Rollover: Jay Barlow Collection, #3

ROLLOVER

By

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John Alvah Barnes, Jr.

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Copyright ©2018 by John Alvah Barnes, Jr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without permission from the authors.

ISBN #978-1-7350947-3-1

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Once again:

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For Lynn, my life my love my editor

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The Author would like to express his gratitude and thanks to the following:

John Alvah Barnes, III- My second editor, for his terrific ideas and suggestions.

Edwin F. Barnes, PhD- For his unwavering support.

Colonel Melvin F. Brown, U.S.A.F (ret.)- Mel, thanks for allowing me the honor of being your wing-man.

Kathy Mclimans, RN & Jenny Thomas, RN- Dear friends who I include together because they were two thirds of the composite for the original Debbie.

Aldeth Swift- Who encouraged me in the very beginning. Al, I’m still waiting for Steve to call.

Dr. Sherri Williams, DO- For inspiring me and for taking such good care of me and Lynn.

Margy Natalie- For helping me with my pilot and flight questions and just for being Margy.

Tom Crouch, Senior Curator of Aviation, Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum- For his research help and for his entertaining docent lectures. I still miss them, Tom.

Haydon Alexander- For his help with the book cover.

And finally,

John Alvah Barnes, Sr.- For handing me Rickenbacker’s autobiography all those years ago. See what you started, Dad?

I awoke gradually, my awareness dawning slowly. I felt as if I was mired in mud. My arms and legs didn’t seem to want to work. It was as if they were being held in place by some unknown force. However, as my consciousness began to emerge, feeling in them started to return.

Where the devil was I? I felt that I was lying on a bed. My hands were right at the edges, and my feet were touching what I assumed was a footboard. It was as if I had borrowed some child's bed for the night.

I heard no sound at all—no clock ticking, no heater running, no house settling... nothing. I opened my eyes, at least I thought they were open. There was nothing but complete darkness, not even the dim glow of a bedside clock. My disorientation began to feel suffocating.

Panic began to overwhelm me. I had to get out. I threw aside the blanket that was covering me and jumped up, abruptly hitting my head violently on something that was immovably hard.

I can't say that I saw stars, or indeed anything. I must have fallen back into the bed unconscious, for when I came to again and opened my eyes, there was light coming from several windows with lace curtains near my feet.

I smelled... Banner sausage. The aroma was unmistakable. My grandmother used to bring it back from our summer trips to her hometown in Virginia. It immediately made me think of my childhood. I hadn’t experienced that particular aroma—one that I had grown to love—for a very long time. It immediately took me back.

There was a ceiling no more than three feet above me. As I looked to my left I saw a small bed with a frame made of black tubular metal, like something that you might have seen in a rooming house in the twenties.

As I looked again at my feet, I realized that I was lying on its twin. Where was I? Again, I swung from my bed, but this time instead of trying to stand, I crouched beneath the low ceiling and duck-walked to the windows.

Looking out, I saw a very familiar sight—that of my grandmother's curving driveway. There was no doubt that it was her driveway. I'd played there as a child. I had resurfaced the tar on several occasions as a teenager. I had parked my car there as an adult.

But what view was this? From my vantage point I should have been looking out of the windows in her bedroom. I had known every inch of this house since I was a boy, explored every nook and cranny. This scene was impossible.

Seeing no kind of a door on the wall closest to me, I waddled over to the wall on the left side of the little room. There was no egress apparent, so I began running my hands over the wall, pushing gently here and there.

When I got to the rear of the wall farthest from the windows, a panel that was all but invisible gave under my hand. I pushed it to the side until it was open enough to allow me through. I emerged to find myself surrounded by hanging clothes and the smell of mothballs. Pushing through the clothes, I came upon a door.

I turned its knob, pushed and found myself in a familiar room. It was the middle bedroom of my grandmother's house, the room where I had often slept as a child. Where my grandmother had read to me at bedtime until I became sleepy, and then gently stroked my forehead until I drifted off.

My confusion grew even morethis was not possible. There was no way that there could be a secret room in this house that I didn't know about. I knew where I was, didn't I?

I walked out into the hall and made a right toward the kitchen where the smell of Banner sausage was undoubtedly coming from. As I stepped into the hall, I was standing on the grate over the old coal furnace that had heated the house before the upgrade to oil. The paintings that my uncle had created lined the walls on both sides of the hall. Everything looked exactly as I remembered.

I still heard no sound as I made my way down the hall toward the bathroom at the end that was by the kitchen door. As I got to the bathroom, I stopped and looked in: there were the pink walls, the familiar fixtures, even the little pink poodle toilet roll cover that sat on the back of the john.

I turned left into the kitchen fully expecting to see my grandmother standing there in front of her stove cooking breakfast. There was no one there. The walls in the kitchen were lemon-yellow. The table with its yellow tablecloth stood in the middle of the room as it always did. All the familiar features of the kitchen were there as they should be, but no one was there. This was not possible! My grandmother had died twenty years ago. We had sold her house. I remembered her funeral!

There was not a soul in sight. No sound. But then I did hear something... another voice. One that I knew and loved. Jay, can you hear me? It was the voice of my wife, Debbie.

