Enid
Code Blue!
I was looking forward to getting off work a bit early and possibly picking up a six pack on the way home. I was undecided, but probably would, knowing me. The store was slow, so I told my co-worker, Katie, that I was going to head out back for a smoke break. When I stepped out into the ally I texted my girlfriend, Isabella (“Izzy”) Rodriguez and told her I’d be home around 5:00 PM, instead of the usual 6:00 PM.
“I’ll stop and pick up some dinner somewhere,” I texted. “Want tacos or burgers?”
She didn’t reply for a while so I knew she hadn’t made it home yet. When she did text, she sent one simple word, “Driving.” Tacos it is, then, I thought. In fact, right around that moment I was hungry. I could destroy some tacos.
I went back to my duties and told Katie I’d go restock the cooler. That would be one less thing that she had to do later. It’s hard doing things like that when you’ve got a constant flow of customers needing their cigarettes and gasoline. We also have a small kitchenette where we make chili dogs, burritos, fried chicken, and tater-logs. Trying to juggle cooking and customer service is annoying, especially when you’re working by yourself.
I got the sodas and the beer restocked and it was just after four o’clock. My last act of the work day would be to become a customer. I clocked out and bought my six-pack.
I got into my truck, drove off the parking lot onto Eighth Street, and made my way to the exit. I usually get off work when everyone else does, and traffic is fierce. Getting off early gives me a bit of reprieve: There isn’t that much traffic.
I pulled off of the exit onto the loop and made my way toward Eleanor Street, where I bought street tacos, and then I headed toward Spur Street where our apartment is located. For some reason, hunger I guess, I was thinking about pasta. I decided to go out the next day and pick up some penne pasta, some four-cheese Italian sauce, and some kind of herbal cheese blend to sprinkle on top. Tacos tonight: Italian tomorrow night.
As I neared our street, my phone rang and I immediately knew something was wrong. It was Maria, Izzy’s mom. Maria doesn’t like Mario (yours truly) and she doesn’t call Mario unless she’s calling him a name. I knew I had to answer the call.
It was the worst news I had ever heard and my heart dropped down into my stomach. On her way home from work, Izzy’s car was struck by a drunk driver. They called it being “T-boned,” because the car hit head on, on the driver’s side. Emergency medical services were taking her to the hospital at that very moment, after the fire department had physically cut her out of her car.
I sped to the hospital, probably breaking every traffic law known to man, arrived, and finally found a spot in the parking garage. I bolted inside. I met Maria and Hector (Maria’s boyfriend) on the fifth floor in the waiting room. Izzy was in surgery and the doctors had already advised Maria that it was bad: Very bad.
About six hours later, the doctor appeared in the waiting room to give us an update on Izzy’s status. She had two broken legs and two broken arms. She was beat up from when the air bag deployed, but she had no internal injuries to the heart, lungs, or other vital organs. That was the good news. There was also bad news. She had been hit so hard that she was suffering from cerebral edema, or swelling of the brain, and it was severe. At the moment she was in an induced coma, was intubated, and it was possible that she might not survive. If she makes it the next 12 hours, the doctor said, she may yet recover.
I knew about cerebral edema from watching documentaries and reading about the dangers of Mt. Everest. At one time I had foolishly entertained the idea of attempting to climb that mountain. Fortunately, I suppose, I have always been very close to being indigent, so I never had an extra 60k to spend on getting to Nepal. At any rate, I was aware that Izzy was in great danger.
I, or rather we, settled into the waiting room where I made friends with the coffee pot. By this time Maria’s sister—Izzy’s aunt—and some of Izzy’s cousins had arrived. We all waited together for any news, whether it be good news or bad news.
The next morning Izzy was still unconscious but, thankfully, alive. We all decided to go to the hospital cafeteria to eat breakfast, but I figured someone needed to remain in the waiting room. I stayed behind.
When the family returned from their meal, it was my turn to go. I made my way to the elevator and pressed the button. The doors opened and down I went. The breakfast food was simply that: Breakfast food. It was good enough for me. I ate quickly and headed back up.
