Shifting Through The Ashes




I don't know how much time passed, it amazed me that as close as these two co-workers seemed, they did not seem to talk very much. I know that the younger man is not suppose to, but Benton seems to be at a loss for words. It appears as if he begins to speak, but changes his mind in mid thought. His lips part to say something, and then nothing. I have never witnessed such awkward communication before.

I can't stand the silence, neither of them speak to me, but again, I'm not suppose to talk. I wish I could add some small amount of comfort, but my mind is a bit fuzzy, the stress of this situation is taking its toll on me.

I have no choice, but to bear witness to Carter's continuous struggles to hang on. He reminds me of a rag doll that has been tossed to the ground, his loud panting the only indication that he is a living soul. Sometimes I see his grip on Benton's hand tighten, causing the other doctor some pain.

"I'm going to try to determine the extent of your injuries so when we arrive at County, I can narrow down what's going on." Benton says calmly.

I think this is just a mere distraction technique to ignore the pain that the poor man is enduring.

"You...can't detect anything without...imaging studies," he retorts his voice tinged with defeat.

"Oh really?" Benton asks sarcastically. "Have you forgotten the simpler methods of examination?"

"No." Carter replies as if he had just been dressed down for missing a homework assignment.

"Good, I thought you knew better." Benton presses down around Carter's upper back and palpitates the younger man's shoulders. "Besides aching that can be associated with what's happened, do your shoulders hurt much?"

Carter closes his eyes as if concentrating on his body, and trying to tune in the different levels of pain he's experiencing. He answers, "Not much."

This seems to please the black doctor. "That's a good sign that the spleen hasn't been injured," he says with encouragement.

"Pain patterns, Carter, come on man. They're key signs to discovering what damage the pole may have caused."

"How about agony...to more agony. Does that help?" He groans as he balls his loose hand in a fist. He opens his eyes in time to see a cross expression spread over Benton's face. The younger man seems regretful at his lack of care regarding his words.

Carter seems to use humor as a defense technique, but I really can tell he just wants respect. Facial expressions say so much, something I never noticed before. I have nothing better to do to occupy myself from my own fading pain. There seems to be a ton of debris between me and them, but I can still make out what is going on. Watching these two interact is like some odd play of miscues.

Carter seems to gather his wits about him and rattles of what sounds like the remains of some lecture he has memorized. "The pain has increased by several degrees,...I'm sure if you could assess my abdomen, there would be regard bounding." His voice catches for a second, the older doctor stares at him hanging on to every word, as I can tell he is diagnosing the trauma.

"Where is the beam located?" Carter asks, his voice hoarse.

Benton carefully crawls closer, he can't stand up in the limited space, but he traces his fingers along Carter's side and back, careful where he touches.

"Its right above the fourth intercostals anteriorly and seventh posteriorly," the surgeon replies.

The younger man gulps at the air around him as it hitches in his throat, he coughs involutedly, and he cries out. "Diaphragm injury..." his sentence is cut off by another groan.

"Help him!" I scream, I don't care anymore, this is tearing me apart.

"Shhhhhs, man, its okay." Benton seems beside himself, unable to do anything. He can't seem to channel his energy. I can tell he is used to getting things done his way, a control freak.

My prone rescuer seems to be unable to keep his misery at bay, he starts to fidget, and Benton places his hands over his body.

"Stop it Carter, quit moving," he tells him, annoyed.

"I want to free my arm. I can't stand the numb feeling of it being trapped under me." He beseeches as he tries vainly to pull it out from beneath him.

Benton holds him still, "Carter, I said stop moving," this time his voice is that of a command. "You move anything, it will tear open that wound even more, or it could further injure other organs."

The black doctor is scared now and he easily overpowers his friend. I can hear Carter sobbing quietly, but he can't seem to hide what I am sure he perceives to be shame or weakness.

Benton looks up to the ceiling, he doesn't react. I think if he could he would scramble far away as possible. Carter is clearly loosing his grasp on his emotions, as he continues to cry.

"Dr. Benton?" He whispers, his voice so soft and faint.

The other doctor leans down to the ground, his ear to his friend's face. I try to stretch, but I can't move closer. It doesn't matter; in such a confined space I can hear what is said.

"What is it man?" Benton's forehead rests on Carter's.

"If...if I make it to the OR...I don't want a thoracotomy." He gasps, "Please, don't crack open my chest," he pleads.

I think I see Benton's façade shatter. His arms tremble and he wraps them around Carter's neck. He rubs his hair and kisses the side of the younger man's head. He whispers encouragements, and niceties that I can't make out. I feel like a voyeur, spying on a very private moment. I think I can make out the promise that the surgeon is going to take care of him.



Part 3
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