 |
Short Stories / Fiction |
|
|
M i c k e y ' s L a s t F i r e A short story by Dr. Tony Macasaet
: : : p r o l o g u e : : :
21 February 2006. Today... it had been eight months. At the end of a frustrating, long, and stinky shift... a bright-eyed figure found "Anthony", amongst the faint residue of fecal matter, blood, and chaos.... He wanted to shake my hand. But first an introduction... people often ask me, what was the craziest thing you ever saw in the ER?... I can never remember these cases for some reason... though the degree of absurdity should clearly supply a plethora of suitable vignettes... Here in these words, instead... I would like to discuss the best case I ever had in my eleven years at an under-dog (as many are), inner city trauma center in Chicago, Illinois ("ill-i-noisss")... The following short story was inspired by this actual case, which I now (today) have permission to more openly discuss... I do not recall this case, for an act of heroism, or for a skillful intubation that no one else could get (which is wasn't)... I recall this case because of the healing... and the love between people who had never met. This story is essentially true... the names are different, the characters & the events preceding are fictionalized, but the events in the ED are basically as they happened (or at least, as I remember them). The story is named after, Mickey, the real-life Chicago Firefighter, who told me today, eight months later... that indeed, that was his last fire. Finally, I must acknowledge Mickey's wife, Diane, who I also met today.... Because of her fate in the fictional world... as you will read...seeing her walk up to me and introduce herself warmly... it was similar to experiences I've had recently with Melody Ann [tragically_chic] ....it is like meeting one of the angels in the flesh.
below Mickey is played by a fictional character, named Eddie : : : : : :
Eddie took a long, fulfilling drag on his Marlboro. The cigarette hissed angrily back at him. It had been a long, sweltering day, and the smoke felt soothing, and he relaxed at bit. Earlier that day, while getting the still wet hoses back in the engine, he felt a little chest pressure, and the task winded him more than usual. He wondered... just for a moment, if he should see the Fire Department doctor. Eddie despised doctors. It was troubling... more and more frequently, he had these symptoms, but always instantly shooed the possibilities from his mind. The thought he might be ill was too fucking unthinkable. All he had now, was his men, Engine 29, and 38 years of fighting Chicago's meanest fires. He had been married once. Eddie and his bride spent two blissful years in a their charming light blue south-side bungalow. They giggled and talked often of children. Eddie could imagine his kids visiting their Dad at the fire station... them, all swollen with pride as the other kids could only fantasize their Dad was a firefighter. That's what Eddie was alright, a firefighter. More than a citizen, more than a husband, more than anything else, Eddie was a goddamn Chicago Firefighter. He had risen quickly through the ranks. Even as a young rookie, hazed everyday at the station, ridiculed about his less than hulking stature, Eddie stood out. At the especially harrowing fire scenes, when even the voice of the Captain picked up in volume and pace, Eddie was a fucking rock. For a firefighter, to hear your captain on the radio get even a bit frazzled, was like seeing the Pope afraid... all that held you together admits certain death unraveled a little. It was easy to freeze, and die.... Then, there ahead of you in the smoke, was Eddie... Fucking little Eddie... axing alone through a thick window. You could only chuckle then, as the heavy glass smashed onto the BMW's in the lot 15 stories below. Eddie was the kind of person, you wanted with you during your worst moment. His weathered but kind eyes were like an old, patched up kid's security blanket, his actions were like Thor in a last desperate battle for the heavens. It didn't take Eddie long to advance in rank and stature at Engine 29. He wasn't ambitious, just born to do what he did. The pay was pretty good too. The work physically hard, but he had lots of whole days off to covet his angelic wife. He caught himself a few times thinking about how perfect his life was. Work, money, love. He had it all. Then, after a particularly nasty day at work he walked in to his bungalow to the sound of running water... "is that the faucet?". Eddie then found his beautiful lady, curled into a contorted form on the floor of the kitchen. Alone. He ran to her side, felt her cool, lifeless skin, and knew she was gone... "A brain aneurysm" the doc later said, busily without a hint compassion. Eddie never cried, only perseverated how her doctor had patronizingly told his now dead bride her recent pounding headaches where "just migraines..." The physician jested maybe she should focus on having kids, instead of worry about aches and pains. Damn bastard, he whispered as his leathery thumb sparked the flint of his lighter. He never again married. After Eddie reached the rank of Captain, he refused each subsequent promotion. As captain, Eddie was responsible for the firefighters at Engine 29.... leaving them would never be an option (to the chagrin of CFD brass). Eddie never traveled, drank a notably taller glass of scotch now after work, and in thirty-eight years never missed a single roll call at Engine 29. Until today.
