I lied to Damien when I led him to believe that my beeper had gone off. I really just had to go, to be alone before I had to do rounds with the students in 20 minutes. I ducked into the doctor’s lounge, which was thankfully empty. I plopped down on the couch, reaching inside my shirt for the necklace which always hung there. I don’t think Damien even knows I still wear the damn thing. I wrapped my fist around the ring, taking a deep breath. Jesus. Ten fucking years and it still hurts like yesterday. Dame was right when he said he didn’t realize how devastating it was. I was careful that he never did.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, releasing my breath. That conversation nearly made me cry.
Because my biggest concern since Michael left me hasn’t even been for myself. It was for Damien. I was and still am scared to death that I will screw up with him. I know I’m a damned good doctor. And I know I’m a decent person. But I’m terrified that I’m not a good father.
I think Dame is ok, and I think that’s because he inherited all of his father’s best traits. He’s a good student and an unbelievable baseball player. I know he’s going to get drafted, I follow the game pretty closely. But I’m worried about his relationships, romantically.
He’s never dated anybody, male or female. He’s never had a real best friend, he’s always been a loner. I’m afraid that with my inability to get over Michael, who I loved so much, has screwed him up. He hasn’t seen his parent date anybody since he was 8 years old.
“Ah, Michael,” I muttered. I needed him with me, so much. I still get mad at him sometimes. I know it’s selfish, because he died a hero. But God, I need him. My beeper went off, and I kissed the ring before slipping it back inside my shirt. “I still love you, Mike.”
I wiped my eyes and stood up, starting at the presence of a doctor standing beside me. “Who’s Mike?” asked Dr. Martin, opening his locker.
“No one,” I muttered, heading for the door.
“Doesn’t sound like nobody,” he said, looking at me worriedly. He was a nice guy, and had done his best to make me feel welcome in Durham, inviting me over for dinner with his family, an invitation I had yet to respond to.
“He was…but it was a long time ago,” I said with an apologetic smile.
“Next week, Ryan, you are coming over. And bringing that son of yours that Janet is already touting as the ‘handsomest thing on earth’.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that. “Whatever you say, Bran.”
“Ah, good, you’ll soon learn that arguing with me is futile.” He grinned and pushed his way back out of the lounge.
Feeling better, I left and picked up my patient’s chart. Work always settled my mind, despite that it was often an unsettling profession, pediatrics. I paused outside the door of the room to check the name. Zack Knight. 12 years old. He and the rest of his carpool was in a car accident yesterday and he suffered head trauma. Brain edema. Either he’d wake up or he wouldn’t, there wasn’t much we could do about it. I shut the chart. Well, I’d go in the room and he’d either be in arrest or awake.
I pushed open the door. His father was sitting at his bedside, holding his hands, and as I watched, two sets of eyes settled on me. I smiled. “Zack! I’m Dr. Connolly. How are you feeling, buddy?
“My head hurts some,” he admitted. “And stuff is blurry.”
“No problems speaking or understanding what people say?”
“No, sir.”
His motor reflexes were all normal, but his pupilary reaction was delayed. I wasn’t terribly worried, not with his kind of injury. “I’m going to send another doctor to take a look, ok? She’s an ophthalmologist and deals with eyes.”
“Ok,” he whispered.
I left the room, and his father followed me. He was a few inches shorter than I, brown haired and brown eyed. “I just wanted to thank you...”
“I didn’t do much,” I told him. “He healed by himself.”
“Still. My wife died three years ago, and I couldn’t stand losing him, too.”
“I understand, Mr. Knight. Zack’s going to be fine.”
“Are you married, Doctor? Have kids? It’s hard to understand unless you’re a family man, too.”
“I’m not married anymore,” I said simply. “And my son is 18.”
He nodded. “Well, thank you.” He returned to the room and I made some notes on his chart and went to call ophthalmology.
I had managed to push the conversation with Damien out of my mind until nearly the end of my shift, when I got a call from the ER about a Pediatric victim. I took my intern, a sharp and capable young woman and went down to wait with the ER docs. “What do we have?”
“Four year old male, hypothermia, dehydration, malnutrition, plus assorted bumps and bruises, EMTs think maybe dislocated shoulder and cracked ribs. Also male, early 30s, GSW to left chest.”
I took a deep breath as the ambulance pulled up and quickly jumped to the side of my patient. But not before I got a glimpse of the other victim. His police uniform was stained dark with blood. I couldn’t do that, not now. I snapped my attention back to the child, ordering IVs and blankets and pain meds to reduce his shoulder and a wrap for his ribs. But as soon as he was stable and being transferred to a bed upstairs, I watched the drama in the other trauma room. There wasn’t much to see. Blood was everywhere, and as I watched, Dr. Kim checked the wall clock. “Time of death, 23:54.”
And suddenly I wasn’t seeing the ER of Duke Hospital, but the ER of San Francisco General.
He was in obvious pain, blood spreading, and his hands clinched and unclenched the table and people leaned over him. “Ryan...”
“I’m here. Hang on, Mike, please hang on for me, you’ll be ok.”
I could see the tears in his eyes. Not all from physical pain. “’m sorry. Take care of Damien, Ryan. I trust him with you. I know you’re his father.”
“No, Mike, you can’t do this, you can’t leave me like this...”
“Love you.”
He was out then, and I was shoved out of the way as the grown-up doctors worked feverishly. I stood still for 46 minutes as they did everything. And I was in shock when Dr. Gibbs, a grandfatherly old man, pressed a blood-covered SFPD badge and the ring he wore on a chain around his neck into my palm. “I’m sorry, Ryan,” he had whispered to me, and I could feel horror replacing the shock, my stomach churning, my eyes tearing...
“Dr. Connolly? Are you ok, Doctor?” Kimmy’s hand was on my shoulder, her green eyes concerned.
“Yeah...yeah, I’m fine.” I shook off the memories. “I’ll take care of the paperwork, then I’m out of here.”
“Good night, Dr. Connolly,” she called after me as I stalked away with the chart. I turned to wave and could see my intern biting her lip in worry.