And What of Earth

Chapter 13



Thursday morning at the clinic was completely dead, so Jennifer spent the time reading one of the medical texts she had acquired while working at the VA hospital in South Dakota. While she knew that she had committed to returning with the Wakira, she continued to pursue her dream of becoming a doctor. Even if it meant teaching herself.

Lunch with General Comiston was likewise quiet. He poked and prodded about what the Big Event was going to be, and Jennifer reminded him of her commitment to not putting any of the Wakira at risk. She brought up the subject of the 4 mystery men, and the hole in the security scheme. After they had finished eating, Jennifer suggested (at a slightly greater volume) that the Wakiran ship hovering overhead might have images of the people who snuck into town, and that they might be willing to share them with the army. He looked sideways at her, obviously noticing the not-very-subtle increase in volume but said nothing. He was more taken aback when she asked him how much a hospital corpsman made in the army, just as he was leaving. His response of "I should know but I haven't a clue" brought a knowing smile to Jennifer's face.

She wandered the 4 room clinic after he left and took inventory of the nearly empty shelves. Either Bethy or Barb had coughed up money for a supply of gloves and gauze and assorted bandages. She looked wistfully at the lone remaining sterile surgical pack. That could have been her future, had the Wakira not come. If she hadn't decided to play the role of the helpful native. Jennifer Allison Hodges, surgeon. Specializing in prosthetics and the reattachment of severed nerve bundles. Assuming that technology would have caught up with her dreams. All gone, like an early mist by mid-morning. Instead of getting to heal bodies, she was going to hold together an interstellar empire, just by Being There, apparently. Assuming that her new "children" would accept her as their "Mother". Still, Medahso did. Would he end up being the first of many, or just one of the few?

She poured herself into the medical text once she had resumed her perch behind the counter. Vascular surgery. She concentrated on the pictures, and read and re-read the descriptions of cutting and suturing. "Most mothers just put on bandaids and kiss the wounds to make them better. I'm going to be so horribly overqualified," she said aloud and then giggled. "Don't worry, males," she added, "I just had a thought that was amusing only to me."

Just then, she heard a car speed through the intersection, heading west to east on Twin Elm. "Outsider," she commented. "If he doesn't hit the brakes, he'll never make the blind switchback." Ten minutes later, she saw an ambulance hurry through the same intersection with sirens wailing. "He didn't hit the brakes after all." Still another 10 minutes later, the county rescue vehicle coming from the north, turned left off of Main onto Twin Elm to join the EMTs. It was odd that they were so close at hand. Wally and Steve normally would take 30 minutes or more to get to Jewel. The rescue truck was normally another 20 minutes after them. A good reason why the survivability rate was so low for accidents heading down into the ravine. If the driver of the car somehow managed to survive hurtling off the road into whatever, his condition would be far beyond what ministrations I can provide, she thought.

It was scarcely 10 minutes later when she heard the sirens approaching. She was surprised when the ambulance pulled into the former gas station, diagonally across from the clinic. Through the door window, she could see Wally and Steve pull a stretcher from the back of the ambulance and hurriedly wheel it towards the clinic. She sprang out of her chair and grabbed a pair of gloves.

The door burst open and they manhandled the stretcher into the waiting area. "What are you guys doing?" she asked them. "Why aren't you hightailing it down to North Platte?"

"We called for an airlift from St. Francis Hospital in Grand Island," Steve panted. "It would take us a good 2 hours to get there by car. This way, they can get him there in just over half the time."

Jennifer looked down at the crash victim. She recognized him immediately as one of the four strangers who came for treatment just last week. "I know this guy," she told them. "I mean, I've seen him before. Not from here. Did you find any ID?"

"He's a John Doe, Jenn," Wally told her. "No ID anywhere. It's like he wanted to make sure that no one could find out who he is."

Out of habit, Jennifer stuck the earpieces of her stethoscope in and listened to the unknown victim's heart. "Weak. Thready. Irregular." She pulled out the earpieces. "He's not going to last that long, guys."

Wally rattled off the vitals. Sure enough, BP was low and falling. Breathing was irregular and distressed. He was bleeding internally, and was hemorrhaging in his brain, given the presence of blood in his ear canals.

"If we had some ice, we could slow the bleeding, and the swelling in his brain," she told them. "But there's nowhere nearby that has ice. At least, not enough to chill him down."

"There's an ice machine in the gas station," Steve volunteered.

"Just a shell, Steve. When the station closed, they took the machine with them." She checked the man's pupils. They were constricted and non-responsive. "Grand Island doesn't have an airborne trauma team, I don't think. Shouldn't you have called Lincoln, or the U. Neb. Medical Center in Omaha? They could get a trauma team here by heli-evac. At least they could treat him while in transit."

"We thought of that, Jenn. Too far. Even with the new helicopter in Lincoln, it would take over 90 minutes to get here, and another 90 minutes to get back." Wally wiped the sweat from his brow. "It's St. Francis or nothing."

Jennifer looked at the man, stretched out and in obvious distress. "He didn't notice the blind switchback in time?" she asked.

"Long trail of skidmarks right up to the edge," Steve answered. "Flew off, still doing a decent clip. One of the trees caught the car. We practically had to disassemble it to get him out. I'm surprised he survived."

