life with more cowbell

The digital alarm gives off its high-pitched buzz five minutes after the old-fashioned wind-up clock. Dana sleepily slaps the digital off, her hand coming away wet and gooey. The remains of what used to be a large fruit fly stain her right hand.

“AAAHHH!”

Springing into an upright position, fully awake now, she gropes for a Kleenex from the bedside table, knocking her black, wire frame reading glasses to the floor and coming dangerously close to toppling the slender, black halogen reading lamp. The Kleenex box is empty.

“Jeeezus!”

Leaping from the bed to the bathroom, almost tripping over the lounging black cat, the old clock still ringing, she grabs the soap, turns on both taps at the sink and thrusts her hand under, lathering profusely.

“Shit!”

The water too hot, she switches to cold, soothing her scalded index finger, her quickened breathing returning to normal.

After feeding Jamie, a 3k speed walk, shower and breakfast of strawberry yogurt and orange juice, she dials her landlord’s number. Answering machine. Is this guy ever home?

“Hi, Sam, this is Dana, following up on my two previous calls. I really, really need you to fix the screen on the bedroom window. I’ve had nine – no, ten, bugs get in so far and it’s making me crazy. Call me tonight. Please!”

Dana heads out to her second-hand, somewhat faded, metallic blue Hyundai hatchback. The windshield is covered in tiny dead bugs – and, of course, it’s mostly the driver’s side. Grimacing, she turns on the ignition and hits the spray control and wipers. The multiple bug splats become a big bug smear. Making a face, she backs out of the driveway and heads for work.

The Emergency Room at St. Agnes’s is already abuzz at 6:55 a.m. as Dana arrives, checking in at the desk to see what they’ve got.

“Your first customer’s in number two, ready and waiting,” Ramona seems just a little too cheerful as she says this, handing over the chart. “The friend who brought him is in there with him.”

Dana shakes her head quizzically and begins a brisk walk to examination area two. The smell of stale alcohol and fresh vomit hit her before she even draws back the curtain.

“Hey! You the doc?!” shouts the young man on the gurney. “Am I gonna hafta take this gown thing off?” He attempts a chuckle but a bile-coated burp stops him.

Patient: Brad Davis, aged nineteen. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, gazing at Dana in a bleary-eyed attempt to focus. His deep purple university sweat shirt, lying in a rumpled pile with a pair of jeans on the chair beside him, is stained with beer, vomit and what appears to be salsa. Great. Barfy Jock Man. Dana looks at his chart and gets right to the point.

“I’m Dr. O’Connell. So, Mr. Davis, how much did you have to drink last night?” Pupils dilated…

“Yeah, I’m drunk, if that’s what you’re getting at. I had a few beers last night. But it was a very special occasion. Me and three other guys are new on the team, see, and we got initiated…”

Dana turns to Davis’s friend. “How much did he drink?”

“He had about fifteen beers. He’s been puking, I mean, throwing up a lot.”

Blood pressure elevated. “Anything else? Any other alcohol or drugs?”

“No. Just the beer.”

“Brad, I’m going to put you on an I.V. to rehydrate you and some Gravol to settle your stomach.”

“Yeah. I don’t feel so good.”

Dana instructs nurse Joseph to start a normal saline I.V. with Gravol.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Mike asks, nervous and stressed about both his friend’s well-being, plus the shit they’re both going to get from Coach for missing practice this morning.

“He’ll be fine. He just needs to sober up and get some fluids into him. He should be able to go home in a few hours. You can sit in the waiting room, down the hall, to your right.”

“When is she gonna look at my ears?!” Davis’s booming voice startles Dana to attention.

“Your ears? What’s wrong with your ears?” Getting no response from Davis, Dana turns to Mike.

“You better see for yourself. I still don’t believe it,” Mike says, exiting to the waiting room as Joseph enters to set up the I.V. and Gravol chaser.

Dana takes out her scope and examines Davis’s left ear. “Looks like you’ve got something lodged in your ear pretty good here.” Did it just move? She moves to get the instrument tray off a nearby shelf.

