She leapedto her feet, her voice incredulous. He was unable to reply for a moment.
Of course.Thomas Whitmore was this woman’s son. How did he not make the connection as soon as he saw the name? There couldn’t be that many Whitmores in the suburbs of Paris. She looked different than she did at the school, though—vulnerable, young. In themorningsunlight that filtered through thehalf-closed blinds, he could see that,though her nose was an unattractive red from crying, her eyes were a brilliant green.
He collected himself. “Good morning, Mademoiselle Whitmore. I apologize for being unable to brief you on your son’s progress last night, but I was called into another emergency. Did you understand everything Docteur Bellamy said?”
“Um yes. Yes…I understand that the pressure in his skull…” Here she choked a bit, and seemed to be trying to master her emotions. She cleared her throat and continued.
“I understand that the pressure has been alleviated, and that I shouldn’t expect him to wake up right away. And, but…that I can’t be certain he will wake up?”
Charles did not respond immediately. His eyes on her, he finally gestured to the chair she had just been occupying. “Please. Sit down.” He went to the neighboring room and pulled a chair from there.
Before he could take a seat, her words came tumbling out. “I’m sorry, Mr. de Brase. I don’t understand how you came to be here. You’re a doctor?”
“Is that so surprising?” The corner of his lip quirked upwards. People were always surprised by that fact.
“No, it’s just that I didn’t think you…you did anything,” she blurted out.
Charles hesitated before replying, the whisp of amusement now gone.“It’s reassuring to know you have such a high opinion of me.” He perused the patient’s chart, hiding a rueful sigh. He hadn’t given her any reason to think he was anything but a profligate.
“No, no. I mean…I thought owning a chateau was a full-time job, and that if you did anything, it would be to manage your estate. I just have a hard time seeing you here—it’s all so unexpected.” She reached over to the bedside table and whisked a tissue out of the generic box, wiping her face and blowing her nose.
“I don’t know why I’m bringing all this up. Of course it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry. I’m not myself,” she added in a wateryvoice.
“You’re doing well, considering the circumstances,” Charles replied. “Docteur Bellamy was correct, but I think it’s too soon to look at the worst-case scenario.”
At those words, tears trickled down her cheeks again. “He’s all I have.” Chastity spoke in little more than a whisper. Charles had thought himself immune to the emotions of his patients’ families, and he was surprised when his throat tightened. He looked ahead into the corridor, giving her time to collect herself. She blew her nose and stood abruptly. Charles read the agitation in her gesture and followed suit.
“Let me have a look at his catheter.” He went over and examined thatand the ICP, his face unreadable. He scanned his notes again and pressed his lips together before speaking. “There’s a possibility we’ll have to temporarily remove part of the skull to allow the brain tissue to expand.” He shot her a glance. “I know such a procedure sounds terrifying, but if the pressure in his skull becomes too great, it will be the best course of action.”
“Oh, oh…okay. I didn’t know this could—” Chastity seemed to have trouble forming the words to match her patent horror at the idea of such a procedure. Finally she looked up, her eyes troubled. “Is this what the other doctors recommend?”
Charles overlooked any potential for insult and answered gently. “It’s simply the standard procedure for patients with severe brain trauma where the cranial pressure seems to build rather than decrease.” He leaned over and put his hand on the boys arm.
“What’s his first language?”
“English,” she answered.
He brought the chair up to the side of the bed and sat, laying his hand on Thomas’s arm again. “Good morning, Thomas.” He knew his English was nearly perfect. “You’ve had a car accident, and you’re in the hospital wherewe’re taking good care of you. My name is Docteur de Brase, and your mother’s here too. You can rest as long as you need. The important thing is for you to get better.”
He didn’t expect a response, but he stayed for a minute longer before standing and turning to face Chastity. She offered him a tremulous smile in return. “Thank you for taking such good care of my son.”
“Don’t lose hope,” he replied. “Do you have anyone here who can support you?”
“Um. I have a couple of colleagues…I think you know Elizabeth Mercer?” Charles nodded. “She stopped by early this morning.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning then, unless there’s a change in his—”
There was a bustle in the corridor as a young man—well-dressed, but with dissipated features, and smelling strongly of smoke—rushed into the room. “Chassy. You should have called me immediately. Oh my God. Thomas. How is he? Oh— bonjour Docteur. Comment va-t’il ?” He switched to French when he saw the doctor standing there.
“And you are?” Charles felt the frown forming.
“I’m the boy’s father.” The man stepped back and put his arm around Chastity’s waist. Her face was drained of color, but otherwise remained expressionless.
“I see. A catheter has been inserted to relieve pressure from the swelling of his brain, and we’re monitoring it.” Charles knew there was no trace of the previous warmth in his face.
“Mademoiselle.” He nodded towards her. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
He strode out of the room, and as he was leaving, heard the man say, “He’s not very friendly, is he?” Without waiting for an answer, “So.What happened?”