Thoughts
By Elena
spunkie_2003@yahoo.com

Plotline: An opinion on what could/would/should be going on in the mind of Dr. John Truman Carter III.

I never really noticed how clean hospitals were until now. I've worked in one for 6 years and was constantly at them when my brother was sick, but I never really thought about it. The changing gloves and gowns for every trauma became routine. Scrubbing in before surgery was routine. I guess I just lost sight of the fact that it all had a purpose. To be clean. The floors are immaculate. It all smells like rubbing alcohol or something like that. Lying here, you really start to think about stupid things like cleanliness. Because if you don't, you start to think about the things that get to you. It's been 5 days since I was stabbed. Since Lucy was stabbed. Since Lucy died. I sit here, wondering if it's all my fault. Why did I blow her off? I know she isn't my med student and that she was perfectly capable, but she wanted to be sure. I had Abby and my own patients, but I could have made time, right? I could have stayed late or missed the party. But I didn't. And no matter what, that's something I'll have to live with the rest of my life.

When I went to look for Lucy, I wasn't angry. I was going to tell her to suture up the leg lac and I'd get the patient to psych myself. That would have pissed her off worse, my thinking that she was incapable of getting a consult. I walked into the room, feeling good. It was dark, and I began to wonder where Lucy had gone, but I saw the valentine. I read it, thinking of Yosh's good spirit and how it wasn't all that bad being single on Valentine's Day.

A sharp pain hit my back, and I wondered where the back pain was coming from. My mind flashed with diagnoses for stabbing pains in the left flank. My hand felt slick, and it felt like I was holding it up against a faucet. Scared, I brought it up to my face. I saw the blood, and my mind went blank. Nothing seemed to register. All I could feel was the pain. I vaguely remember stumbling and tried to call for help, then I crashed to the ground. I knew that the music was so loud that no one heard me, and that if I wanted to get help, I'd have to get up. My arms seemed to have the consistency of jelly. Once again, I hit the ground, slightly smacking my head. 'I'm screwed' I thought. Then I saw Lucy.

Blood was all over the place. She was breathing heavily. She looked me right in the eye. I could tell that she was feeling everything that I was feeling. I wanted to tell her I was sorry. I wanted to tell her that I'd get help. I wanted to tell her that everything would be ok. As I began to formulate my words, I was overcome with dizziness and passed out.

I remember seeing a light, and I jerked my head away involuntarily. I heard someone call me John. I thought about how weird that was. Having a first name. I've been Carter for so long. I looked up and saw the trauma room ceiling. Panic overcame me, and I struggled to regain composure. I recognized the voice as Deb's, and waited for her to answer me. I told her where it hurt, so she could help make a diagnosis. Then she told me I had been stabbed. It made sense, and I remembered Lucy. The blood. Her face. A sharp pain went through me and I saw Benton. He was working on a girl. Abby told me it was Lucy, and that she was alive. Tears welled in my eyes. It hurt so bad. Why did it happen? There was too much. Then I saw Deb's face as she called for Dr. Kovac to look at something. There was something really wrong with me. Her face was filled with fear and worry. The dizziness returned, and this time I struggled to stay awake. I had to know what was wrong with me. Benton came over, yelling about my crit and BP. I heard "renal laceration" I thought about my kidney, which must have been where the knife hit. All of a sudden I was being wheeled to the OR. People were telling me to stay awake, but it hardly registered. I remember Mark and Elizabeth talking to Benton. I don't know what they said. Everything was really hazy. I hoped that Lucy was being taken up to the OR soon. That meant they could still save her. I felt myself drifting away, but Benton gently slapping my face brought me out of it.

"We'll do anything it takes, Carter. You're going to be just fine. Just hang on. Hang on, ok man?" I tried to nod. They must have been wheeling me in to the OR, because I started to hear things like, "I just heard," and "Is that really him right there?" They got me onto the table. I hated it, because I felt so helpless. The anesthesiologist was someone new that I didn't know. He said to calm down and take it easy. Soon after, Benton came in, and started asking about my crit and BP. They kept the conversation pretty quiet, and I became nervous. Then he ranted about not having type specific, until the nurse curtly mentioned that I was O negative. Dr. Anspaugh came in, asking how it happened. He told me to hang in. I was really nervous at that point, and asked how much blood they had to give me. 5 units is a lot of blood. I knew that it was bad, but I had to hear him say it. He wouldn't, and gave me some BS about my crit and renal laceration. Emotion flooded over me. This was Benton, the hard ass who never gave anyone the time of day. The one who was sensible and practical, was worried about me. I knew that with him performing my surgery that I wouldn't die. I was glad it was him, and I told him so. He told me not to worry, and then the darkness overcame me yet again.