“Yeah, the other one’s the same. It was for initiation, see. For the rugby team. We had a choice between dressin’ up like a girl to go to the Fall dance or puttin’ roaches in our ears. The other guys dressed up…”

Joseph stops and looks, wide-eyed, at Dana. Anxiety begins to well in Dana’s stomach. Hoping she hasn’t broken out in a cold sweat, and trying to maintain her professional composure, she looks in the ear again. Christ! It’s still alive! Don’t panic, whatever you do. Forceps, get the forceps. She gloves herself, picks up the forceps, fumbles for the bottle of baby oil in Joseph’s hand and takes a deep breath. She begins to feel a small wave of nausea wash over her. Joseph is called to another examining room.

“I’m gonna need you to hold real still for me now. Okay? Just tilt your head.”

The baby oil causes the creature to stir. Christ. Noticing that her hands are shaking a little, Dana tries to concentrate on her Hippocratic oath. She focuses down the dark tunnel of Davis’s ear canal, now blocked by the dark brown insect. Carefully maneuvering the forceps, Dana is able to grip the bug firmly. Slowly and smoothly, she slides it out of the ear canal. A tiny sigh sound accompanies the removal of the insect plug as the small vacuum it had created is released. It’s almost like the ear is sighing with relief. Now. What do I do with it? The medium-sized roach is shiny with baby oil, gripped in the fingers of the forceps. The tiny legs are still moving. Jesus. Joseph is back.

 “Need some help?” He grins sheepishly, feeling guilty at seeing her turning a green-ish shade of pale.

“Grab me a specimen jar, will you?” She grimaces, holding the forceps at full arm’s length. Between the smell of booze and vomit and the writhing insect, she feels the nausea grow. She gulps back the urge to be sick and returns her focus to her patient. “Okay, Davis. One down, one to go.”

“Yeah. Doc, one. Roaches, zero.” He belly laughs with boozy, barf breath.

“Right. Okay, tilt your head again. Same drill on the other side.”

Joseph stands by with the jar, awaiting the next and final occupant. Baby oil. Forceps.

“Oww! Stop! It hurts!”

Apparently, this cockroach is comfortable right where it is. Shit.

“Brad, I’m going to flush your ear with some water. Joseph, could you grab me a Gravol tablet and a glass of water?”

“Not for Mr. Davis, I take it.”

She gives him a look that says: Seriously?

“Okey dokey.” Joseph is off in a flash.

The irrigation is unsuccessful and the patient, who is getting increasingly agitated, is still too drunk to sedate safely. And Dana’s Gravol hasn’t quite kicked in yet.

“Who else is in today?”

“Smythe and Brewer.”

A grumpy old fart and the biggest jerk of a senior intern in the entire hospital. Great. But Joseph is already on his way to the front. Dana checks the status of the roach. It hasn’t budged.

“What’s up, Junior? Leave your stethoscope at home?”

“You missed your calling, Brewer.” As village idiot. “I’ve got a patient with a cockroach stuck in his ear. Forceps and baby oil didn’t work. Irrigation with water didn’t work. Any ideas?”

For a moment, Brewer is actually at a loss for words. “Let’s try the irrigation again with a ten percent Hydrogen Peroxide solution. Allow me.”                              

No go. The roach doesn’t budge.

“Am I gonna hafta keep this thing in here for the rest of my life?” whines the young patient, starting to get too sober for his own good.

“No. No you won’t, uh, Brad. It’s just being a little stubborn, that’s all.”

Even “know-it-all” Brewer doesn’t know what to do with this guy.

“I’m gonna call E.N.T.,” Dana decides out loud. Don’t barf in front of Brewer, whatever you do.

Dana calls Dr. James Richards and apprizes him of the situation.

“This, I’ve got to see. I’m coming down,” is his response.

In a few minutes, a tall, sixty-something man with thinning, silver hair appears in E.R. He’s been an ear, nose and throat man for almost thirty years.

“Let’s see what we’ve got, boys and girls.” He peers down at the two younger doctors from above his black, thick-rimmed bifocals.

He examines the bizarre case in number two. “He’s still got too much hootch in him to sedate. Try a local just inside the ear canal. What he can’t feel won’t hurt him. If you still can’t get it, send him to E.N.T. and we’ll magnify and extract up there. You can take it from here.” Richards nods at the two younger doctors and makes his exit.

“Joseph, grab me three cc’s of Xylocaine.” Dana is getting increasingly anxious for all of this to be over with. “I think I can take it from here, Dr. Brewer. Thanks for your help.”

“I think I’ll stay, Dr. O’Connell. Things are under control out there right now.”

