Chapter Text
Of course Laurie remembered Darrel Curtis. She had recognized him immediately when he had arrived on the general ward four summers ago, to collect his brother, Ponyboy. The reunion between the three brothers had been moving to observe, there hadn't been a dry eye at the nurses' station that day.
She had followed the newspapers with interest for some months after that, moved by the plight of the three brothers and struck with admiration at the eldest giving up his future for the sake of younger two. She'd always heard he was a decent guy, and she knew it must be so- that choice wasn't one everyone would have made.
Even before he'd run onto the ward, nervy and full of anticipation, she had sometimes recalled the handsome, all-star running back that caused her high school, rivals of his, to lose more games than she liked to count. Back then, Darry had been the talk of the town. Every girl seemed to have a crush on him, every guy either loathed or idolized him. He seemed to transcend social status- the boy with the golden touch.
But now, they weren't in high school anymore. Things that seemed important back then weren't important any more, and Darry Curtis had melted back into the shadows of the East Side, doomed, like the rest of his ilk, to fade into dust, poverty and obscurity. It was a shame- he could have been so much more, but life was cruel like that.
Darry rarely crossed her mind these days, and it was a jolt from the past to see him here today, instantly recognizable, at least to her, even beneath the oxygen mask that covered his face and between the frantic movements of the staff that were aiming to save his life.
The transporting medic started the handover, while nurses connected various probes and monitors to Darry's inert form. Laurie began a chart and started scribbling notes. She didn't usually work in the ED, but she'd been pulled there today due to staffing shortages.
'This is Darrel, 24, found unresponsive, suspected heatstroke. Boss sent him home at noon after a vomiting episode, found him on the ground three hours later. 3 inch laceration, left temple, second degree burn, left arm, pinpoint pupils, BP 80/40, fluid unresponsive, temp 106, pulse 140, tachypnea, GCS 8. Intubated, 10 mg diazepam. Seized on the way here, approx five minute duration. We've cooled him as much as we can and he's on high flow. No underlying health conditions.'
Laurie's role was to take obs, so she pulled out her stethoscope to auscultate.
'Pulse 150,' she called out.
'BP 60/20.'
'Temp 105.5'.
At least his temperature was down, marginally. If a person's core body temperature remained too high, they worried about long-term damage. The medics had stripped him and covered him with wet sheets, placed cold packs on his neck, his groin, and under his armpits, and they were now pointing fans at the gurney. All this would hopefully help lower his temperature.
Darry's skin was flushed and dry, a classic sign of heat stroke. His chest heaved from the air that was being forced into his lungs. Laurie glanced at his heart trace. This was a very sick man. Her colleague, Rosa, was rapidly gathering vials of blood. As she released the tourniquet, Darry began seizing. No one panicked, but as alarms shrilled, it became clear their patient was in worse condition than they had expected, considering the initial call indicating heat exhaustion.
Dr Collins administered another dose of diazepam and Darry's body relaxed. Laurie began her obs again, just in time for the monitor to start shrieking again. Asystole. No heartbeat. Shit, shit, shit.
'Crash cart, stat!' Someone yelled.
Quickly, Laurie and Rosa laid the bed flat and Dr Collins commenced CPR. The battle had begun.
**********
Darry's brothers came to see him every day. She gathered bits and pieces of their stories- the younger now in his sophomore year of college, the middle already on kid number three at age 20, and the firstborn still working two dead-end jobs. She remembered he was a roofer from one of the articles she'd read.
'Can you give us any idea of when he's going to wake up?' Sodapop asked Laurie, for the hundredth time. His eager, handsome face peered up at her from his perch beside his elder brother's bed. The three of those brothers really could have been movie stars, but especially this one. He was almost painfully good-looking. No wonder he wore a wedding ring, she was sure there had been many ladies wanting to lock him down. She seemed to recall most of the younger girls in town were half-crazy on him, constantly finding excuses to turn up at the garage where he worked. Being four years his senior, she hadn't been one of them, but she'd heard the talk.
Despite all this, Soda wasn't arrogant, just disarmingly confident. Laurie liked him a lot. Somehow, his personality outshone even his beautiful face. His wife was a lucky woman.
Laurie turned her attention back to her patient. He looked peaceful now, but in her minds eye she could see him fitting, almost falling from the gurney, blood pouring from the gash in his head while the staff worked to pull him back from the brink. He'd been in critical condition for five days, and only today had the doctors given the all-clear to extubate.