::: :::
Dr. Christine King began her day with a foamy espresso. She sits in the heat, outside on the balcony of her Gold Coast condo. She stops herself from gloating over her funky-ass digs. For eleven years, she's waited for this moment... to sit on her leather chase, overlooking the city, and say to herself, "whow, I'm a chief resident in emergency medicine... 3 months away from being an attending emergency physician, making tons of cash, and... look at all those men to conquer down there!" She laughs to herself, about the partly accurate statement. She feels dizzy with endorphins. In residency Dr. King became Dr. Shank... a nickname her mates liked, because Chris loved and often used the term "shank", a word referring to the crude knifes fashioned in prisons. When a stabbed prisoner ever came in, she'd utter to students, with genuine reverence, something like, "these assaults can be disproportionately morbid... the perpetrator always has the option of adding shit to the shank." An obviously accurate pearl... half provided to mandate a student's complex reaction to it. Dr. Christine King was a bit mischievous, but she became chief resident, because of other qualities. Dr. King became chief resident because she was a cowboy... on a pony... she balanced technical skill with humanity. She was like a rock star in the emergency department, or "the E.D." as everyone called it at her residency [they were trained to disdain the description, "E.R.". The more passionate among them would say stuff like, "it's not a room, it's a fucking Department!"]. Yes, Dr. Chris King was the most absurdly competent "ER doc" in the program ["ER doc" being the last "ER" reference still tolerated]. The gold standard always used for testing the best ER doctors was... whom would you want caring for your ill mother? Easy... Dr. King. For the residents, it would be, who's done the most ED thoracotomies (the creme de la creme of resident procedures)?... Who else, Dr. King. But, it wasn't solely her reputation as an awesome trench doctor... and it wasn't even the almost comically long list of things... all the other things "she was"... concert violinist, pilot... helicopter pilot, x-special forces medic, (she had been a member of a covert ops unit --- a time she didn't like to talk about much..), a published poet... the list goes on. No, it wasn't all of these things that did it... (she had peers with even more credits than her). So, what was it?.... Dr. Chris King was chief resident because, she was a superb doctor and because she so loved... p e o p l e.
::: :::
Eddie woke, with the worst fit of coughing he'd ever experienced. It was terrible. This time, it knocked the fricking wind right outa him --- he actually wonders for a second, about getting to the Station on time for shift change... But, it was like a hammer hitting his chest. A layer of clammy perspiration covers his back.... soon, it feels like he can't --- get the air out! --- to -- take a big 'nough -..... breath - in!! .... it was like his thorax is hooked with barbs and line, tethered to a coffin interior - ribs held out in full expansion. A scream pierces his mind.... ...just a whimper escapes his glottis. Finally he exhales, afraid to take another breath for fear it would happen again. It does. After a few minutes of this agony... his dyspnea spontaneously eases a little... Eddie finds his car keys. He makes it to the CFD doctor's clinic office, in the Department's admin building a few miles away. The doctor is familiar with guys like Eddie.... smoked sixty years of cigarettes / 38 years of soot, and carbon monoxide... Eddie has emphysema, or something even worse. In the little yellow exam room, the doctor tunes him up... with breathing treatments, an antibiotic pill, and some prednisone. He contemplates having Eddie go to the ED, but decided against it when Eddie improves. He then orders Eddie to go home and take a furlow... Eddie just thinks, in a matter-of-fact way, "he's not my Chief", and drives to Engine 29
::: :::
It was always unnerving when the alert tones sounded at Engine 29... It was an ongoing joke how loud the tones were in the crew quarters, where they relaxed and slept, for some unknown and unfixable reason... ~~~AAAARRRing!!!! the speaker blares and crackles... then comes the familiar serious monotone voice.... "2nd ALARM.... ENGINE 29, TRUCK 10, SQAUD 1, AMBULANCE 34, BATTALION CHIEF 2, RESPOND TO REPORT OF STRUCTURE FIRE - SMOKE SHOWING...."