It was dark the next time I woke up. Benton was at the edge of my bed, looking at my chart. He ran right over when he saw I was awake. He asked me how I was feeling (okay) and if I had any questions. I asked him different questions about what and where the knife hit. They saved my kidney. I had a colostomy. Everything else was ok. He wanted to go over motor skills. Lucy came back into my mind. I needed to know she was ok. So I asked him. He told me to lift my leg. Excruciating pain shot through me as realization began to sink in. He continued to test my motor skills, when the final thought hit me and the words came out of my mouth. "Lucy's dead, isn't she?" His silence spoke volumes. The guilt flooded over me. All the why's and what if's began to dance around in my head. Benton tried to say something, but no words came. He sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed my hair down, almost as if I was a child.

"It's not your fault, Carter. There was nothing you could have done." I didn't believe him, but nodded my head as the tears fell down. I told him I wanted to sleep. He said that he's get me a private room and to sleep well. I didn’t. I was restless and uneasy. I kept seeing Lucy's face. I kept thinking about how I didn't help her when she needed me. I kept wondering if I had paid just a little more attention, that Lucy and I would be back to our normal bickering on our day shift. Then I began to think about how weird it was to be a patient. Just to get my mind off it. And I thought about how clean everything was. If it wasn't for cleanliness, I don't know how I would have made it. It is the perfect off topic thing to use if you need to forget about something or someone. If I didn't try to forget, I'd go crazy.

The next two days or so were odd. Everyone I ever worked with seemed to come in and want to say something. It was nice seeing people. Mark and Elizabeth stopped in together, asking about how I was feeling. They kept the conversation really short, as if they didn't know what to say. I didn't complain. Malucci stopped in, telling me I'd be back at work before I knew it and that I'd owe him because he was covering most of my shifts. I laughed with him, just so he wouldn't think I was humorless. Luka came and said he was glad that I pulled through. He seemed shaken, and I assumed that was because I had been his patient. Abby sent flowers, apologizing for not visiting because she was still shaken from everything that had happened. Carol brought me a big bear with a band-aid. Kerry Weaver came up and sat beside my bed and apologized for the party, the music, the fact that it had taken so long, the fact that the police officer came in the middle of my trauma, and the fact that Lucy was gone. We had a long heart to heart talk about everything that had happened. And why it happened. I know that should have made me feel better, but it only made me feel worse. The only thing I could think of was Lucy, and the fact that I could have done something more to prevent her from dying. And the fact that I had turned into a total phony in front of everyone. I told them all I felt fine. No pain. In all actuality, I felt like crap. The pain was constant and intense. If I showed it to them, they all would have felt sorry for me. I didn’t want that. Lucy was the one that deserved their feelings of remorse. They shouldn't feel sorry for me. I didn't need it. I couldn't handle it.

My biggest test came when Gamma came to visit. I didn't think anyone from my family would come. That hurt almost as bad as the stab wounds. Since I didn't go into the family business and blew off family functions to work meant I didn't matter. I had learned to deal with it, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less. She asked how I was, and I answered her in a flat, toneless voice. I was fine. It didn't hurt. I'd be out of the hospital soon enough. I wouldn't need a place to stay. I was a grown man. I didn't need your help before. I don't need it now. My comments didn't break her cool demeanor like I had hoped they would. My parents were on a business trip. They send their best. Grandfather was busy with family matters, which I assumed were much more important than the welfare of his grandson. The room became really tense after that. I wondered where we had gone wrong over the years. I remembered all the good times. When I could have told her anything. When she helped me stand up to my family. It was too much. I couldn't handle any more emotions. I turned my wheelchair around so I could cry silently, be alone with my pain. I don't know how else to deal with it. Her hand came and rested on my shoulder. "No matter what you think, we still love you, dear." Before I turned around again, she was gone.