He might never wake up, and even if he does, he might not be the same, Laurie thought to herself, but she didn't say as much to the hopeful faces that watched her every move. She adjusted the flow on the IV line while she weighed her words carefully.
'We aren't sure. We stopped giving him the sedating medicine three hours ago, so we're watching him very closely. He's been stable and breathing well by himself, which is a good sign.'
A non-answer, but it seemed to pacify the man. He nodded gratefully and squeezed Darry's hand.
'You hear that, big bro? We're all counting on you. You got this, man.'
The youngest brother wasn't so relaxed. He paced up and down the room, obsessively checking the machines that monitored Darry's vital signs. Laurie never could get used to his name- Ponyboy. She couldn't blame him for going by his middle name, Michael, now that he was older. She had no idea what those parents had been thinking. Darrel was the only one with an ordinary name.
Laurie checked Darry's IV site. It looked ok, but it was due for a change. She decided to go get the equipment she'd need, as she had a few rare moments to spare.
'You should try and get some food before the lunch rush,' she advised Michael and Soda, 'all the good stuff will be gone, believe me.'
Her ulterior motive was to give herself space to work.
'I ain't really hungry,' murmured Michael, whose eyes never left the monitor screen, 'I want to be here when he wakes up.'
'Pony-uh, Michael,' Soda amended, 'The nurse is right. You haven't eaten properly in days. Darry'd kill me if I let you fade away, and besides, you need to keep up your strength for your meet on Saturday, savvy? Bring home some medals and have something to tell the ol' boy when he's better.'
He stood and put his arm around his brother, who, although younger, was the tallest of the three, lanky and still not filling out his 18 year old frame.
'Alright,' murmured Michael, and allowed himself to be led away, though not without many glances back towards the still form on the bed.
'I'll call the cafeteria if anything happens while you're gone,' Laurie assured them, although she doubted it would. She wasn't feeling optimistic about this one. It was such a damn shame, such a waste of a young life. With Michael at college, Darry could finally have pursued his own dreams, and now- who knew? It was depressing to contemplate- it was always worse with the younger ones. The fact that Darry was her own age, that they had been in the same grade, just made it hit that much harder.
Furiously, Laurie wiped away the tears that were slipping down her cheeks, thankful she had reached the privacy of the equipment room. She didn't know why this was getting to her so bad, why her usual professional demeanor was so shaken. She barely knew the guy, outside of him being their rival running back and what she'd read in the papers. She'd never even had a conversation with him.
Maybe it was because it was all so damn unfair. Laurie attended church every Sunday, and she considered herself a Christian, but she couldn't help asking- why?
Why, God, when he's such a good person, when he's worked so hard and selflessly for his brothers? It doesn't make sense.
She gathered everything she'd need for the site change, along with some fresh sheets and another catheter kit. May as well do the whole kit and caboodle while she was at it, so she went to the cupboard that held wound dressings, for the burn on her patient's forearm. At least in his unconscious state, he wouldn't be able to feel the pain of her irrigating and re-dressing the injury.
She recalled Michael Curtis pulling her aside in the hallway yesterday and pleading with her, 'Please, Miss, promise me you'll do everything you can to help him. It was supposed to be his turn, now I'm in college.'
His turn for what? For living life, she supposed. She sent up another silent prayer. If they couldn't help, maybe God could.
Laurie re-entered room 7, thankful to see that Soda and Michael were still gone. They both deserved a small break after the hours they'd spent keeping vigil by Darry's bedside. She'd seen this before- at first, relatives will hardly leave the patient's side, but then, as it becomes clear things aren't going to improve, the visits become less frequent, not because of a lack of care on the family's part, but because real life continues, bills need to be paid, classes need to be attended, kids need to be cared for.
Darry lay pale and still, just as she had left him. That was discouraging. His vitals were still good, he was breathing independently, and his wounds were healing nicely, not to mention his blood work had been steadily improving. All of these signs were positive, except for one thing. He wasn't waking up.
'It's Nurse Dennett again, Mr Curtis,' she greeted, 'I'm going to draw blood, change your dressings, your IV, your catheter and your sheets. I hope you won't give me any trouble, as all this is going to take a while.'