When I walked into the elevator, a pretty red-haired lady came in behind me, sort of limping, and stood against the back wall. We acknowledged one another with a smile, and I noticed that she was wearing a prosthetic device, a leg.
“How are you doing today?” I asked.
“Not too bad at all. Actually, I haven’t felt this good in a while now. I think it’s going to be a good day. And how about yourself?” she answered, cheerfully.
“Not too good,” I admitted. I gave her a brief report of what happened to Izzy.
“Oh no,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t be offended, but I will pray for her.”
“Not offended at all,” I replied. I actually was thankful.
The elevator arrived at the fifth floor and I told my new friend that this was the intensive care unit. It was my stop. She smiled and nodded.
“I hope you have a good day,” she called out, as the doors closed. She was gone before I could reply.
Around nine in the morning on that same day we received our miracle: Izzy was trying to breath on her own. Some doctors and nurses came in and ran us out, and they started working with her. About two hours later she was fully awake, and she managed to smile and squeeze Maria’s hand. She was going to make it.
At noon we repeated our cafeteria ritual, and I went to lunch after everyone else had returned. Coincidentally, my red-headed friend followed me into the elevator again. We nodded our greetings.
“I guess you were praying,” I said. “My girlfriend woke up this morning. Looks like she’s going to get out of here eventually.”
“I’m so happy for you!” she said.
“By the way,” I said, “I’m Mario.”
“I’m Enid,” she said.
“I was going to say something corny like ‘we’ve got to stop meeting like this.’ Instead, I’ll just ask you how you’re doing today?”
She laughed at my lame joke. “Like I hoped, it’s going to be a good day today,” said Enid.
“Well, here’s my floor,” I said. “Have a good one!”
“You too,” she replied.
I spent much of the day at Izzy’s bedside. I was ready to take care of her, but she spent all of her time sleeping. Her body was trying to heal. The chair I was sitting in was uncomfortable and I had to strain my neck to see the small TV that was mounted on the wall, but it was a small price to pay.
The nurses wouldn’t allow more than one person in the room at a time, so Izzy’s mom and I swapped out a lot. Aunt Elena came in a few times, and a cousin or two came in when they could. Occasionally we’d go to the waiting room and get coffee, but someone was always at Izzy’s side.
I was glad that my extended family was so large. My boss, Manuel, had been kind enough to allow me to be absent for as long as I needed to be, but money doesn’t grow on trees and eventually I was going to have to go back to work. That large family would be there to take care of Izzy so, like I said, I was glad to have them through this ordeal.
At 5:30 PM everyone had returned from the cafeteria and, as was my custom, I went to get my dinner. Hospital Salisbury steak isn’t the tastiest dish in the world, but it’s quite good if your stomach is already growling. It was far better than the alternate dish they served—liver and onions. Ugh.
When I finished my dinner, I headed back up to the ICU, and Enid once again followed me into the elevator. She stood out from everyone else with the prosthesis and noticeable limp. She also stood out with an elegant near-floor-length blue dress that she had been wearing all day.
“Now I know you’re following me,” I laughed, and she did too.
“Well,” she said. “I guess I can’t resist your company.” We laughed again.
“Everything okay with you?” I asked her.
“Oh my, yes, all is well.” She smiled.
The elevator went up to the fifth floor and the doors opened. At the same time a robotic voice began to speak on the hospital’s intercom system: CODE BLUE: 554. CODE BLUE: 554.
CODE BLUE: 554!
I just stood where I was, stunned for a moment. Enid’s head was tilted sideways, as though she was trying to figure out what was happening.
“What is that?” She asked.
“It’s a code blue for room 554,” I stammered. “It often means that someone is about to pass away. May God bless them.”
I stepped out of the elevator and the door began to shut. “Thank you, Mario,” said Enid.
Being nosy I slowly made my way closer to room 554. Hospital staff had surrounded a bed, but whoever was there had obviously passed away. That could have been Izzy’s fate, I thought. I sadly looked at the figure in the bed and my mouth fell open.
The deceased person was a woman with beautiful red hair. She had a prosthetic leg. The pretty blue dress was draped over a chair. It was Enid.
The End.
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