"The way he's bleeding internally, he won't be surviving much longer. We don't have any packs of Type O blood left. Just a couple bags of IV saline, which are probably pushing their expiry date. Why did you bring him in here? Why not keep him in the ambulance until the chopper arrives?"

"Force of habit," Wally said. "If you guys had been properly supplied, we could have hung a pack to try and compensate for his blood loss."

"Or if we still had a doctor," Jennifer added. "Find the bleeder and close it up. Give him a fighting chance."

The rescue truck stopped out on Twin Elm in front of the clinic. Steve went to talk to the crew. After checking his watch, Wally said, "It's still about 30 minutes away. I don't think that he has that long."

"I can't just stand here and watch him die. I've got to do something." Wally looked at her. "There's one last sterile surgical pack in storage. I could go in and suture the bleeder. At least he'd have a chance."

Wally was shocked. "You can't, Jenny. You're not qualified. You're not licensed or certified to perform any sort of surgical procedure. Are you nuts?"

"I can't just let him die, Wally. I've got to help him. I have to do something." She started to head to the storage area.

Wally scooted around the victim and blocked her way. "No, Jenny! You can't! Not only that, I can't let you. The law says that I have to stop you. You do this, and it's not only your career that you throw away, it's mine too."

She gave him a strange look. "I have no medical career anymore, Wally. I've been deluding myself. I've given it all away. I have nothing to lose anymore."

"What do you mean that you have no medical career anymore? You keep talking about going back to South Dakota, and getting your nursing degree, then continuing to get your MD."

She gave her head a small shake. "You wouldn't understand. Let me help him Wally. Please. Look at what I was reading behind the counter. I just finished studying a Chapter on vascular surgery. It's still fresh in my mind. I can do this."

"No you can't. It takes years of learning and practice to be a doctor. Reading part of a book --." The screaming of the heart monitor caused them both to rush back to the victim. "Full arrest."

"I'll start CPR," Jennifer called out. "Get the paddles ready."

"You can't! His chest is crushed. You perform CPR, the bone splinters will pierce the heart wall."

"Then zap him! We can't let him die!"

Reluctantly, Wally pulled the paddles and placed them into position. "Clear!" he shouted.

"I'm good. Do it!" Still the monitor screamed. "No conversion. Hit him again --. Wally! Hit him again!" The paddles were once again pressed onto the man's chest. "I'm clear! I'm clear!"

Nothing.

"Do it again, Wally! It didn't work!" Instead, he turned off the monitor, and started stowing the resuscitator. "No! Zap him again! You can't just let him die!" Her eyes and her voice were frantic.

"Jenny, he's dead. He was dead when the car left the road. His body didn't get the memo until now."

She started wailing. "How can you let him die like that? Without bothering to try everything possible? Don't you have a conscience?"

Wally's head jerked up. "Listen, little girl. One of the first things you learn, whether it's answering calls here in Nebraska, or over in Iraq, you're not going to be able to save everyone. There will always be times where you will do your best, and the patient will still die. You've never really lost at anything before. Not anything important. People will die. People will die no matter what you do. No matter how hard you try. They will still die. Until you learn that lesson, Jenny, you'll never be able to survive in an emergency setting. Don't lecture me about not caring. I'll go home tonight, and drink two shots of scotch before I even say hello to my wife. He's dead. Even if you had opened him up, he'd still be dead. Deal with it." With that, he stormed out of the clinic.

Jennifer stood there, tears running down her cheeks, trying so hard to process what had happened, and what he had just said. I couldn't help him. There was no way that I could help him. No matter how good I might become, no matter how skilled, no matter how intelligent, no matter how wise -- I will still fail. I will lose. As a doctor, if I failed, it would cost one life each time. As Mother of the Empire, if I fail, it will cost hundreds. Thousands. Millions. How can I do this?

Wally came back into the clinic. "The chopper has been notified. They're heading back to Grand Island." He edged past the stretcher and gently caressed her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jenny. I spoke too harshly to you. All you wanted to do was to save a life."

Tears continued to trickle down her face. "He was part of a group of men who, it's believed, were -- are -- planning to attack the Wakira. To kill as many of them as possible and me along with them. And here I am, crying because he died and I did nothing. How dumb is that?"

He pulled a tissue from the box on the counter and started drying her eyes. "It's not dumb. It's beautiful. It's you. Who you are. You were willing to give up your dream of becoming a doctor, just to save this guy's life. Someone who would have gladly killed you. It's a credit to you, Jenny."

Jennifer thought she felt her skin tingle, but put it out of her mind. "The army is going to want the body, Wally. They'll want to ID this guy, in hopes of finding out who his accomplices are."

"We'll wheel him over. I'm sorry if I hurt you, Jenny. I couldn't let you do something that you were going to regret later."

"It wouldn't have made any difference. Like you said, he was dead already. I'll need to toughen myself up before -- well, soon." She took a deep breath and drew her shoulders back. "Take care, Wally." She threw her arms around him, catching him by surprise. "You've been a good friend to me and the clinic."

Wally pulled back and looked at her. "It sounds like you're saying goodbye."

"Yeah, it does. Doesn't it?"