I felt a soft hand brush across my forehead. Everything began to spin. The world dissolved away again.

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I could sense bright light against my closed eyes. Somehow, I knew that it was daylight—something in the slight tint of color that seemed natural and not artificial. Slowly I opened my eyes, and the brightness suddenly intensified, making my head ache. I closed them again until I could stand to try once more, and then I carefully opened them, blinking against the brightness.

I turned my head slightly to the right and saw my wife, Debbie, sitting in a chair reading a book. My movement caught her eye, and she looked over at me and smiled. Hey, she said. Welcome back.

Hey, I croaked.

She got up, stood beside me, and stroked my forehead lightly. How do you feel?

Like shit. My throat felt like sandpaper.

That's not surprising. You were in surgery for nearly seven hours.

Water?

You can have a few ice chips until we see how that sets on your stomach. She went through the door and came back with a nurse and a cup of ice.

Jay, this is Kathy McNell, your nurse. She's also a friend of mine, so be nice.

Kathy was a small woman with brunette hair in a bob and a kind smile.  How are you feeling? she asked.

Been better.

Debbie spooned a few ice chips into my mouth. They felt good on my parched throat.

You just went through a long surgery. That's to be expected, Kathy said. You’re on a PCA pump with a morphine drip. If you have any pain...

He knows what it is, Kath. He used to be a bio-med guy; he used to work on them, Debbie told her.

Oh, good. If it breaks down, you're our man. Anyway, here's the button. She placed it in my hand.

They were referring to a 'patient-controlled analgesic' pump, which allows a patient to self-administer measured doses of pain medication. The machine is set to allow a certain amount of pain killer over a certain amount of time, so you can't overdose with it. It's one of the many medical machines that I worked on in another lifetime. I immediately pressed the button, which didn't escape the two nurses.

I had a feeling you might be needing that about now, Kathy said. Is there anything else that I can do for you?

No.

Okay. I'll leave you in your wife's capable hands. I'll check on you later.

Thanks, Kath, Debbie said. Kathy left the room.

Debbie spooned more ice into my mouth. Dr. Shane said that the surgery went well, and that your spine has been stabilized. Now you just need to heal.

Great.

Do you want me to put the TV on?

No.

Do you want some more ice?

Yes.

She spooned me some more. Do you mind if I read some more of my book?

No.

She sat down and picked up her book. I fell asleep.

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When I woke up again it was dark outside the window. There was a soccer game on the television, and Debbie was still seated beside my bed.

She stood when she saw that I was awake. Hi. How are you feeling?

Terrible. I pushed the button on my PCA pump.

Kathy's off duty. Your night nurse is Jenny Thomas. Jenny says that they're going to take you off the PCA and try you on some oxycodone in a little while.

Great.

She fed me some more ice and then sat back down. I drifted in a haze. I saw the players on the screen kicking the ball around, but I had no idea who was playing, nor did I care.

Sometime later the nurse named Jenny came in. How's the patient? she asked Debbie, while looking at us both.

Doing okay, I think.

Jenny checked my vitals and shined a light in my eyes.

Ow, that light feels like it's going right through my brain!

That's good, Jenny said.

That it hurts?

That you have a brain. Debbie laughed and I looked at her with annoyance.

We're going to unhook your PCA pump and try you on some oxycodone, Jenny informed me.

Great.

That's what I like―enthusiasm. She removed the PCA line from my IV and gave me a pill to swallow.

Water? I asked.

Sure, but I'm going to ask you to sip it. Your stomach has been empty for a while. She handed me a little cup of water and watched while I took my medicine. I'll be back in a little while to check on you.

Thanks, Jenny, Debbie said as she left the room.

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What the fuck are you people doing to me! I can't feel my goddamned legs! I can't feel my goddamned feet!

I had been lost in fuzzy sleep, sometimes coming near enough to wakefulness to be aware of other people in the room, but seemingly unable to communicate. I had suddenly been filled with a great rage, wanting to lash out at those who wished me harm.

Jay? Jay! Calm down. Debbie was up in a second trying to hold my hand.

Calm down?! What do you mean calm down?! They're turning me into a fucking cripple!

Other people had quickly appeared, though I couldn’t seem to focus on anyone. What's wrong? What's happened? someone asked Debbie.

I don't know, she replied. He was laying here asleep and suddenly he was agitated.

I can't feel my fucking legs! I can't even feel my goddamned cock! And there’s a tube coming out of it! I had lifted the bedsheet trying to ascertain where my legs were and become even more convinced that they were out to get me. My panic increased to the point that I knew that I had to get away.

A male attendant had come up to the side of the bed and was attempting to hold my shoulders. I writhed and threw his hands off, knowing he was intent on keeping me down. My rage continued to increase.

People were on the other side of the bed, trying without success to subdue me.

Jay, you've got to calm down. You're going to hurt yourself! Debbie pleaded with me.

Hurt myself?! What the hell difference does it make if I hurt myself?! They're trying to fucking kill me!

He's having a bad reaction to the oxycodone, Debbie said. I heard her. She sounded far away as if I were descending into a deep tunnel and I heard her voice through water.

