Chapter 12 - Can You Tell a Green Field from a Cold Steel Rail
1828 Words
I have vague recollections of being loaded on a gurney and put in the ambulance. More vague memories of the “IV with 1 mig of midazolam,” then peace.
When I came back to awareness, I was in a bed with curtains around it. Frank was in a chair with his head back and mouth open, snoring a little.
“Uh. Frank?” I asked.
He snorted and jumped. “s**t. Are you okay?”
“What happened after I got here?”
“You don’t remember?”
“No. Last thing I remember was the IV in the ambulance. Well, until now.”
“Okay. Here’s what I know. A rape kit was processed. You need to give a statement to the police because of it. About what happened, and they are checking in every thirty minutes with the nursing staff to see if you are able to answer questions. Five personal injury attorneys dropped off their cards. You also had a couple of x-rays and a vaginal suture procedure for the tearing. I am sorry. You don’t deserve this.” He dropped his eyes. “You would have been safer driving in the snow.”
“Don’t feel bad. You didn’t hurt me.”
“But I did press you into staying against your better judgement.”
I nodded and leaned my head back. “Why are you here?”
He gave me a half-smile. “I am looking after you and Jason. He had a pretty bad concussion and is in the neurology unit. His mom is coming in the morning.”
I was alarmed. “What happened to Jason?”
“Enrique sucker punched him and bounced his head off the corner of the desk. Jason came to the room looking for you with a giant shiner. I got ice for his eye, but he needed it for the back of his head.”
“How did he find me, then?”
Frank looked at me oddly. “What do you remember?”
I opened my mouth and nothing came out. I suddenly couldn’t breathe.
“Charity?” Frank looked panicked. “s**t. NURSE!”
A few seconds passed and a young woman in grey scrubs entered the curtain. “Yes?” she asked, sarcastically. It made me wonder what Frank had done while I was out.
Frank pointed at me.
“Oh, dear,” she said with concern. I knew he did something against the rules. She walked over to me and wrapped her hand around my wrist while looking at her watch. She grabbed a pad and scribbled down a few numbers. She then looked me in the eye, “Take a breath.” She had chocolate colored eyes. I felt the tears start again. “Oh, honey. Let it out. You been through hell. Just breathe, okay. You won’t be hurt again. Not here. I’m not him. Breathe. Nice and slow.”
I breathed. In. Out. Slower. In-two-three-four. Hold-two. Out-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight. I started to feel more in control.
“You back, sugar?”
I nodded.
“My name is Esmaralda. I am an ER floor nurse. You are my patient tonight. Mr. Protective-and-nosy over there keeps trying to get your protected health information for someone named Jason.”
I nodded. “Jason is in neurology for a concussion.
She made another note on the pad. “So what scared you hon?”
“Frank just asked what I could remember.”
“Ah. I see. You can remember too much, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“The police need to talk to you. Will you be able to speak with them?”
“I don’t know.”
“We can arrange to have a female social worker here with you. They do patient advocacy.”
“I’m here,” Frank said. “I will look out for her bett …”
“I know, sweetie. But she just panicked when you asked her a simple question. I think we can get some women around to help her feel safe.”
Frank looked like a scolded child. I don’t think feeling unsafe around men even occurred to him. I guess he never went through anything like this before, either.
I decided to ask. “Frank, have you ever been attacked?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Sweetie, don’t go there. Attacks make the news like plane crashes. They are rare. Most men never get attacked and only one-fourth of women get attacked. Rare.”
“Oh,” I said. One-fourth of all women did not sound rare to me. “Do you get many raped … um … people in here?”
“More than I like to see, that’s for sure. But you’re going to be okay.”
“I hope so.”
“You should get some rest. The police will be here. Do you want me to ask for a female social worker, hon?”
“Yes, please.”
Esmaralda nodded and left the room. It got very quiet after she left.
I finally had enough silence. “Frank?”
“Yes?”
“How is Jason?”
“How do you mean?”
“His head.”
“Not good.”
I sighed. “Just tell me the whole story. Stop stonewalling and spill.”
He smiled faintly and said, “Okay. He made it to my room and demanded to see you. Then he threw-up in my trash can. I wish I knew that was a concussion sign, but I do now. He looked at me and one eye was dilated. I knew that was bad news. I made him lean back on the couch and got ice for his black eye from the longue. He kept asking for you. You had been gone about forty minutes by then I stepped into the hall to go check on you, and James asked if I knew the girl crying in the shower.” He stopped and swallowed. Cleared his throat and started again. “I went right away. When I heard you … Damn. I just … My mother … I’m not strong enough …” He faded out. Darkness took over again.