The rest of the day was routine. People came in, and I said I was fine. I went to physical therapy. I really hate it. I feel useless. I can't walk. My left leg drags, and it hurts so bad. I can't tell them that. Then they'd feel sorry.
I think about Lucy a lot when I'm at PT. Here I am complaining about not being able to walk, and she'll never get to do that again. Here I am, complaining about the pain. Lucy will never get to experience any of it again. I think about how young she was. I think about the fact that she is having a memorial service, and I can't go. I was her teacher, her resident, and I am sitting here feeling sorry for myself. I know I should be there. Benton said it's too soon for me to leave the hospital. If only he knew what it was like to sit in a room all day, staring at the same walls, smelling the same, sterile scent. Then I hate myself all over again, because the Lucy Knight that I knew would have given anything to stare at the walls and smell the hospital smell.

When it’s late at night, and I can't sleep (her face is always there when I do) I quietly wheel myself into the hallway, and roam the empty halls. It's my alone time. I mean, I am alone in my room a lot, but they know I am there, and can come in at any time. This is the only time I really can be by myself. After Gamma's visit, I felt it appropriate to wheel myself to the maternity ward. As I looked in at the sleeping infants, I began to wonder what my parents thought when they saw me for the first time. Did they think I was cute? Did they see me as a business heir? Did they see that they would ultimately abandon me in this desperate time of need? No. I can't start thinking like that now. Too late. I began to wonder what Lucy's mother thought when she first saw her. Did she think she was cute? Did she see her going to medical school? Did she ever imagine that her little daughter would meet an untimely death doing what she loved the most? I turn and wheel myself out of there as fast as I can, which is pretty damn slow. I push myself into a corner, and begin to sob. No one will know I am here, and no one will see me cry. That's the way it has to be, I keep telling myself. No one will know as long as you don't cry until you're alone. No one can ever know. They'll think I'm going into post-traumatic stress or something. Maybe I am. Maybe I should let them know that I am having problems with all of this. Instead, I wheel myself back to my room, and painfully lift myself back into bed to lay back and continue the stream of nightmares of Lucy, pale and bloody, begging me to save her. It's going to be a long night.

I was woken from my nightmare filled sleep by Benton. He brings me breakfast every morning, saying I'll get better faster if I eat real food. It's really odd, Benton suddenly becoming my best friend. I am really glad it happened and that we finally are able to talk like real people, but am filled with an overwhelming sense of grief. Would Lucy and I ever been able to be friends? Part of me desperately wants the answer; the other doesn't want to think about it anymore. Of course, the former tortures me endlessly, because I will never know. Benton sees me staring off into space, and lightly taps my shoulder to make sure I didn't go into a comatose state. I say I was thinking about how many hours I'll have to make up for my residency, and how my chance at chief resident is practically nonexistent now. He tells me not to think like that and begins to talk about a surgery done on Romano's dog. It gets my mind off of Lucy as I gladly join in. He doesn't know how grateful I am to him for coming in and talking to me as if nothing happened. Everyone else treats me like a china doll, and that one word will break me. They're scared of me, and I don't know why. They treat critically wounded people every day, yet they can't talk to me. I think it's because I am one of them, and that if it can happen to me, it can happen to them. That's why it's so important that they don't think I am in any pain. They need to think I am okay so they can get through it all right.

Benton is due in surgery and parts after giving me a pat on the back. A nurse comes to give me a dose of antibiotics to prevent infection in my various wounds. Another comes in to give me a sponge bath. I hate them worse than anything. The rag hurts really bad when it goes over the incision on my stomach and the cuts on my back. And she isn't that cute, either. Not cute like Lucy was. She was bunny cute, I guess. The rag going over my stomach brings me away from my Lucy thoughts, and I am glad that it did. She gets a new gown and new sweatpants and helps me gets dressed. It's really unnerving, and I feel like a helpless baby. She then removes the IV and helps me into the wheelchair. I thank her, and she leaves, in turn leaving me alone with my thoughts. I leaned my head back, as I remembered that Lucy's memorial service had been the night before. Everyone had gone. I needed to know what happened. I cursed myself for not convincing the doctors that I was well enough to go. I should have been there. There was no excuse. I should have been there.

