Believe Your Lady

James Dag Flood is a Registered Nurse with twenty years’ experience at the bedside among the sick and dying. The nurse remains on duty despite “burn out” – about which he’ll tell you: “don’t believe in burn out, don’t believe in cures. I’ve met Jesus Christ and believe in healing. Amen.”

Flood maintained a steady gaze at his eldest child's check for Two-hundred and pondered the consequence of cashing it. The nurse had tonight off after six straight. The clock on his bedroom radio read 12:08 when he awoke after four hours of disrupted sleep, including numerous dreams about the local racetrack, which was an easy twenty minute drive from the house; post time for the thoroughbred simulcast from Liberty Park to Casino Downs was 12:30.

Attached to the check, which was a birthday gift from Jim’s sister Doris for Junior's 15th birthday, was a note: "CASH THIS DAD!"

Flood willingly resurrected “Jim F” who at his first Gamblers Anonymous meeting on December 21^st, 1987, when invited by moderator “Walt P” to speak: “You’ve seen how it works and we’d like you to go next and at least give the date of your last bet and your admission.”

“I’m Jim F, compulsive gambler. My last bet was yesterday.” Then the man stopped, unsure what to say next, he decided on the truth: “I’m a professional nurse who would prefer being a professional gambler, and I’m harming my patients. That’s it.

After filing “Jim F” in the far recesses of his brain, Flood angrily blamed his eldest child for what he was about to do: “his birthday’s tomorrow. Why didn't the kid have the consideration to cash his own check?"

“Dad” was tired after a grueling night, during which a young woman died; next came an upsetting quarrel with a physician about a stable person needing to be transferred to the ICU at two in the morning; this fifty-eight year old was the mother of the attending physician who answered Flood's call: "have my intern wait. I'll be right there."

The ultimate exchange became emotional… The experienced nurse: "she's okay Doctor Smith, no pain after two nitros and a stable blood pressure, one-fourteen over sixty. Do you really want her transferred at two in the morning?"

"SHE -HER? – This woman’s my mother. I drew her first set of labs and her orders are written. My Mom is to be ruled out for a myocardial infarction. You need to quit protesting and move Mom now – bed fourteen in the ICU!"

Flood understood his pending predicament. The bedraggled nurse was behind on mandated 24 hour chart checks for his other six patients – all newly-admitted on Evenings; after the Code 99 at midnight where Flood had witnessed a twenty-two year old with incurable leukemia “pass into the next world” – five words Flood employed whenever a patient’s dying overwhelmed him…

The man stared at the clock in Mrs. Smith's room that read 2:38 and was relentlessly counting valuable moments of his time; the experienced professional paused briefly to collect himself; he believed he could meet any flurry of unwelcome events: “things have a way of evening out and whatever happens, I know how to do my job.”

Flood was also aware he had reason to be grateful: Ellie Johns was the pulled-out charge nurse and Flood was certain of her: “the girl’s in love with me.” – Jim’s evidence: three weeks ago, under the mistletoe, at the hospital’s Christmas party, this married woman planted a sloppy kiss upon Jim’s eagerly welcoming lips…

Continuing to assess Mrs. Smith: asleep, breathing evenly, the nurse didn’t wish to disturb her, but gently touched the left shoulder: "Are you having any more pain dear lady?"

The doctor's mother smiled: "I’m okay."

Jim forced a smile: "I have orders to transfer you to the ICU. I'll take you over in your bed and give your new nurse report. I apologize for interfering with your sleep."

"You're kind Mr. Flood. I know from experience I'm not having a heart attack. I've already had two and – and I apologize for my son’s behavior. You didn’t deserve to hear that."

"Everything’s fine. Things are happening according to some plan and it's our duty to respond with piety, you know: ‘Thy will be done Lord.’ Your son acted from love. He’ll get no resentment from me."

