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Voodoo Mindscape: Doctor’s Disorders
With every palm tree they passed, the moon that rested in the sky strobed a soft lunar light across her crystal blue eyes, as she stared out through the speeding car’s window. “Dr. Hawthorn?” she asked.
“Yes Mrs. Hawthorn?” her driver replied with a boyish grin.
“How do you feel about having a baby some day?”
With his left hand on the wheel he glanced over at her with a smile, placed his right hand on her knee and said, “How about we talk about it in front of a warm fire and over a bottle of champagne when we get home?” He then turned his focus back to the road ahead just in time to be blinded by the blazing headlights of a swerving car from oncoming traffic. In the blink of an eye, the newly married couple’s car collided head-on with the oncoming motorist in a thunderous crash. Debris was thrown high into the air before falling back to the ground through a large plume of smoke, covering the fire illuminated section of Highway 66.
The Hawthorns were married for only three months before the fateful night of their horrible accident and were on their way home from a party in the young doctor’s honor. Dr. Hawthorn was a surgical prodigy and had just received the prestigious award of “Surgeon of the Year” at Kensington Hospital, where he spent most of his time selflessly working his agile fingers to the bone. No patient’s problems were ever too small and none too large for him to explore. He made everyone feel like they were his number one priority; at least he did before the night of the accident.
As his eyes slowly opened, they burned from a small luminescent glare in the corner of the room, like that of a newborn seeing light for the very first time. After hearing the sound of a phlegm laden cough, an old gravelly voice said, “Well hello Dr. Hawthorn. I had often wondered if you would ever wake up. May I call you Daniel?”
“Yeah…sure” he replied, “Who are you? I…I can’t see you. Where am I?”
“My name is Kensington, Howard Kensington. I own the hospital that you used to work for, well…I paid for its construction anyway”, said the old man as he slowly rolled his squeaky wheelchair into view. “You are at my estate.”
“Why am I here?” Daniel asked. “What happened?”
Coughing again and into a yellowed handkerchief, the old man replied, “You had a terrible auto accident and have been comatose for the better part of 11 years. The hospital needed the room for patients with a higher survival rate, so I offered my estate as place to take care of you…a place to keep you alive”
“So, so I’m going to be ok?” Daniel asked.
“Well besides a serious case of muscular atrophy, you’re as fit as a fiddle”.
As pictures of his past randomly entered Daniel’s mind, things started to take on a state of clarity. “I remember a party, driving home with my wife…my wife…where is my wife?” he exclaimed.
“Oh, you will see her soon. This I promise you. Now please, try and relax”. With every ounce of his energy, Daniel tried futilely to sit himself up in his bed. “Jonathan!” yelled the old man, “I think our patient requires a sedative. Please come quickly”.
A much younger man entered the dimly lit room, and the elder’s crackling cough echoed like the sound of a shotgun as he wheeled himself away. “Hey Doc, my name’s John. The old man is my uncle. Maybe you remember me; I was an intern at Kensington Hospital back when you were throwing around the old scalpel. I have to say Doc, you inspired the hell out of me. I studied my ass off and am now quite the surgeon myself, but I’m sure I could still learn a few tricks from an old pro like you.”
“Listen,” said Daniel, “You have to help me. I need a phone…I need to talk to my wife.”
“Shhhhhh” said Jonathan, “What you need to do is relax. This will help.” Jonathan inserted a needle into Daniel’s intravenous tube. Daniel felt his eyes getting heavier and heavier as he slowly drifted off into a state of peaceful unconsciousness.
Upon Daniel’s next awakening, he found himself covered in hospital restraints, including one strapped across his forehead, and he began to panic. “Hey! Why am I tied down? HELP! Somebody…”
Once again the old man rolled himself into Daniel’s line of site, and through a triangular shaped oxygen mask he said, “It’s OK, Daniel. We had to use the restraints. Your muscles were spasming as you slept, so Jonathan tied you down for your own safety. Just take some deep breaths…everything is fine.”
“Fine?” Daniel exclaimed in a hazy fit of rage, “Nothing is fine! I demand that you unstrap me, and I demand to see my wife!”
The old man then suddenly began to cough uncontrollably. He lifted his oxygen mask from his face, pulled out his handkerchief, and after a long and wheezy inhale, he filled it with a repugnant mixture of blood and phlegm. He then pulled his mask back over his mouth and said, “Look Daniel, I have spent a lot of time and money on making sure that you stayed alive all these years, so before you see your wife, we are going to have to take care of one more thing, and I’m going to need your help”. “Jonathan!” the old man exclaimed, “Please come in here and help our friend get ready for the surgery”.
With a puzzled look on his face, Daniel asked “Surgery? How in the hell am I supposed to do surgery? I can barely move my arms.” The old man started to wheel himself away as Daniel’s voice got louder and louder. “I’m talking to you old man…how in God’s name am I supposed to help you?”
With syringe in hand, Jonathan entered the room. “Daniel, settle down. Nobody is expecting you to perform surgery in your current state; I’ll be taking care of that.”
Confused, Daniel asked “Then what is your uncle talking about? I don’t understand.”
Jonathan looked at Daniel with a consoling glare, “Oh, he didn’t tell you? I’m sorry…we need to get you ready for a dual lung transplant surgery.”
“But your uncle told me I was fine, ‘Fit as a fiddle,’ were his exact words. Why do I need a dual lung transplant? None of this makes any fucking sense.”
“Daniel, Daniel” Jonathan replied while inserting the needle and slowly shaking his head from side to side, “You’re not the one who needs the lung transplants…he is.”
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