...a Chill. Only the fool didn't get one, when "structure fire - smoke showing" was the call. This was the real deal. Everyone knows it likely is a bonafide burning building, there could easily be human victims.... some of their crew might not return that night... and worst of all, they probably are already... too fucking late... Eddie feels a little car sick on the clangering ride to the fire grounds. His whole crew was on edge. "Move the fuck over!!" yells the overheating driver of the their fire engine, at a motorist unable to immediately yield.... "Hhhooooooorrrrnnnnn!", the young driver lays on the powerful air horn... the sound waves almost pushing the cars away. Eddie grimaces at how hot these kids get nowadays.... As they roll up to the scene, smoke and flames laughingly lick at the vinyl siding of the sprawling 3-story apartment complex... Red and black flickers, poke through here and there, taunting the crews... it looks like greasy subdued hellfire... "come and play, hurry, hurry! I want you to p l a y !", the fire teases, like an impatient, disturbed child. As the battalion chief pulls up, surveys the few apparatus there, none yet tapped into the hydrants, and hears children screaming inside... he mutters to himself, "shit".... With some difficulty, Eddie jumps out of the front seat of Engine 29. He is winded again. Two burly rookies simultaneously attach hose to a neglected hydrant at the end of the block. Quickly Eddie then assembles his people, all donning their breathing apparatus masks and checking their personal alarm, a devices that sounds a loud bell if it detects no movement from the firefighter wearing it (so others know they are incapacitated). Eddie listens for instruction from the chief... seconds pass.... Elsewhere, with an loud impatient tone, the chief growls," ...M o v e innnn ! ....Search & Rescue!..." ... as he screams his command, Eddie's team has already pulled a little girl out laying unconscious, just inside the door... alive! They would save 5 more kids that day, and would have saved more, but then one of his guys kicks a door... whooshhh... ...air is vacuumed in.... a whisper hangs like snow, then....
b a c k d r a f t .....
::: :::
It always happened this way... whenever a man got too close... she'd allow the relationship to self destruct. And that's exactly what happened. She did this, even if she knew it would harm herself most of all. Dr. Chris King was a skilled demolisher of relationships, just like her Dad. "Why don't I just not do this"... she thinks to herself on the way to the hospital. "...and why did it take me thirty damn years to figure this out?!" Dr. King is on the way to do a presentation at the hospital, but almost wasn't there... (some-else would have covered it)... she was scheduled to be en route to see a lover in Missoula. Big Sky country. She was supposed to travel to "visit" an old flame... one that always flickers, if you know what I mean... Mutual hedonism, so seemingly therapeutic in times of distress... Christine felt... distressed. Chris' Dad, the relationship neglecter originale himself, did leave his daughter with many wise and spiritual lessons.... Thinking of her last failed relationship, and her pending trip to Montana, she reminds herself of something her Dad said, ..."allow ones desire... to lead, only behind principle and spirit", Christine had decided to cancel her plans In Montana. The lights dim and Dr. Christine King glides in and presents her lecture to the medical students attending a residency fair at the hospital. Everyone there is interested in emergency medicine as a specialty career choice. Two of the medical students chuckle to themselves, thinking of an irreverent myth propagated at the med school about the famous lecturer..... a myth, that Dr. Chris King once, jumped off the stage, and held a Rambo knife to the jugular of a student who was falling asleep, ( in reference to her days in special forces). The student had to excuse himself afterwords.... no one ever slept again during one of her lectures. A rumor, that of course, was greatly exaggerated. After the lecture Chris moseys over to the ED to say hello. She is dressed in street clothes, sandals, and wears a white Summer hat.... co-workers spot her, realizing it was one of their crazy doctors... they all break out laughing, right in the ED... Then, as she tells the punch line of a joke.... ...the doors blast open with 4 dazed firefighters wheeling their fallen comrade in. It's Eddie.
::: ::: The blast of rapidly expanding gas, smoke and fire knock the entire five person crew backwards to the charred & wet ground... but worst of all, it blows their breathing masks off their faces too. All five lay there motionless, the water from hoses above washing their faces of soot for a moment... silence
....clangggggggggging CLANNGGGGGGGGGING clangggggggggging Five bell-like alarms begin to ring out... They sound like old fashioned alarm clocks, each one signalling a motionless fallen firefighter. A sickening noise to anyone who's heard them... especially in multiples... like an out of tune song from hell. Meanwhile, the cacophony of yells, fire, TVs exploding, fire-engines, breaking glass... deafening... Five bells ring together steadily, unheard. The chief finally hears them.... knowing each ring, means a firefighter down. Jesus.....! He frantically signals firefighters in masks to find that crew! Three of Eddie's team are already getting masks back on when the others get there... A fourth quickly comes around with air, then, as they struggle in the darkness of impenetrable blood-tone smoke, they realize, Eddie is still down....