Dana forces a wry smile. You’re just loving this, aren’t you, you smug bastard? Joseph returns with the prescribed, hopeful, cure and the three return to their patient. Davis is tired and beginning to feel the onset of a major hangover. He looks at the trio in white lab coats with imploring hope.

“Joseph, stand by with the specimen jar. Okay, Davis, we’re gonna go after it again. I’m going to freeze the inside of your ear so it won’t hurt this time. Tilt your head and try to relax. We’ll get him this time.”

“I wanna go home, man,” Davis whines, tilting his head once more.

The sight of the bug still makes Dana feel queasy. Left hand on Davis’s head, she picks her spot for the injection and moves the needle slowly toward it. The intruder is disturbed.

“Oh, man! It moved! It moved! It’s gonna get into my brain!”

Davis’s sudden, jerky movement causes Dana to miss her mark. Instead of injecting the inner ear, the anesthetic liquid gets deployed onto the unwanted guest. Quickly grabbing the forceps, she goes for it. “Got him!” She frees the squirming insect and turns to Joseph, who holds the specimen jar out for her catch. “Damn!”

After what feels like a slow motion free fall, the oily wet roach escapes to the safety of the floor, making as hasty a retreat as it can under the circumstances. Brewer attempts to intercept and misses, redirecting the escapee toward Joseph. Joseph’s Crocs are no match for the growing speed of the fugitive. What appears to be a game of “roach hockey” begins between the two men. The roach makes a break for Cardiac I.C.U.

With cat-like agility, Dana pounces toward the creature and, with a menacing, teeth clenched grunt, brings her white, New Balance cross trainer down hard on top of it. She grinds the demon into the floor, listening to the crunching sound it makes as it perishes under her heel. She lifts her foot to examine the carcass of her enemy. Breathing heavily, she looks up at the three men with triumph in her eyes. They are entirely dumbfounded. She hadn’t noticed the small crowd of patients, visitors and hospital staff that had gathered to view the commotion. The silence is broken by applause. The applause becomes cheering.

Brewer grabs Dana’s right wrist and raises her arm. “Our winner and new champion: Dr. Dana ‘The Destroyer’ O’Connell!” Big cheers all around. Even Davis manages a hearty sigh of relief.

Dana returns her attention to her patient. She examines the evacuated ears. No damage done. His BP is settling down, he’s getting good hydration and his vomiting has stopped.

“We’ll keep you for another hour, then you can go home. But first, promise never to do this again, especially the booze. You’re lucky we didn’t have to put you on dialysis.”

“I promise. I’ll cool it with the booze. And no more roaches. Except for special occasions.” He giggles as maniacally as his exhausted body will let him.

“In that case, you can find yourself another doctor.”

“Hey, bud. How’s it goin’?” Mike peeks into the room.

“I’d say he’s feeling better.” Turning to Davis, she says, “And here’s a little souvenir of the experience.” She hands him the surviving cockroach, trapped in the plastic specimen jar.

“Cool!” Davis examines his multi-legged prisoner. He looks like a little boy admiring a newly acquired treasure. Davis and his friend begin a discussion about showing the rest of the team the ‘trophy’ at Al’s later that night.

“I’ll check on him in an hour,” she says to Joseph, tossing her gloves into the waste basket.              

“Got it.” Joseph moves to remove the empty Gravol bag from the I.V. line. “What are you gonna name him?” he asks Brad.

How about “Stan Brewer”? Dana smirks to herself as she leaves exam two.

As promised, Dana returns in an hour to check on him. “Okay, Davis. Lots of pop, water, juice for the next few days. No booze! Got it?” She punctuates her final order with an audible period on the patient’s chart.

“Got it, Doc.” His colour is much better now, eyes brighter and more alert.

“Good. Now, get outta here.”

Joseph checks on Dana on their way out of the room. “You okay?”

“Oh yeah. I’m real good.”

“I owe you lunch, Doc.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t think I’m gonna feel like lunch today anyway. I’ll take a rain cheque, though.”

“We’ve got no one waiting. Take a break.”

“Thanks, Jo Jo. I think I’ll do that.”

Joseph grimaces at the nickname as Dana heads back up front to deposit Davis’s file. That done, she hangs a left, making her way to the lounge to relax for a moment – God, I need a coffee – and perform the ugly task of scraping cockroach remains from the bottom of her shoe. Better make sure Sam got my message.

Photo by estableman on Pixabay.