Chapter Five
It had been about three months since Zenobia graced the top of the stairs and we had that conversation in my apartment. We saw each other off and on at the mailbox or going in and out of the apartment building. We exchanged pleasantries, but we hadn’t had a real conversation since that time. Of course I still heard how things were going between her and Percy. They were still fighting and she still hadn’t hit rock bottom. Time sure does fly. Whenever I would hear them, I would think back to the last thing she said to me…
Things were extra crazy at the hospital. I don’t know what it was about summer that made people think they are invincible. With stunt motorcycle accidents, racing boats on the river and people pushing their bodies to the absolute limit, the hospital was busier than ever. The Emergency Room stayed packed. Triage was overflowing and the doctors and nurses were running around like chickens with their heads cut off just trying to keep up with everything. Instead of working my customary shift, I was sometimes working 18 hour days. There were a few nights I actually slept at the hospital because things were so busy.
I have seen a lot of gory stuff working in the Emergency Room, but there are two kinds of situations that always give me pause. One is the fool who decides to drink and drive. Now I already told ya’ll that Georgia don’t believe in street lights outside the Atlanta city limits. So when the sun goes down, the streets are pitch black. I mean you can hardly see your hand in front of your own face. It’s that kind of dark. So why a person would choose to get drunk off their ass and then get behind the wheel of a car in the fucking dark is beyond me. This summer, the ER has been riddled with accident after accident because of drunk drivers. Now mind you, the inebriated driver is not the one I am talking about. It’s the other folks – the folks the fool hits. The one drunk out of his gourd comes into the hospital (if he comes in) for minor scrapes and bruises, whiplash and sometimes a broken arm or leg, but nothing too serious. The innocent victims they hit are the ones who come in with life-threatening injuries or dead on arrival.
The other situation that we see far too much in ER are the women who have been beat by their significant other, husband, boyfriend, life partner– call it what you want to. They come in lying – they say they ran into the door, tripped and fell or some other freak accident. But their faces and bodies tell the gospel story. Even when they are asked about the situation, many of them still try to stick to the lies they have told themselves so convincingly. Many times the abuser is right there in the waiting room – pretending to be caring, but more concerned about her telling on his ass. I have to keep my emotions in check, though. I am a professional, and I have to distance myself from the situation to attend to their physical needs. But emotionally, my heart breaks for them - over and over. To see them so dejected and scared tears me up. To see them trying to protect their children from starving to death because they don’t think they can make it without their mate who brings home all the money is heart-wrenching. But it makes my blood boil, too! I just want to go into the waiting room and whoop the motherfucker’s ass who can’t keep his fucking hands to himself. I want to scream, “REAL MEN DON’T HIT WOMEN YOU WIMPY SON OF A BITCH!” I have to keep my cool, but trust and believe me, it ain’t easy. No matter how long it’s been since I was that woman lying and trying to front like everything was coming up roses, seeing these women always brings that shit right back to the forefront of my mind. Being somebody’s punching bag ain’t an easy thing to shake. Even when the hits, kicks, punches and slaps stop, the pain lingers. The pain can last a lifetime.
Tonight was really hard - harder than it’s been in a long time. The young lady that came in on a stretcher had been beat to a bloody pulp. Her left arm was broken, and she had cuts and scrapes all over. Not only were both her eyes damn near shut and black and blue, she had severe abrasions to the head; the blood starting to coagulate and mat her hair. Once we were able to get some of it cleaned up and the doctor examined her, he saw huge lacerations to her skull. He ordered a CAT scan immediately and determined that she also had an acute subdural hematoma or internal bleeding on the brain caused by trauma to the head. The pressure from the bleed was so intense that the young girl vacillated from unconsciousness to seizing. When conscious, her gaze was deviated; the eye movement jerky and disjointed. She required a craniotomy; a surgical procedure where the doctor literally has to open the skull to relieve the pressure through irrigation or suction. We didn’t think she was going to make it.
Things were really crazy trying to first figure out what the hell happened, then getting her in for a CAT scan and ultimately into surgery. Initially we didn’t know how she had gotten hurt. That information came a bit later. Everybody was so busy attending to her, we almost forgot about notifying the person who brought her in what was going on. Shit happens! We ain’t perfect. The doctors normally try to let those in the waiting room know, but things were nuts with one crisis after another. I was asked to go out and give an update to this girl’s family.