::: :::
Even with years of experience, It's hard not to pay attention when four soot covered firefighters, clothing still smoking... come barreling into an ED with one of their own on a stretcher... The crew of Engine 29 blast into the already overcapacity ED. Desperate. Cots are juggled, and they're directed to bed 12 by the charge nurse... One of the other docs on duty says to the charge nurse, "...damn, he looks a lot worse than we assumed from the ambulance radio-report."... Everyone there, even the housekeeper knows, there's only one thing that Eddie needs now... an airway. Black soot surrounds his mouth, his facial hairs and nose hairs are all the same short length... an unmistakable sign hot gasses burnt them down this way, like spent candle wicks... the same thermal energy scalding the fleshy lining of his windpipe. With the underlying acute attack of emphysema he's had that day, his years of smoking, and certain concomitant carbon monoxide poisoning.... Eddie needs to be intubated immediately... If not tubed soon, his airway will swell shut. Because of his emphysema, he will likely die if they're unable to place the tube normally.... there will be no time to get air in surgically through his neck. Eddie has no reserve. His certain demise looms just minutes away... Chris jumps back to the nurses station to get out of the way of the fire crew, so they can easily pass. Christine turns away for a second... she's surprised by a cold, wet, gritty hand... grasping for hers... It's Eddie. As she turns to look, his eyes meet hers, and he says, "Hey... there she is....", with a warm, familiar expression, despite his obvious distress. Christine wonders if she's met him before... "hey doc.." ...he begins to make a mutually uncomfortable joke..."I'm not gonna die am I?, huh, doc?"... and he's whisked by... to Bed-12... the surreal encounter sprinkles absurdity into the pungent odor of smoke and burnt vinyl assaulting her senses. The sensation of his cool hand clutching hers, lingers inside Christine... she had no gloves on. In the ED, they always had gloves on. Unimpeded flesh on flesh, humans reaching out, a brief connection in a universe of discreteness. She allows the serendipitous moment, which would never have occurred if she decided on Vegas, to meet her soul... For a second, in the chaos of the ED, Christine feels nothing but love. The resident on duty that shift is an exceptional emergency physician, just like Dr. King. Indeed, he is the other chief resident that year. He overcame a nasty divorce, then quite the residency, only to return to become one of its stars.... Chris knows everything is under control. Soon the attendings are hovering around, overseeing things... staff migrate over to help with Eddie in 12. Christine relaxes and delivers the punch-line she never got to finish. About 10 minutes later, she sets out to leave... it is getting towards rush hour; Christine hated sitting in traffic. Eddie's trembling hand flashes into her mind.. she thinks she might just say goodbye... and ponders that it was probably the first time in this man's life he was ever afraid.... Just then she looks up and notices... the supervising emergency physician has been called out of Eddie's room for another critical patient. What? Dang, does that means her friend is all alone with Eddie, trying to get the tube? She feels compelled to check... tic tic tic. ....10 minutes have gone by since arrival. In Bed-12, she gasps slightly.... Eddie was still not intubated. Christine feels slightly comforted seeing the other attending in the room.... her friend was not alone. She asks incredulously, "why is he not tubed yet??" Both the resident and the attending start to speak, when Eddie unknowingly interrupts, "Doc, I'm alright", grabbing her hand again, "I'm fine, I just need a little air...". A nasty, cool wave spreads down Chris' body. Eddie was not allowing them to intubate him and soon, he would be dead. The gravity dawns on her... he was competent to refuse treatment, the law said he had the right to do that, if competent....and with every minute, his chance of meaningful survival from his airway burns approached Z E R O. Eddie never wavers... he "did not need to be intubated!". The CFD Chaplin even comes in, an imposing, gentle figure... he says sternly, "now Eddie, you gotta let the docs do their thing", in a thick Chicago accent. Eddie does not react. The Chaplin shrugs in resignation... "there's no changing his mind... he's the most stubborn man I know", said in a manner suggesting friendship. Dr. Chris King, painted toes, hat and all, decides... She's had enough. This man cannot stir her divine soul and just allow himself to die while she is forced to watch... Leaning in, to whisper privately in Eddie's ear, still holding his hand, everything around them falls away... The monitors' beeps and people's chatter go elsewhere... There is only stillness and quietude now. "Eddie", she whispers like a loving daughter..."what would you do to me if I somehow came into one of your fires, like the one you almost perished in today, and told you, I was gonna do something you knew would kill me"... "What if it was one of your crew who did this?" "What would you do Eddie?" He stares at her... Christine then continues..."Eddie... this is my fire, and there's no goddamn way I'm going to let you die. I'm going to intubate you now..." She feels nothing inside, except... love. Eddie starts to object, then stops himself, and asks again, awkwardly trying to lighten the moment, his voice now barely audible, "Doc, I'm not going to die, am I?" Christine then lays Eddie back... intense stares still fixed on the other, and with a glow from her dilated grey eyes, says lovingly, "not today Eddie... not today."