* * * * *
I woke up to Esmaralda checking me physically and making notes. After a little bit, I said, “How long was I out?”
She jumped slightly and said, “About fifteen minutes. Your sheepdog went to check on the Argonaut.”
“Argonaut?”
“You know, the story about the golden fleece?” She looked at me hopefully.
“OH. right! Jason.” I felt dumb. I tried to smile but it hurt. Really, really hurt. “How messed up am I?”
“Let me put it this way. It’s a good thing your arms aren’t badly bruised so we could determine your ethnicity.”
“Oh my God.” I felt sick. “Is my face actually broken?”
She nodded. “You have hairline fractures in your left orbital surface and left zygomatic facial fomen.”
“Can you translate that into English?”
“You have cracks around your left eye and in your left cheekbone.”
“What can fix them?”
“Time, sweetie.”
“What else is wrong with me?”
“That’s the worst, according to the chart. The doctor will be heading the evening rounds starting in about a half hour. She can answer more of your questions. Okay, Hon?”
“Okay.” I closed my eyes again. “How long have I been here?”
Not quite a day. Tonight’s rounds will determine if you get released or admitted. You have been in observation for eighteen hours. A decision has to be made before twenty-four.”
“I see.” I wondered how I would get to my apartment. My brain hurt. I stopped thinking and went back to sleep.
“Miss Jones? I am Dr. Chambers.”
I opened my eyes and blinked. “Oh. Dr. Chambers. Is that what you just said?”
She smiled, “Yes. Sorry to wake you. I need to ask you a few questions. Are you able to answer them?
“I think so.”
“Good. Do you live alone?”
“Yes. I have a one bedroom in Boulder.”
“Do you have someone who can stay with you twenty-four seven for about a week?”
“I think so. I would need to place some calls and make arrangements.”
“Would you be able to get someone to drive you everywhere for about a month?”
“I can take the bus, but I mostly walk.”
“Last question, who should we call in case of an emergency?”
“Ann Abbott. She is my best friend and the closest thing I have left to family.”
“All right. What is Ms. Abbott’s phone number?” Dr Chambers wrote it down. “Normally we do not ask so much about homecare, however, you were raped at a school in which you are not enrolled. The male who provided the information about you knows nothing about your family or medical history and keeps apologizing to you. We have a responsibility for your safety. If you need help getting out of an abusive situation, we have options that would ensure your safety.”
I started to say something, but the doctor put up her hand in a stop gesture. Your reaction will be, ‘I am fine.’ Don’t give an answer right away. Please review this brochure.” She handed me a tri-fold glossy brochure titled “Stop the Madness; How to Get and Stay Safe from One Who Loves You”. The doctor continued, “You did request a female social worker and the young man did not object, which is a positive sign. She will be up to your room tomorrow morning around 7:30. No one will be allowed in the room when you talk to her. All I ask is that you are honest with her about your situation. We are not allowing a medical release for forty-eight hours. Do you have questions right now?”
“Yes. How will I get to my classes? I am on scholarship and can’t afford to miss.”
“Do you have a phone?”
I nodded.
“Send emails to your professors. Assault resulting in hospitalization is excused by every institution. Copy to the dean of students as well. You will be given a note at discharge.” She wrote something in the chart.
“I don’t know where my phone is, though.” I looked around, confused.
Dr. Chambers smiled. She took two steps toward the bed and picked up my phone off the small dresser that was just out of reach.
“Do yourself a favor. Take some selfies for evidence. You will heal, but the attack needs documented. We can’t release the pictures without a court order due to privacy restrictions. You need documentation for your attorney and for court, along with copies of your hospital file. If you can provide a copy to your attorney, it will make the process run smoother.”
“Is it really that bad?”
“It is. This man should never be allowed to hurt someone ever again.”
I had no idea what to say to that. It felt like I was talking to a friend, not a doctor; almost that this was not what she was supposed to say, but said it anyway.
“I don’t recommend talking with the police until you can stay awake for more than three hours and have a lower pain level. Police tend to assume that pain killers are truth serum, but they cloud thinking and make dreams more vivid and realistic than they should be. I will leave my medical opinion and your admissions paperwork at the nurse’s station.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
“No. Thank you Dr. Chambers.”
“Have a good night Ms. Jones.”
With that she pivoted and left the room.
- Writer