Deb came in for her normal visit. We never really say much, and it's always slightly awkward. I can't look at her when she talks to me, because all I ever see is her face right before Benton told me that they had to get me to the OR. I've worked with her a while, and she is always so calm and so rational. The look on her face was pure, unadulterated fear, and it scared me. I try to make as little eye contact as possible. Today, she is going over my patient charts (which makes avoiding eye contact easier) and finishing up the paperwork that I can't do. I actually am physically able, but Weaver says that I'm not allowed. She went over them very professionally. I sat there, half paying attention, something bothering me. This time, I had enough guts to voice it, and asked if she was doing Lucy's charts as well. She stiffened a bit, and then said she told Weaver she didn't mind. Her reaction wasn't bad, and I asked about the memorial service. She said it was nice and a little weird. Weird? I guess going to a service to honor a dead medical student would be odd. I made myself push past the issue and ignore the sudden stabbing pains in my back. She came before I got my pain meds for the day, so it was hard to hide. Then she asked how I was. That's my favorite question, because the answer is on autopilot. A perfectly prepared response comes out every time and answers everything they want to know. I'm fine. People visit me. Even my family came. I'll be back; take up skydiving, all is well. The best part is, they always fall for it. She smiles and nods, and I tell her I need my rest. She starts to leave, and I turn my wheelchair and lower the wall I built to fool her. Unfortunately, she turned back around. My hand, curled in a fist, went in front of my face so she couldn't see it. She asks if I am all right, the worry in her voice making me remember her face yet again. I say I'm fine and thank her, praying that she leaves soon so I can be alone with my pain. Thankfully, she does, and I can feel the pain which Lucy never had a chance to.

The normal stream of doctors and nurses come in and out, and finally it's time for physical therapy. I hate the guy I have. He always wants me to take a break if I stumble and has no faith in me. He doesn't know who I am, and he doesn't care. All I want to do is spend the entire 45 minutes walking around, and all he wants to do is see me fall so he can get the chair and end the session early. At least that's what it feels like. I stumble a lot. It hurts a lot to put weight on the left side of my body. I just have to remind myself that this is a sort of penance for my sin. For leading Lucy to her death. I keep going and going like the Energizer Bunny, until I almost fall to the ground. My room is in sight, and all I want to do is get there. I snap at my physical therapist, because I just can't handle it anymore. Then I stop. It's Lucy, I think to myself. I blink and look closer. No. Even worse. It's Lucy's mother, and it's obvious she wants to speak to me. I gather all my courage and quickly build a facade so she won't think I am weak or anything. I stumble over to a few chairs that are aimlessly placed in the hallway, and we sit. The PT guy comes over again and parks the wheelchair. He says he'll be back in 10 minutes to get me back to my room. I nod abruptly and he goes.

"I'm Lucy's mother. I got a call saying that she was stabbed and I got here as fast as I could, but they told me she was gone when I arrived. I didn't know what to do, and I asked for you, because she had mentioned you before and it was the only name that I could really think of, and then they told me you were also attacked. I would have come to see you sooner, but I had so many things to comprehend and take care of and I forgot all about it until I realized you hadn't come the memorial service. It's obviously understandable, because I can see your having problems and I don't mean to interrupt but I just wanted to talk to someone. I think she said all of this in a minute and a half. I understood it all, hanging on to every word she uttered. I felt I owed this to her, the attention I never paid to her daughter. All of a sudden, she started talking about when Lucy first got a Fisher Price medical kit for Christmas, and how things went from there. By the time we got to San Francisco and how she really had wanted to go to Medical School there, I couldn't hold the wall any longer. I silently shifted my position, which she interpreted as me not wanting to listen anymore. I really did, however. It was comforting, knowing all these things. That it wasn't all my fault. If the med school in San Fran had accepted her. If she hadn't gotten the medical kit. I know that I am grasping at straws, but there has to be something that makes it not my fault. I assure her mother that I want her to continue, but she changes the subject. She starts to tell me that she wanted to thank me. Lucy respected me, and I must have taught her a lot. I tried to say that I wasn't the only one, and she said she knew that. But Lucy mentioned me. Me. She had all this admiration and completely hung on to every word I said, and I ignored her. Showed her absolutely zero respect. Why? This question was going to torture me. "She was better than I ever gave her credit for." I told her that. I had to. She had to know what I horrible teacher and person I was. She nodded, and then said something totally unexpected. She asked me what it felt like. She stared me in the eye, and asked me. How do I tell her it was the most horrible physical pain I have ever experienced? That I had never been more scared in my life? That I knew no one could hear me scream? That the moment I saw her daughter, I knew she was gone? I lied, and I hate myself for it. I told her it didn't hurt. No pain. Any one with common sense should know I was lying, but I told her it didn't hurt a bit. And she believed me. The guilt welled in my heart, and I tried to tell myself I had to, or else she would have had a nervous breakdown. Somehow, I wasn't convinced.