: : : e p i l o g u e : : :
What a time to see Mickey again... for you see... soon I will make leave of this place... I am moving away in but a few days.
And it was this actual case, one in which I was not even on duty, that is in many ways the best case I've had in eleven years of trench warfare on the Wild-West-Syde of Chicago.... A mystic space with its desperate pace.... my beloved ghetto-fab kin... and departure of those, best I've ever been. Mickey, his wife and I stood in the center of the bedlam of the ER... There he was after eight months, big grin, firm hand... He said somewhat pensively, they wouldn't let him return to work... Indeed, it was Mickey's last fire. But he was alive and so was his partner and so was I.... Once again all began to fade away, or perhaps it was us that slipped through some crease in the stained floor... and found that silent, sacred space... its atmosphere a mutual gratitude... the fire lighting the interior... love.
21 February 2006 © Dr. Tony Macasaet
|
|
She steps from the train platform with the confidence of a dancer... certain of each placement of her pretty ballerina feet. She is ordained in secrets, a peculiar lavender, and graceful acts of kindness. A pure soul, she is, timeless and wise, damaged, determined, a warrious with a critical, pitiful mission. Time is ending, and thus far, all attempts to succeed have failed in misery and butchery. This will be her last chance. Melody, a name granted 12,000 years before... her name before that or her exact age are unknown... She is one of the chosen, a prophet, a healer, a sage. She travels on a ceaseless quest, to find the soul, the one soul whom she must somehow love and enchant.... For her task, of the most monumental importance... to bear the children who will save.... ...all of humankind.
::: ::: Her trusted carriage through time... traverses the river of souls. Her flesh, each time faithfully ensconcing its vital treasure. The last Earthy journey she could recall (though not her first) took her to Palestine. She had finally found another ancient. Together, they discovered the divine passion within.... Love followed them like the bright tails of a kit, held aloft by God's smile. From this union another ancient soul was born into a new body... She was Sarah. She lived on another 2000 years.... And now, she would be once again be called... Melody.
::: ::: Leaving the eL station, Melody sighed, and hailed a cab... The clock in her mind sent distressing waves of angst down her spine. Was this the man? There simply was not enough time.... the year 2012 was but six fleeting years away. She knew this was the end of time, as the prophets said, though she knew not what calamity awaited her species. Nor could she know if the man waiting for her tonight was an ancient OR if he would love her... Perhaps, when they embraced... kissed?
::: ::: The brood was scheming.... A highly contagious influenza virus was mixing churning mutating, pressured by the very measures used to control it... born into our realty deep within the despicable density of animal industry, drooling with profits, and greed... the seed of our demise.... Unquenchable virulence. The virus exists to live, to evolve... but it mindlessly o v e r s h o o t s.... And in the fateful year 2012 it will... murder virtually every human on earth.
Without the preservation of the connected, the most ancient souls... the species homo sapien is doomed!
::: :::
She sensed they had met before. Vague aromas of skin and love... Jasmine and oil, lavender? Was it India?? that was 5000 years ago.... She was with a beautiful effulgent man then, full of life and compassion, an ancient... And they brought in fruit and light.... Then, while spending a lazy day strolling in the market, a chill caressed her center... The man walked in through a crumpled lady's cooking smoke and passed her quickly. He paused as she stared. He turned and her matrimonial heart pounded, she worried he could tell (he could). He asked intensely, "is that lavender you adorn? Its effect is poetic, like a delicate net upon this salty sea"... He was an ancient and she was drawn to him, the way she was to her mate... But this was not their time.... ::: ::: The door opened... Again she could feel each evacuation and filling of her heart... He stood before her and smiled. They cautiously came together... Was it lavender? Finally he whispered, "now... is our time"
|
home | film | photo | ER | music | market| words Copywrite © 2006 T. Macasaet |