MY BEEPER GOES OFF just as Kate starts another course of dialysis. An MVA, two cars, with PI—a motorvehicle accident with injuries. “They need me,” I tell Sara. “You’ll be okay?”
The ambulance is headed to the corner of Eddy and Fountain, a bad intersection to begin with, renderedworse by this weather. By the time I arrive, the cops have blocked off the area. It’s a T-bone: the two vehiclesrammed together by sheer force into a conglomerate of twisted steel. The truck made out better; the smallerBMW is literally bent like a smile around its front end. I get out of the car and into the pouring rain, find thefirst policeman I can. “Three injured,” he says. “One’s already en route.”
I find Red working the Jaws of Life, trying to cut through the driver’s side of the second car to get to thevictims. “What have you got?” I shout over the sirens.
“First driver went through the windshield,” he yells back. “Caesar took her in the ambulance. The secondambulance is on its way. There are two people in here, from what I can see, but both doors are accordions.”
“Let me see if I can crawl over the top of the truck.” I start to work my way up the slick metal and shatteredglass. My foot goes through a hole I couldn’t see in the flatbed, and I curse and try to get myself untangled.
With careful movements I pull myself into the pleated cab of the truck, maneuver myself forward. The drivermust have flown out the windshield over the height of the little BMW; the entire front end of the Ford-150has plowed through the sports car’s passenger side, as if it were made of paper.
I have to crawl out what was the window of the truck, because the engine is between me and whoever’sinside the BMW. But if I twist myself a certain way, there is a tiny space where I can nearly fit myself, onethat puts me up against the tempered glass, spiderweb-shattered, stained red with blood. And just as Redforces the driver’s side door free with the Jaws and a dog comes whimpering out, I realize that the facepressed up against the other side of the broken window is Anna’s.
“Get them out,” I yell, “get them out now!” I do not know how I force myself back out of this snarledskeleton to knock Red out of the way; how I unhook Campbell Alexander from his seat belt and drag him tolay in the street with the rain pelting around him; how I reach inside to where my daughter is still and wide-eyed, strapped into her belt the way she is supposed to be and Jesus God no.
Paulie comes out of nowhere and lays his hands on her and before I know what I’m doing I deck him,sending him sprawling. “Fuck, Brian,” he says, holding his jaw.
“It’s Anna. Paulie, it’s Anna.”
When they understand, they try to hold me back and do this work for me, but it is my baby, my baby, and Iam having none of it. I get her onto a backboard and strap her down, let them load her onto the ambulance. Itip back the bottom of her chin, ready to intubate, but see the little scar she got from falling on Jesse’s iceskate, and fall apart. Red moves me aside and does it instead, then takes her pulse. “It’s weak, Cap,” he says,“but it’s there.”
He puts in an IV line while I pick up the radio and call in our ETA. “Thirteen-year-old female, MVA, severeclosed head injury…” When the cardiac monitor blanks out, I drop the receiver and start CPR. “Get thepaddles,” I order, and I pull open Anna’s shirt, cut through the lace of the bra she wanted so badly but doesn’tneed. Red shocks her, and gets the pulse back, bradycardia with ventricular escape beats.
We bag her and put in an IV. Paulie screams into the loading zone for ambulances and throws open the backdoors. On the trailer, Anna is immobile. Red grabs my arm, hard. “Don’t think about it,” he says, and he takesthe head of Anna’s stretcher and rushes her into the ER.
They will not let me into the trauma room. A flock of firefighters dribble in for support. One of them goes upto get Sara, who arrives frantic. “Where is she? What happened?”
“A car accident,” I manage. “I didn’t know who it was until I got there.” My eyes fill up. Do I tell her that sheis not breathing independently? Do I tell her that the EKG flatlined? Do I tell her that I have spent the pastfew minutes questioning every single thing I did on that call, from the way I crawled over the truck to themoment I pulled her from the wreckage, certain that my emotion compromised what should have been done,what could have been done?
At that moment I hear Campbell Alexander, and the sound of something being thrown against a wall.
“Goddammit,” he says. “Just tell me whether or not she was brought here!”
He bursts out of the doorway of another trauma room, his arm in a cast, his clothes bloodied. The dog,limping, is at his side. Immediately, Campbell’s eyes home in on mine. “Where’s Anna?” he asks.
I don’t answer, because what the hell can I say. And that’s all it takes for him to understand. “Oh, Jesus,” hewhispers. “Oh God, no.”
The doctor comes out of Anna’s room. He knows me; I am here four nights a week. “Brian,” he says soberly,“she’s not responding to noxious stimuli.”
The sound that comes out of me is primal, inhuman, all-knowing. “What does that mean?” Sara’s words peckat me. “What is he saying, Brian?”
“Anna’s head hit the window with great force, Mrs. Fitzgerald. It caused a fatal head injury. A respirator iskeeping her breathing right now, but she’s not showing any indications of neurological activity…she’s braindead. I’m sorry,” the doctor says. “I really am.” He hesitates, looks from me to Sara. “I know it’s notsomething you even want to think about right now, but there’s a very small window…is organ donationsomething you’d like to consider?”
There are stars in the night sky that look brighter than the others, and when you look at them through atelescope you realize you are looking at twins. The two stars rotate around each other, sometimes takingnearly a hundred years to do it. They create so much gravitational pull there’s no room around for anythingelse. You might see a blue star, for example, and realize only later that it has a white dwarf as a companion—that first one shines so bright, by the time you notice the second one, it’s really too late.
