Helsinki Blood

6





The door buzzer rang. I woke up and looked at my wrist to check the time, then remembered I had reduced my watch to tiny expensive fragments. I checked my cell phone instead. It was six forty-five in the evening. Mirjami had scooted into the chair beside me and had Anu in her arms. It seemed, as far as our relationship went, or rather lack of one, nothing had changed for her. For me, it was just one more problem and irritation to deal with.

My Colt was under her legs. I asked her to answer the door. She got up. I took the pistol and leveled it. She looked at the gun, showed no surprise and opened the door. Jari stood there. He registered shock at the sight of the .45 pointed at him. I tucked it back in its place under the seat cushion. He looked at the broken window. He didn’t ask about either it or the pistol, just took a seat on the couch and set a black doctor’s bag beside him. I didn’t know physicians used them anymore.

Sweetness and Jenna had disappeared into Anu’s bedroom. I could tell what they were up to by the sound of the spare bed squeaking and the headboard banging against the wall. It made Jari laugh. Mirjami put Anu in her stroller and offered to make coffee. Jari asked if he could have a beer instead. She brought three, one for each of us, sat beside him on the couch and introduced herself.

Jari looked at me, asked without speaking if I wanted our talk to be private.

“It’s OK,” I say. “She’s a nurse and was looking after me in the days after I got shot. She’ll just ask me to repeat what was said anyway, so she might as well get it from the horse’s mouth.”

“How much pain are you in?” Jari asked.

“A lot.”

“Are you functional, or incapacitated to the point that you’re nonfunctional?”

This was hard to admit, even to myself. “I’m nonfunctional.”

“I’ll give it to you straight,” Jari said. “First, your knee. It’s stuck to the rest of your leg with the medical equivalent of rubber bands, paper clips and chewing gum. You came within a hair of losing it. You’re in such bad pain because the thing is trashed. As to your jaw,” he paused and swigged beer, “you know when you watch boxing, and a punch to the jaw that didn’t look like much is a knockout?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not the force behind the punch that causes it. It’s the twisting motion of the fist as it makes contact with the bundle of nerves located there that turns the lights out. Damage from the gunshot has impinged some nerves in that bundle—swelling, some small bone fragments and so on—and that’s what causes you such misery.”

“Can you take it away?”

“Pain exists for a reason. It’s often a warning signal that movement is causing further damage. Your knee is a prime example of this.”

“That’s all well and good,” I said, “but I have a baby to care for.”

He looked around. “Where is Kate?”

“Missing in action.”

He got it that my life had gone awry in every way and grimaced, but continued to refrain from comment. “Where are your crutches?”

“I threw them away.”

“Why in the name of f*cking God would you do something that stupid?”

“Because I’ve been alone and need at least one hand to use.” I held up my cane. “This suffices.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

I wanted to say something caustic, but I didn’t. I was just cranky, as usual these days, and he was trying to be a good doctor.

“We have two options,” he said. “We can increase your dosages of Oxapam and Norflex—the tranquilizers and muscle relaxants—and start you on Temgesic, a stronger painkiller.”

“So then I’m basically a drug-addicted zombie who still has a wasted knee.”

“It’s not quite as bad as you describe it, but, yeah, it’s a lot of drugs. Option two. I shoot your knee and jaw full of cortisone. It will deaden the pain for a few weeks. I’ve spoken to your doctors. It’s not likely, but possible, that another prosthesis might work in your knee. It would give you a greater range of motion eventually, after a long bout of physical therapy, during which your body might reject the prosthesis and leave you back where you are now. I’m hesitant to treat your knee with cortisone, since you refuse to take care of it properly.”

“I’m a nurse,” Mirjami reminded him. “I can wrap it tightly enough so he can’t move it much but won’t cut off his circulation, then put a knee brace over top so he’s not able to damage himself further without working really hard at it.”

Jari nodded assent. “Are you going to be around for a while to do that?”

She looked at me, inquiring. I didn’t let my expression answer her.

“If I’m needed and Kari wants me here,” she said.

Obviously, Jari was curious about my relationship with her, but he’s good at keeping his thoughts to himself.

“About your jaw,” he said. “I think a surgeon needs to get in there and repair as much damage as possible. It might leave you with partial paralysis of the right side of your face and mouth.”

“Every word I utter hurts like hell. I don’t think I have much choice. Shoot me up.”

“We need ample bandages and the brace.”

Mirjami got her purse. “There’s a pharmacy just a few minutes’ walk from here. I’ll be right back.” She walked out.

“Things clearly suck for you in a multitude of ways,” Jari said. “Anything you want to talk about while we have privacy?”

I shook my head. “Thanks, but no.”

“Then let’s take off your pants,” Jari said. He knelt in front of me and helped me wriggle out of them, so I didn’t have to move too much. “This is going to hurt,” he said.

It already hurt. “Proceed.”

He jammed a needle like a railroad spike into my left knee. I gritted my teeth. He wasn’t exaggerating about the pain. He pulled it out, stuck it in again. Repeated the process a couple more times. Then took out a smaller needle. After finding out how much it hurt, I had a hard time not anticipating, wincing and keeping my head still. He injected more cortisone in my face, then told me to open wide, pushed the syringe deep into my mouth and jabbed the thing into my gum.

“There,” he said, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Let me stick you with the goddamned needles and you tell me.”

He laughed. “I always say that. It’s a little doctor’s joke. I know it hurt like screaming hell. I could have given you an anesthetic first, but I figured you’re a big boy. Also, about what you can expect: Your injuries will hurt worse for a couple days, then improve. This isn’t a miracle drug, especially not for your knee. The cortisone will help some aspects of your wounds, others it won’t. You’ll still be in pain, but hopefully less of it.”

I noticed the f*cking noises from the bedroom had stopped.

“Don’t stop taking the drugs,” Jari said. “Cut down slowly if you don’t need them as badly, but don’t stop cold turkey or you’ll have vicious withdrawal that will make those needles I stuck in you feel like a vacation.”

Mirjami returned. He watched her wrap and brace my knee to make sure she did it to his satisfaction.

“Nice job,” he said.

She smiled. “I practice.”

Jari finished off his beer, took his bag and went to the foyer to put his shoes on. “If you have any problems,” he said, “or just want to talk, call me.”

“Thank you for this,” I said.

“De nada.” He shut the door behind him.