Charge nurse Ellen Johns, informed our man that while he was away, she had taken report on a new patient in the ER, adding with tenderness: "Jim, I've started your chart checks, your AM labwork and other ordered tests have been requested. I've made a list for you. You can grab a coffee, have a seat, take a deep cleansing breath and finish the charts or do the admission – your call. Another night from Hell – eh?"

“I ought to do the admission. That way I'll know something about one of my folks in the morning.”

"Thomas Jablonski, fifty-six, never married. Being ruled out for an MI, but has no cardiac history. Stress test planned for the AM. He’ll need cardiac enzymes at three and I’ll draw them. Drinks alcohol and attends AA meetings, sometimes the same day. Only med is disulfiram, which he claims not to have taken for two weeks. Easy for a man of your experience."

Flood worked with alcoholics and drug addicts seven years… "Abandoned that impossible business years ago. Maybe you should do the admission? I’ve become cynical about addiction."

Mrs. Johns touched her muscular man’s left biceps: "be glad to do whatever you decide Jim."

"Thanks, maybe I ought to meet Mr. Jablonski. I'll draw his blood."

To Flood's surprise he was home and in his own bed before 8:30 – mind spinning, wondering what did not get done, the tired man took the bedroom phone off its receiver before drifting into some alien sleep. Flood's usual routine on nights off was not to sleep during the day, but he scrapped that plan for oblivion...

It was a quiet house on Thursday January 18th when Flood woke; his school-teacher wife and the couple’s five children were gone. After voiding, Flood hung up the phone and saw his son's birthday check. He had thirty minutes to drive to the bank and then head off to The Downs and Liberty's frequently advertised: “OUR AFTERNOONS OFFER YOU TEN EXCITING RACES, SUNDAY THROUGH SATURDAY, DARK ON TUESDAYS"

Jim recalled a promise to Gerri: "never gonna bet again!" His woman's Christmas present! A promise offered with no conviction, a promise the man would not be able to keep.

The fellow’s alter-ego “Jim F” had already joined Gamblers Anonymous twice in three years due to his troubled marriage, but at that moment Flood was tired, hungry, and stuck in an anxious state after "another night from Hell!"

Clumsily counting ten twenties received from a serious young cashier at the bank, Flood hurriedly entered his 1970 grey Toyota Corolla, but before he could close the door, the horn of his “Grey Ghost” blared uncontrollably against the cold wintery air and would not cease until an elderly gentleman disconnected the thing.

"How old's this junk?" Flood remembered his father and their terribly troubled relationship, which had come to an abrupt end when the man suffered a massive heart attack and fell dead, all alone in his kitchen, at the age of fifty-eight…

Jim stopped his revelry short and mumbled in the direction of his Good Samaritan: "sorry sir, sorry about my twenty year old jalopy. Thanks for stopping the noise. Gotta go – need to get some place in a hurry."

Inside the track’s front doors Flood recalled “Jim F” from the GA room at St. Peter’s Roman Catholic Church in Silver City, but escaped that sort of thinking as he dashed up to the third floor mezzanine where gambling men bought the daily racing form…

A jolly, chubby fellow addressed a familiar face: "that'll be two-fifty, my friend."

Flood handed the guy three ones “borrowed” from petty cash’s copper cup on the bedroom dresser, money which he and Gerri had both promised to use only for emergencies: "keep the change Sam." Flood had difficulty not smiling, realizing he was once again "The Big Shot" – a role he had been warned about in GA…

At a refreshment stand, Flood asked for the “Large Coffee” – and paid with a five; an almost-glamorous older woman teased: "dollar-fifty, especially made for you darling." As she was getting her man’s money, the big shot held up two hands: "Hey Geraldine, never accept the change from you."

"Well thank you, hope all your horses run first."

Flood laughed: "that wouldn't be much fun, but thanks anyway."

