nurses’ station. As if Doris knew she was coming, she raised a file— old and yellowed—in the air for her to grab.
“That is one battered file,” Shelly said, gripping it with her free
hand.
“Yes, it is, Dr. White, and if the notes look familiar, it’s because it’s my writing! And Dr. Wall’s. Sort of a time capsule. Let me know if you need anything else before I leave.”
“Thank you, Doris,” she said as she retreated to her office and securely closed the door. She sat at her desk and felt her heart beating a bit more rapidly than normal. A musty smell filled her nostrils when she opened the thirty-five-year-old file.
There was a picture of Chucky, his face just like she had remembered, which struck her as odd since she’d only met him once, maybe twice in her short stay at the hospital. She must have been seeing the features of Nick Harris in his brother.
The case file was loaded with notes from Dr. Wall and Doris. He was right, she thought, he did try everything to save Chucky’s life. And Chucky seemed to have done his part … And although he continues to deteriorate, his parents and younger brother work to keep his spirits up. I have requested for this family to receive a rollaway bed so his mother and brother can stay overnight ... The memos and forms went into great detail about how Chucky responded to and didn’t respond to the drugs he was given. How the primitive chemo sessions took their toll. How morphine was used to mask the pain
… most of the time the patient sleeps through it … was noted in the file. Shelly thought back to Kristen. The file proved that Nick Harris was telling the truth. He did know the pain she’d felt and she had been very ugly to him. Her eyes welling with tears, she closed the file. She placed it face up on her desk, patted it as if it were a patient, and picked up the phone.
“Yes, Doctor?”
“Doris, there is one thing I need from you before you leave. Get
me Nick Harris’ phone number.”