She always liked to talk to her comatose patients, as she had learned in college that there was a chance they might be able to hear, and besides, it just felt right to do so. She closed off the IV line. She'd tackle that first.
She washed her hands and laid out her materials carefully on the metal rolling table, taking care not to contaminate the sterile packages as she opened them. She donned her gloves.
'Your brothers went down to the cafeteria,' she continued, 'but they'll be back soon, and I heard Soda say he wanted to bring the kids in later to see you. I hear you have some pretty rambunctious nephews.'
She peeled off the dressing that covered the IV cannula and discarded it, then she gently pulled the tube out, pressing down to stem the blood that oozed from the puncture. She cleaned and covered the site, then weighed her options for the next. Luckily, her patient had an abundance of veins to choose from. She placed the cannula with ease and moved onto her next task, opting for Darry's two dressings- one covering the nasty gash on his temple that he'd sustained after passing out and hitting a breeze block at the construction site, and the other on his left forearm, protecting the burned skin beneath. When he'd been found, his arm had been lying on the asphalt, which had been hot enough to induce a second degree burn.
'Your head is healing pretty well, Mr Curtis, but you're likely to have a scar,' she informed him, 'I hope you're not prone to vanity.'
She applied a sterile gauze dressing, studying Darry's face intently to see if he responded to her voice or her touch, but to no avail.
'Now we'll move on to your arm,' she informed him. It's been doing pretty well too. Doc says they could put it in a textbook. Says you should get back your full range of motion. It'll scar for sure, but it could have been worse. Much longer on that asphalt, and you would have been looking at skin grafts. As it is you'll need physical therapy, but you should be ok. You'll have full use of your arm again.'
She gently removed the dressing, but as she did so, part of the skin beneath peeled away with the bandages. Immediately, Darry shot upright in the bed, screamed out in pain and caught her wrist in a vice like grip with his good arm.
It took Laurie a second to get over the shock.
'Mr Curtis, let go of me!' she exclaimed. She was holding the soiled dressing half off the wound, and she had no intention of allowing the area to be contaminated.
Darry's movements were frantic as he tried to push her away from him. His legs kicked under the blanket as he attempted to get up.
Laurie held on to his injured arm with difficulty. Thanks to his weakened and confused state, she was able to protect the burned area, but if she couldn't settle him, he'd hurt himself further.
'Mr Curtis!' she shouted, 'If you don't calm down, I'll have to call the orderlies to restrain you!'
That seemed to get through to him, and he stilled, but his eyes were huge with panic. He let go of her wrist and his gaze drifted to the exposed angry skin of his left arm. He moaned.
She gently guided him back to his pillow. His head lolled and his eyes rolled back into his head. His breathing was rapid.
'Can you hear me, Darry?' She asked him gently, still holding his burned arm safely away from his side.
It wasn't protocol to address a patient by their first name, but she needed to try and help him calm down.
His gaze fixed on her face for a few seconds, and then darted around the room. She could almost hear him thinking, 'What is going on? Where am I?'
Laurie's heart went out to him. She couldn't imagine how confusing and distressing this must be. She hated to see a patient disoriented like this.
'Darry? Darry, nod your head if you can hear me.'
He nodded, slowly.
'What-' he rasped, with difficulty, his throat still raw from being intubated, 'What happened?'
'You had an accident at work. I can explain everything, but I must get this burn cleaned and covered. I'm afraid it will be painful, but I need you to try and stay still.'
Darry swallowed and gave her a small nod, then fixed his blue-green eyes determinedly at some point on the wall.
Laurie wished she had administered some pain relief before starting the procedure, but now, they would just have to push through.
She peeled the rest of the dressing off as carefully as she could, but some more areas of skin did come away. Darry's body jerked involuntarily as he fought the pain.
'I have to wash it now,' she stated, quietly.
She irrigated the red flesh thoroughly, Darry hissing with every flush. Finally it was done and she covered the area.
'All finished. I do apologize for any discomfort.'
'Is that what you call it?' He joked weakly, through half-closed lids. He looked as though he was trying to get control of his breathing, and she admired his composure. Burns were agonizing.
Laurie was inwardly rejoicing. Her comatose patient was awake, he was lucid, and he was even cracking jokes. This was the best shift she'd had in weeks. Sometimes people would surprise you like this, and it was always wonderful when they did.
'As I was saying, Mr Curtis, you had an incident at work. Do you remember your boss sending you home?'