By the time he sat in his usual solitary seat facing Casino Downs's empty dirt track, Jim had already missed the first half of Liberty’s daily double; he remained stationary for the next hour, feeling guilty, hardly caring about races 2 and 3…

Eventually he made this plan… one of Jim’s favorite horses was running in the featured seventh race: “I’ll make one wager this afternoon. I’ll bet my son's two-hundred on BELIEVEMYLADY to show. Keep it simple stupid!” Jim would make this bet and then return home with the winnings…

BELIEVEMYLADY had won five straight. Flood considered the gelding: “a sure thing!” Had to finish first – second at the least!"

A fellow horse-player encountered at his second GA meeting, an old timer who called himself “Dick F” advised after listening to Jim’s therapy that night: “your wife said she and the kids would leave and you’d never see them again. Hard to take, but if ya want my advice, believe your lady.” On Monday night March 27^th, 1989 – “Jim F” was attentive to the wisdom within the exhortation: “believe your lady.”

On Thursday January 18^th, 1990 at 1:50 pm, prior to Liberty’s fourth race – GA and impossible promises had escaped Jim Flood.

Not wanting to interfere with “the plan” by betting any other horses, the tired man went outdoors and walked facing a strong winter wind, searching the vast parking area for an answer: “I ought to return home now and prepare supper.” Flood, however, could not surrender that easily. The compulsive man reentered the track when he felt it was time to bet BELIEVEMYLADY – mistakenly thinking: “it’ll be different this time.” But there was an extraordinary delay following the fifth race, due to a jockey’s objection against the winner and a steward’s inquiry as well…

Flood had noticed “8” in the sixth earlier that afternoon, a horse which had the leading trainer and the leading jockey at the current Liberty Meet, and might be the “perfect longshot” at 12-1 in the morning line – “perfect, except I never bet maidens!”

After the objection was disallowed, Flood noted “8” in the sixth was the 6-5 favorite early in the wagering cycle: “IS THIS MY SIGN?” Jim waited and watched, thought of dashing outside, back to his car, back home to finally eat something, and then prepare supper, maybe bake an apple pie…

A minute to post, nine three year olds in this “Maiden Special Weights” race approached the starting gate and “8” remained a 2-1 favorite and despite the times he had boasted: “I never bet maidens!” – Flood stormed a Fifty Dollar Window, excitedly exclaiming: “number eight, two-hundred to win!”

The pace of the seven furlong race after three-quarters of a mile was slow; with seventy yards remaining, Flood’s “8” held a ten length lead…

Jim calculated: “two-hundred to win, two-hundred to place on BELIEVEMYLADY! Two-hundred for my boy’s birthday.”

The unimaginable then happened – “8” broke down, the hurting horse had to be pulled up by its strong-armed jockey, who finally managed to ease his mount safely toward the outer rail, thereby preventing a dangerous pileup; Flood stared blankly at the monitor above his head as the other eight three year old maidens cautiously crossed the finish line. The humbled gambler sat there stunned, once again baffled by his reckless behavior…

The sixth race was declared “Official” – a 50 to 1 shot paid $105.60 to win…

With only three bucks from the copper cup remaining in his pocket the hapless man wagered: “1-4-2” in the tenth race Big Triple and then abandoned The Downs; he trudged outside to the hornless “Grey Ghost” and drove back to the bank, used his MAC to get $250…

On darkening farm roads driving home the depressed man repeatedly hit the disconnected horn before surrendering to bleakness: “I’ll take it to Randy in the morning. Hopefully it’ll be an easy fix.”

“Where were you?”

It was after five and dark when Geraldine’s husband gloomily entered the house with two pizzas and two Italian-style subs: “Junior asked me to cash his birthday check. Woke up too late to make supper, so I bought pizza and subs at Napoli’s.”

“Still the big shot?”