The waiting room was busting at the seams. People were everywhere. Some were huddled up while others were pacing the floors and wringing their hands. Some were in prayer. Although everyone was there about their own family member or friend, the one commonality was anxiety. Folks were dealing with things the best way they could. I cleared my throat and made the announcement:
“Looking for Amanda’s loved ones?”
I didn’t know if her family heard me. There was a low drone in the waiting area. Then I saw a woman raise her hand. I moved toward her so we could speak as privately as possible. She looked tired and worn. She was in her mid to late 50’s – her hair graying just around the temples. I sat in the open chair next to her and introduced myself as one of the nurses working with her daughter.
“Did you bring Amanda in?”
She looked at me with misty eyes. You could tell she had been crying. She was still wringing her hands with worry.
“Yes, she’s my daughter,” she replied softly.
This is always the hard part. You want to break the news to the family as gently as possible without making it so technical that they can’t understand. You want to be empathetic while at the same time remaining professional. Most of all you want to give them hope, even when the situation seems hopeless. I told her about the CAT scan and the doctors needing to do surgery to try and deal with the bleeding.
“Do you know what happened?”
She dropped her gaze; her hand wringing increasing. The worry lines etched on her face deepened. She looked around to see if anyone was close enough to listen and then she spoke in hushed tones.
“I tried to tell her to get away from him. I told her that if she wasn’t careful, he was going to kill her…”
Her eyes started to glaze with tears before spilling over onto her sallow cheeks.
“It’s my fault,” she said choking back the tears. “She finally listened to me and look what happened…”
She turned her head and looked at me; the tears flowing more freely.
“What do you mean?”
She paused momentarily as she dabbed at the tears.
“I told her to leave her boyfriend, and she finally did. My daughter moved back into the house with me. She only had the clothes on her back, but that didn’t matter. I promised I would help her in any way that I could. She got away from him free and clear, at least that’s what we thought. But he was just biding time – waiting for her to slip up and make a mistake; to get too comfortable. Amanda went to work like she always did. She had to work to take care of her bills and stuff.
I wasn’t there, but thank God her friend Carrie was….Carrie?” she called out getting the attention of a young lady who was pacing in the hallway. She made her way over to where we were sitting and took the empty seat next to Amanda’s mother.
“This is Carrie. She has been friends with my daughter for years. They grew up together and ende
d up working at the same place.”
Carrie and I exchanged tentative smiles. She still looked shook up by what she had seen. Her face was flush and a little sweaty even though the waiting room was cool. There were visible traces of blood on her beige uniform shirt.
I asked Carrie if she could tell me what happened. She shook her head affirming that she could. Her eyes looked a bit glazed over like she may still be in shock.
“Well, Amanda and I had just gotten off work and we were in the parking lot going to our cars. Normally we get to work about the same time and park close together. We do that for safety reasons because by the time we get off the sun is going down or it’s already dark. But not this time… I was a few minutes late getting to work because of a stupid train so I didn’t park as close to her as I normally do.”
Carrie paused as though contemplating. I could see that she also felt some responsibility for what happened. The guilt spilled out in her words as she continued.
“Amanda must not have seen his car parked near the back of the lot. I know I didn’t. I wasn’t paying it any attention. We were too busy laughing and joking around; making plans for the weekend. She wouldn’t have expected him to be there. Why would she? It had been six months since she left him, and it seemed like he accepted it and moved on with his life. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
When she got near her car, he got out of his and walked up to her. When I saw him my heart started to race. He shouldn’t have been there. I moved closer to them, but didn’t want to be presumptuous. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Our cars were parked several rows apart. I’m sure he was begging her and pleading with her to come back. He had done that a million times before. Up until now, she accepted his apologies. But this time she must not have because before you know it he was on top of her hitting her. I started screaming. It happened so fast! By the time I got over to where they were, he had Amanda’s head in his hands pounding it into the concrete. I froze! I didn’t know what to do! It took me a second to get my bearings. All I could think to do was scream – to let him know somebody else was there. I yelled, screamed and threatened to call the police. I didn’t want to get too close because I didn’t want him to turn on me! I feel so bad about that part. I should have done more…”
Amanda’s mother turned to Carrie with empathetic eyes. She took both Carrie’s hands into her own and patted them reassuringly.