Campbell is the one who actually answers the doctor. “I have power of attorney for Anna,” he explains, “nother parents.” He looks from me, to Sara. “And there is a girl upstairs who needs that kidney.
The ambulance is headed to the corner of Eddy and Fountain, a bad intersection to begin with, renderedworse by this weather. By the time I arrive, the cops have blocked off the area. It’s a T-bone: the two vehiclesrammed together by sheer force into a conglomerate of twisted steel. The truck made out better; the smallerBMW is literally bent like a smile around its front end. I get out of the car and into the pouring rain, find thefirst policeman I can. “Three injured,” he says. “One’s already en route.”
I find Red working the Jaws of Life, trying to cut through the driver’s side of the second car to get to thevictims. “What have you got?” I shout over the sirens.
“First driver went through the windshield,” he yells back. “Caesar took her in the ambulance. The secondambulance is on its way. There are two people in here, from what I can see, but both doors are accordions.”
“Let me see if I can crawl over the top of the truck.” I start to work my way up the slick metal and shatteredglass. My foot goes through a hole I couldn’t see in the flatbed, and I curse and try to get myself untangled.
With careful movements I pull myself into the pleated cab of the truck, maneuver myself forward. The drivermust have flown out the windshield over the height of the little BMW; the entire front end of the Ford-150has plowed through the sports car’s passenger side, as if it were made of paper.
I have to crawl out what was the window of the truck, because the engine is between me and whoever’sinside the BMW. But if I twist myself a certain way, there is a tiny space where I can nearly fit myself, onethat puts me up against the tempered glass, spiderweb-shattered, stained red with blood. And just as Redforces the driver’s side door free with the Jaws and a dog comes whimpering out, I realize that the facepressed up against the other side of the broken window is Anna’s.
“Get them out,” I yell, “get them out now!” I do not know how I force myself back out of this snarledskeleton to knock Red out of the way; how I unhook Campbell Alexander from his seat belt and drag him tolay in the street with the rain pelting around him; how I reach inside to where my daughter is still and wide-eyed, strapped into her belt the way she is supposed to be and Jesus God no.
Paulie comes out of nowhere and lays his hands on her and before I know what I’m doing I deck him,sending him sprawling. “Fuck, Brian,” he says, holding his jaw.
“It’s Anna. Paulie, it’s Anna.”
When they understand, they try to hold me back and do this work for me, but it is my baby, my baby, and Iam having none of it. I get her onto a backboard and strap her down, let them load her onto the ambulance. Itip back the bottom of her chin, ready to intubate, but see the little scar she got from falling on Jesse’s iceskate, and fall apart. Red moves me aside and does it instead, then takes her pulse. “It’s weak, Cap,” he says,“but it’s there.”
He puts in an IV line while I pick up the radio and call in our ETA. “Thirteen-year-old female, MVA, severeclosed head injury…” When the cardiac monitor blanks out, I drop the receiver and start CPR. “Get thepaddles,” I order, and I pull open Anna’s shirt, cut through the lace of the bra she wanted so badly but doesn’tneed. Red shocks her, and gets the pulse back, bradycardia with ventricular escape beats.
We bag her and put in an IV. Paulie screams into the loading zone for ambulances and throws open the backdoors. On the trailer, Anna is immobile. Red grabs my arm, hard. “Don’t think about it,” he says, and he takesthe head of Anna’s stretcher and rushes her into the ER.
They will not let me into the trauma room. A flock of firefighters dribble in for support. One of them goes upto get Sara, who arrives frantic. “Where is she? What happened?”
“A car accident,” I manage. “I didn’t know who it was until I got there.” My eyes fill up. Do I tell her that sheis not breathing independently? Do I tell her that the EKG flatlined? Do I tell her that I have spent the pastfew minutes questioning every single thing I did on that call, from the way I crawled over the truck to themoment I pulled her from the wreckage, certain that my emotion compromised what should have been done,what could have been done?
At that moment I hear Campbell Alexander, and the sound of something being thrown against a wall.
“Goddammit,” he says. “Just tell me whether or not she was brought here!”
He bursts out of the doorway of another trauma room, his arm in a cast, his clothes bloodied. The dog,limping, is at his side. Immediately, Campbell’s eyes home in on mine. “Where’s Anna?” he asks.
I don’t answer, because what the hell can I say. And that’s all it takes for him to understand. “Oh, Jesus,” hewhispers. “Oh God, no.”
The doctor comes out of Anna’s room. He knows me; I am here four nights a week. “Brian,” he says soberly,“she’s not responding to noxious stimuli.”
The sound that comes out of me is primal, inhuman, all-knowing. “What does that mean?” Sara’s words peckat me. “What is he saying, Brian?”
“Anna’s head hit the window with great force, Mrs. Fitzgerald. It caused a fatal head injury. A respirator iskeeping her breathing right now, but she’s not showing any indications of neurological activity…she’s braindead. I’m sorry,” the doctor says. “I really am.” He hesitates, looks from me to Sara. “I know it’s notsomething you even want to think about right now, but there’s a very small window…is organ donationsomething you’d like to consider?”
There are stars in the night sky that look brighter than the others, and when you look at them through atelescope you realize you are looking at twins. The two stars rotate around each other, sometimes takingnearly a hundred years to do it. They create so much gravitational pull there’s no room around for anythingelse. You might see a blue star, for example, and realize only later that it has a white dwarf as a companion—that first one shines so bright, by the time you notice the second one, it’s really too late.
Campbell is the one who actually answers the doctor. “I have power of attorney for Anna,” he explains, “nother parents.” He looks from me, to Sara. “And there is a girl upstairs who needs that kidney.