'Yeah,' he croaked, 'I had thrown up from the heat.'
'That's right,' Laurie praised, 'He thought you had left, but when he finished work three hours later he found you unconscious beside your truck. You hit your head when you fell.'
She paused for a moment to let her words sink in.
'Mr Fowler called an ambulance-'
'What?!' Darry interjected with horror, 'I can't afford that!'
I'm afraid the ambulance bill is about to be the least of your worries, Laurie thought.
'You were extremely unwell, Mr Curtis. Mr Fowler did exactly what he should have done in the situation. You were suffering from severe heat stroke.'
Darry shrugged.
'So? I've been overheated before. I would have been fine. Old man shoulda taken me home and put me in a cold shower.'
'You probably had heat exhaustion before. It's a common mistake to confuse the two conditions, but heat stroke is much more serious. It was a good thing you got here when you did.'
Darry looked perplexed, and Laurie knew he still didn't understand, which was pretty typical. Most people didn't realize just how dangerous heat stroke could really be.
'Well, alright,' Darry replied slowly, 'what about my arm?'
'You were found lying half on the asphalt. It was so hot that it burned you. If you'd had any more skin exposed, or been there for any longer, it could have been much more serious.'
Darry whistled through his teeth, softly.
'Guess I oughta thank the old man, after all.'
'I should say so. He saved your life.'
Laurie moved to the table to clear away the items she'd used. She'd decided not to change the catheter after all. Now that Darry was awake, they could try getting him up and at least onto a bedpan. She would just empty it instead, and remove it later. Good thing she hadn't opened the kit. She could return it to the equipment room.
'I'll go and let the doctor know you're awake,' she informed him, 'and we'll get your brothers from the cafeteria- they went to get something to eat. They've been so worried about you, they've been here every day-'
'Every day?' he interrupted, 'What- what day is it?'
She turned from the doorway.
'Its Saturday, September 14th.'
His eyes were wide again.
'Wait, what-,' he croaked, 'you're saying I missed a whole week of work?'
'I'm afraid so. You've been very ill.'
Darry threw off his bedsheets, shaking his head.
'I gotta call my boss,' he mumbled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
Laurie threw down the the pack and ran over to him.
'Please stay in bed, Mr Curtis. You haven't been cleared to get up. It's against protocol.'
He shook his head and ignored her plea, so she put her hands firmly on his shoulders and pushed him down into the mattress.
'You're going to rip out your IV! Your catheter!' She warned.
He froze.
'My what?!'
'You heard me. How do you think you've been going to the bathroom the last 5 days?'
A deep blush covered Darry's face, and he swore under his breath.
'I want out of here, today,' he growled.
Laurie scoffed,
'And then what? Go back to work tomorrow?'
Darry fixed her with a glare.
'Yeah. If my boss hasn't fired me already for missing days.'
'Your boss has been here almost as much as your brothers have. He feels that it's his fault he didn't walk you to your truck.'
'His fault, nothin. If I hadn't passed out like a little- anyway, I'm gettin' outta here today, savvy?'
Laurie sighed, exasperatedly.
'You don't understand, Mr Curtis. You had at least two seizures, your heart stopped, you've had kidney and liver trauma, a concussion, and a second degree burn. You've been sedated for days. We cannot in good conscience just let you walk out of the door. It would be against protocol.'
'I got rights, don't I?' Darry demanded.
'Of course you do, but-'
'Then go and get the doc and let him know the score. I want out. Unhook all the -whatever- and send me on my way.'
Laurie raised her hands in surrender.
'All right. I'll let the doctor talk some sense into you. I'm just glad you're awake. I'll let your brothers know. Can I get you any more pain medicine when I come back?'
Darry chuckled, bitterly.
'I'm sure my bill is already high enough. No thanks.'
'Alright,' Laurie agreed. Her tone was light, but she always hated when patients were so stressed about money that they declined pain relief. It just didn't seem fair.
But then again, life had never been fair to the Darrel Curtises of the world.
Sighing, she pushed open the door of Darry's room and headed to the doctor's station, although she already knew what they were going to say. Her patient was far too sick to be going anywhere.
Laurie grinned to herself. She couldn't believe he'd woken up, just like that. It was a miracle. They didn't get many of those in her line of work.
Thank you, Lord, she prayed, silently. Thank you for giving him another chance.