That night a renewed “Jim F” courageously admitted to his wife details from his afternoon while pleading: “Monday I’ll return to GA. I promise I’ll be a better father, a better husband. Gerri, please don’t take my children. Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving – you are! You’ll explain everything to the children in the morning. Then pack your suitcase and be out of this house before we get back from school. In case you weren’t aware – tomorrow is a school day!”

“Where will I go?”

“I’m generously allowing you to keep the Toyota. If we have a mild winter, maybe you can sleep in it. The kids and I will need the Voyager, there are more of us.” After pausing she added: “be sure to tell your boy how you stole his birthday money.”

The confused husband stammered: “you can’t do this to me Gerri – I won’t allow it!”

“Jim, I didn’t do anything to you – it’s you! Your lies! Your broken promises! And now, you’re stealing money from a child? And write a note allowing me to replace you on the children’s bank accounts – tonight!”

In the morning at the kitchen table, Flood wept telling his kids he was moving out: “I’m sorry for what I did. I lied when I told you the racetrack was fun. Jim, I’m sorry I bet your money on a horse – I’ll make it up to you –”

Mrs. Flood interrupted: “stop all of these nonsensical tears. It’s not the end of the world. Your father needs a break from us. We need a break from him. He’ll be able to visit you on his weekends off, if he wants such an arrangement.”

“Wow! – How generous of you Geraldine! Of course I’ll want to see my children. Here’s your letter to Hamilton Bank.” The husband was angry enough to yell more caustic things, but ended: “it’s getting late – you need to take the kids to school.” Then this forlorn father weakly attempted to hug each child, but Jim Junior pulled away: “I don’t need any hugs from you!”

Flood had made a sleeping arrangement for himself with his buddy Tom Jackson who worked in the hospital lab as a chemist; the two drinking buddies often had lunch together when Jim was on dayshift: “hey man, you can have my guest room – long as you need it bud!”

Jim didn’t tell his wife. Neither did he admit to her that he honestly believed the truth of her words that morning…

On his goodbye note he scribbled three words: “Love you, Dad.”

Once his family left, our devastated man got down on his knees and prayed: “I need courage Lord – help me, please, I’m begging you.”

During a tedious morning packing essentials, trying not to forget anything he might need, Flood contemplated calling off sick from work, maybe using the MAC card his wife forgot to ask him to return, and then going to the racetrack again – but some foreign, contrite fellow inside – a guy he once named “Jim F” – wouldn’t allow it…

James D. Flood, R.N. busied himself caring for patients on his final four nights as if renewed, and he deliberately avoided Ellie on the three nights she had been assigned charge nurse…

The young twenty-five year old Mrs. Johns wondered about what could be wrong, but she grudgingly gave her man his required space…

After two months in exile “Jim F” asked Geraldine when he might come home: “how about me returning? I’ve attended three, sometimes four GA meetings every week since leaving. I have not made a bet since January 18^th – that’s sixty days!”

Gerri encouraged Jim to keep going – but clearly stated she was not ready to have him back: “I can’t, maybe after six months, if you’re still in recovery, we might discuss your return.”

“Four months longer?”

Geraldine gently touched Jim’s shoulder, permitted his embrace before speaking her truth: “you’re forty-five; you have plenty of good years; I want you to be brave, honest about what you want for those years. Jim, I’m sorry saying this, but I’m not sure you’re the man for me. I’m forty-two and need more time away, to figure out what I might want. I’m giving you permission to spend more time with the children. Please call me in advance. James made the varsity baseball team and asked if you might come and see him play. He’s the shortstop, and Jim, he needs you. He wants you to be there – to be his Dad again.”

After the six months, “Jim F” returned to 142 Scott Circle. There would be “no sex!”

“What? – Why Gerri? Am I not a better person, a better father, a better husband? Why do you continue punishing me?”

“I’m not punishing you.” She stopped and then announced: “I’ve been dating. I’m not sure I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re certainly a better person. I too want to become the person I’m being called to be. I love you and always will. Be gentle. Be patient. Be brave Jim.”