“You did what you could, dear. Don’t feel bad about that…”
Although Carrie heard Amanda’s mother’s words, you could look at her and tell that it didn’t absolve her of the guilt she was feeling.
“I figure he didn’t expect anybody else to be around. So when I kept screaming about the police he looked at me and kinda' snapped back to his senses. I was so scared when he turned and started to move towards me. I didn’t know what he was going to do next! I was shaking where I stood. I didn’t know whether to run or brace myself for him to attack me next. I wanted to get to Amanda, but he was standing in my way – like he was trying to figure out what he should do. It was like time was standing still,” she replied with her voice shaking and her speech quickening.
“I was so grateful when he pushed pass me almost knocking me down. I was just glad he didn’t hit me. I watched him jump in his car and speed off. Then I went to see about Amanda…”
Carrie’s voice started to crack as she fought back the tears. After a moment, she took a deep breath and pressed forward.
“She was bleeding and her eyes were swollen almost shut. I could hardly tell if she was…dead or what.” Carrie took another long pause.
“I was panicking. I wasn’t sure what to do. I grabbed my cell phone out of my back pocket and called 911. The operator asked me if she breathing and I didn’t know what to tell her.” Carrie was crying now; no longer able to fight her emotions.
She told me to see if I could find her pulse so I reached out to her and grabbed her hand. I felt her wrist and I could feel a faint pulse. I told the operator and she told me to stay with her until help arrived. Thank God they got there as fast as they did. I rode in the ambulance with her and called her mom as soon as we got here.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said looking to Amanda’s mother.
They embraced; both crying and trying to console each other. I whispered to them that I would let them know how things were going as I made my way back to the nurses’ station in ER. I checked in with the other triage nurse to see if there was any word on Amanda. There wasn’t. I sat down. The surge of emotions I felt almost dizzied me. I was so sad and hurt for her, but I was also fuming under the surface. How could someone who claims they love you treat you like that? The thought of it all sickened me. I laid my head on the desk trying to get myself back together. There were other patients that needed to be attended to and if I couldn’t get it in check, I would be no good to them. With my eyes closed for just a few moments, I thought about Zenobia…
The tap on my shoulder let me know there was no rest for the weary. New patients were being wheeled into the ER and I had to get it in gear. I tried to dismiss my thoughts, but that’s easier said than done. After you have been nursing for a while, some things become so routine that you can do it in your sleep. Not to say that every situation doesn’t have its own unique challenges, but unfortunately some things like doing the initial assessment, taking temperatures, checking blood pressure, monitoring machines and responding to the calls of the doctor become rote. After my time in the waiting room and the thoughts that were crowding my mind, I was on automatic pilot for the next hour or so.
We had a momentary break in ER and I returned to the nurses’ station. I had been on duty almost 14 hours. Being on my feet, the rise and fall of adrenaline rushes whenever a new patient came in and worrying and wondering what was going on with Amanda had certainly taken its toll on me. I was ready to go home. I needed to rest, relax and ease my mind. And then I saw the doctor that operated on Amanda. I moved toward him. I wanted to know how things had gone. I wouldn’t be able to really rest without knowing if she was okay. We made eye contact. The look on his face said everything.
I watched him as he made his way to the waiting room. I was relieved he didn’t leave it to me to break the news. I waited for what I knew would come - that all too familiar, heart-wrenching death wail. And it came…
I’ve heard it many times before, but this time it reached my ears and then pricked my heart. I needed to get out. The walls were closing in on me and I needed to get the hell out. Thank goodness my shift was over and there was nothing keeping me from leaving. Part of me wanted to go out to the waiting room; to give Amanda’s family my condolences. But I couldn’t…I just couldn’t. I grabbed my things and made my way to the employee exit which was in the opposite direction of the waiting room.
I made it to the parking lot, but before I could put my key in the door to unlock it, the tears started to fall. Wiping my eyes, I finally got the car door unlocked, climbed in, threw my purse on the seat and just cried. All the emotions and pain of the day spilled out. I hadn’t had a good cry in a long time, and obviously it was just what I needed. I cried for Amanda dying at the hands of the man who said he loved her. I cried for her mother wanting better for her daughter. I cried for Carrie. I cried for the guilt they felt at not being able to explain to Amanda that they did everything they could to help her. I cried for them because they would never get the chance to hear her say, “It’s okay.” I cried for my old pain. I cried for Zenobia’s pain. I cried for all of us.