Consequences

TW: suicide

“Multiple contusions, broken bones, third- degree burns- that doesn’t even begin to cover the trauma she faced, Smith. There was nothing more you could’ve done to save her. I’m sorry.” The trauma surgeon’s understanding brown eyes broke his generally inscrutable countenance to an empathetic one on his square face, as he offered some comfort to his colleague over losing his patient; something they were both used to, yet it hurt no less each successive time. The latter returned the gesture with a kind smile, as the former, Dr. Daniel Baker proceeded to check on his stable patient- a twenty-four-year-old gymnast, Susan, who had suffered to a lesser extent in the same car crash. Addlestone Street had always been considered a safe one, accidents were seldom heard. And yet, unimmune to fate’s cruellest tricks, a thirty-year-old woman and her presumably five-year-old daughter lost their life in what escalated from a minor car crash to an all- consuming explosion of the old engine of an old car.

“The radiant face of his five- year-old daughter beamed at him as she squealed with excitement about travelling in a train. He didn’t earn much, so trips like these were few and far between. While little Missy was packing her alarmingly bright pink bag of pink toys, he packed the trunk of his old car with the luggage. His beautiful wife Amy locked up the house and strapped their daughter to the car.”

In two weeks’ time, Susan Robinson made a full post- operative recovery under the excellent care of her heath care workers at Hartford Memorial Hospital and was ready to be discharged while continuing intense physical therapy in the comfort of her own home. The staff was delighted for the farewell; of course, they were concerned about her wellbeing, but they just didn’t have enough energy to listen to one more version of the accident’s story which Ms. Robinson was kind enough to share almost about a thousand times to signify how lucky she felt. As she hoped to regain her gymnastics agility in a few months’ time, the clandestine growth of a rogue strain of Pseudomonas bacteria right under the incision site on her left calf was a source of considerable consternation among her doctors. Unfortunately, her surgical complication would keep her in the hospital for a couple more days.

Dr. Baker ignored the page informing him that his stable patient had developed a post- op infection which was not rather uncommon in longer surgical procedures like hers, thus, being of less significance than his wife’s slightly premature labour pains as she was in the process of delivering their second child. He had been lucky to find love in his life twice, and he wasn’t going to miss any more precious moments with his new family. His official paternity leave was to begin soon, and he had successfully handed over his non-coincidental reduced patient load over to his colleagues.

“He loved taking unknown roads while driving mostly because it drove his wife to pick up friendly fights over her supposedly better geographical knowledge. Watching her formulate arguments against this new route to the train station through the Addlestone Street was pretty entertaining. Missy had taken it upon herself to provide music in the form of a nursery rhyme which she believed had only one line to be repeated over and over again.”

While a carefully prescribed dose of antibiotics should’ve subdued her infection, bringing her back on the right path of healing, the concentration of the bacteria in Susan’s body was high enough to cause sepsis. Eventually, in a few days, it led to a major above- knee amputation. The battle was between saving her leg where the infection was yet localised, or risk losing her life as the bacteria proliferated through the blood stream and announced at her vital organs. Yet, for the professional gymnast, losing a leg was almost as devastating as losing her life.

The hospital had been sued for negligence.

With her trauma surgeon allegedly warped up in personal affairs, the hospital staff not being able to detect the infection at a tameable concentration earlier and the low statistics of common post-op infections leading to major amputations, Susan Robinson had quite a strong case. She could sue the hospital into oblivion lest they settled with her for an amount which undoubtedly cast a gigantic dent in their funds; the latter had the popular vote. Dr. Baker was still unable to wrap his head around the fact that an unwitting error of his cost a woman her whole career and passion, but his guilt and remorse at a mistake he didn’t even remember making did little else than hurt him. Did he make a surgical error? His techniques after almost 10 years as a trauma surgeon were immaculate. It was true that his wife had experienced Braxton Hicks pseudo contractions on that day, but he wouldn’t have ever let personal feelings interfere with his work. This could be substantiated by his skilful performance even after some pretty traumatic events he’d faced in his life.

“A truck came out of nowhere from one of the street’s tributaries. In a flash, his whole world turned.

He woke up two days later on a comfortable bed, clad in the hospital garb. He could see figures of people hovering over him, checking machines around him and flashing lights into his eyes. He drifted off again.

A few hours later, his eyes fluttered open again and his lips instinctively began muttering his wife’s name. It was broken to him that they were in a horrible accident, and the doctors were unable to save his family.

The truck driver had escaped, and the police were onto him.”

The janitor looked at the gun before his eyes. It had been seven years, but those wounds were still raw. He could still see his happy little family, laughing and playing. None of his actions had ever amounted to justify a loss this severe, and yet he was burdened with it. A presumably drunk truck driver and preoccupied doctors who, he reckoned, lived in their heads more often than not, had taken everything from him.

“Consequences.” His gruff, pained voice now addressed the emptied syringe which was earlier filled with a lethal dose of Pseudomonas he’d been able to steal from Dr. Roy’s pneumonia study. “They pull out miracles every single day, but when it came to my family, there was nothing they could do! And that lucky woman; lucky she murdered two people and lived long enough to brag about her life, eh?” He took a deep breath and pointed the gun to his temple.

“Amy was tearing the last few pages of ‘Charlotte’s Web’ and ‘The Velveteen Rabbit’, both of which had become a part of Missy’s collection of bedtime stories. She was too young to learn about death and disease, and they were going to shelter her from the very existence of pain for as long as they could. She didn’t need to know that there existed a possibility where she might not be able to be with someone she loves, forever.”

She spent the last seven years without her dad. Not anymore.

“Consequences.” He said one final time.

The deafening gunshot and recoil were followed by a peaceful whiteness.

He could see them again.