I sat in my room the rest of the day, trying to come to terms with what I had done. I couldn't justify it no matter what. I was on the verge of crying when Benton came in. Quickly I wiped my eyes so he wouldn't have a clue and smiled, asking him how he was. He said he was good, and asked if I felt up for a walk. I agreed, and he offered to push me around. I abruptly said no and proceeded to wheel myself out of the room. He started talking about the various surgeries he had done during the day, and said that Corday's mom and Greene's dad had got caught fooling around by Elizabeth that morning. I laughed for what felt like the first time in years. He also casually mentioned he had a date that night. I asked if it was Cleo, and he said they were going to the jazz club, where a good group was playing. I told him he was on schedule. He was. He always dates in the same order, and I find it amusing, and the perfect topic to get my mind off of Lucy. He asks me what I mean, and I started talking about his pattern. My line about the jazz club annoyed him, and I felt slightly guilty, but brushed it off. I wasn't going to ruin the only good mood I had been in since before the incident. He asked me when I lost the filter between my brain and mouth, and I had the guts to mention the OR. I paid for it, of course, because a second later the wall tumbled down. I crashed my chair into the side of the door, showing him all my inability and vulnerability. He tried to help me, and I eventually had to give in. He told me it was okay. But we both knew it wasn't. And that it would be a long time before it was okay again.

I was in bed, getting an extra dose of antibiotics due to the slight fever I had earlier. My computer was on my lap, and I typed loser over and over and over again, to try to make myself feel better. All of a sudden, there was a knock on the door, and Kerry Weaver walked in.

"I really need to talk to someone, and I have the feeling that you do too. I know that no matter what, you'll at least listen to me." I looked at her and nodded, closing my computer, wondering what on earth she wanted to say.

"Dr. DeRadd made us all come in and talk about what happened. He wanted us all to tell him what we thought when we found out, and why. Dave said that he didn't want to believe it, but that he couldn't shake the fact that he was working on a girl he had been trying to ask out. That someone he knew could have something happen to them like that. He didn't see you until you were out of the OR. Chen said that she didn't look at your face unless she had to, as if she was prolonging reality. She was worried out of her mind and was so afraid of doing something wrong. Luka said he was glad he was new and hadn't worked here that long, or else he would have gone totally insane. He also couldn't look at you directly, because it was easier to believe you were just a patient. He and Chen both agreed it was the hardest part when you woke up and realized what was going on, because when they heard your voice they knew it was real. Dave said he was glad Lucy was unconscious or else he would have lost it. Benton said he got the page and called, and hung up on Randi when she said Carter. He ran down instead of waiting for an elevator, and thought that it was some sick joke. He said it was a shock seeing you lying there, and that if he weren't a surgeon, he would have thrown up when he saw blood coming out of you. He said it was a lot easier taking care of Lucy because he hardly knew her. Greene said that it didn't hit until he saw them taking you up to surgery, and saw all the blood, and saw how frantic Benton was. Corday agreed with him, saying the moment she saw you was the moment she began to crumble. No one knew what to say about it or why it happened." I looked at her, and tears were in her eyes. I wanted to say something, but I was at a loss for words. She took a breath, and looked me in the eye.

"I don't know if anyone told you, but I found you there. I must have walked past the exam room 3 or 4 times without noticing anything out of the ordinary. I opened the door, and saw the trail of blood first. My eyes followed it until I saw you lying motionless, blood pouring out of your back. I screamed, and Chen heard me. I was getting a pulse when I saw Lucy. I told Chen to handle you as I pushed the emergency call button and ran to Lucy. Everyone came after that, no one knew exactly what to do. Haleh ran to call police, and we got Lucy on a backboard that was in the exam room. Lydia ran and got you a gurney. The entire time I was in a parallel universe. I don't remember what I said or exactly how I treated her. I know I did everything I could. I know that I couldn't have handled your case. I would have flipped. I know you so well. Anyways, we had a long talk about blame. Who to blame, why they are to blame. And I figured out something that you should know."

I could hardly believe what she was saying, and managed to choke out "What."

"It's not your fault, John. It is not your fault." And suddenly, I didn't care if the wall stayed up or not. I let my tears flow, and it felt okay.

"It's not your fault, John. It is not your fault."