Agreed, Jenny replied. I dully remembered that she was my nurse. Why she wanted to kill me I didn’t know. Why she was swimming in my watery tunnel I also didn’t know. Do you think you can handle him a minute while I call Dr. Shane?

Go! We're good.

Jack, do you have him? Jenny asked the male attendant.

Yeah go. We'll be okay, he said as I yanked my arm from his grasp and he quickly recaptured it. It was damn hard trying to keep from drowning with only one arm.

Sure, you'll be okay! I'll be fucking dead! It will be your fucking fault!

Jay, please try to calm down. Help is coming, Debbie pleaded.

Yeah, right! Help is coming to knock me the fuck off!

Jenny soon came back into the room and quickly inserted something into my IV line. Suddenly I felt a great calm overcome me, and then I felt nothing at all.

The ambulance was being buffeted by a strong wind as we wound along, making our way to the hospital.

It had been nearing midnight when we got the call for one of our ‘frequent flyers’, Richard. Richard, who lived with his mother in the projects south of town, had diabetis, among other things. He was also a drug addict who did nothing to take care of himself. He had already lost one leg to his condition and was well on the way to losing the other.

He had been found unresponsive in the hospital bed that sat in the middle of their living room. It was not uncommon for him to be found unresponsive—the challenge was determining just why he was unresponsive. Failure to eat and a bad dose of something were always on the top of the list.

I was trying to get a set of vitals on him when the truck lurched once again, and I struggled to maintain my balance. I knew that next I was going to have to get an IV line started. I wondered how that was going to work, though I had certainly done it many times in my thirteen-year career.

I had just ascertained a pressure of 80/50, which was not a good sign. I figured that I'd start the line and then call in to the ER doc on duty. I got a catheter unpackaged and started to look for a vein, then the world turned upside down.

There was a tremendous impact from the left side, which was opposite of where I was situated. I was suddenly thrown backwards as the whole truck rolled. The cabinets facing me were violently thrown open: a cascade of bandages, suction regulators, oxygen masks and myriad other equipment came bursting out. I watched as if in slow motion as Richard, strapped to the stretcher, was suddenly over my head and then opposite me, and then the lights winked out.

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I'm sorry you had to put up with that, Jenny. He's really nothing like that. Debbie had joined Jenny and Kathy at shift change. Jenny was reporting to Kathy about the night’s events before she handed off to her.

He had a bad drug reaction, Debbie, Jenny said. We've all been doing this long enough to have seen it before. Quite a few times in our case.

Yes, added Kathy. It's not uncommon.

I know. But the patient has never been my husband before. I'm just sorry Jenny had to hear that.

It's not like I took it personally, Jenny assured her. It's always more difficult for you when the patient is someone close to you. But dealing with patients in crisis is part of the job. We all know it. Please try to put it out of your mind.

Okay. You’re right, said Debbie, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

Did you get any sleep last night? Kathy asked.

A little, but it was kind of hard to unwind after that.

If you can get away for a little while today, come on back. We should be able to find you a place to lie down for a bit.

Thanks, Kathy. I may take you up on that.

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I hear you had a tough night. Kathy was standing beside my bed, looking at me with concern. How are you feeling this morning?

Peachy.

The oxycodone didn’t agree with you.

Ya think?

It's not all that uncommon. It's a powerful opioid; some people don't tolerate it very well.

If that's not an unusual reaction, why do you give it to people?

I know your background, Jay. I know that you understand how doctors order drugs. They try to administer what they think is going to be effective; sometimes they get it wrong.

The reaction wasn’t pleasant. I just don’t understand why my doctor ordered that particular drug.

It has to do with what the doctor knows and believes. You know that in this business everyone has an opinion, and they're all just practicing.

I wish they'd practice on someone else.

Kathy set about checking my vitals. I understand how you feel, but Dr. Shane really is a great doctor. But he was following protocol. Oxycodone is an effective pain medication and most of the time it works well. Jenny marked on your chart that you're allergic to it, so you won’t be getting any more.

Thank God for small favors.

How's the patient this morning? asked Debbie as she came in and stood by my bedside. She smoothed down my hair with her hand.

Kathy smiled. He seems to be okay this morning. I'll leave you two alone. She then left.

Did you get any sleep after I left? she asked, still caressing my forehead.

Oh yeah. Sweet, rosy. Wonderful dreams and all.

She sighed deeply, looking at me. Jay, I know you're not having an easy time. But neither am I.

I'm sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t be doing this to you.

I know you’re feeling overwhelmed.

Overwhelmed?! I can't feel the lower half of my body!

You knew this was going to take time. It’s going to be rough going for a while.

There was nothing I wanted to say. What kind of a life was I going to have? We had spent years making plans for the rest of our lives together; now what were we going to do?

Baby, Mike Shane is the best there is. That's why we moved here, isn't it? We're just going to have to trust him.

Aw shucks, you're making me blush! said Dr. Michael Shane who was walking through the door. I hear you had some difficulty last night.

I’m told I cussed out the staff.

Well, hell, I do that all the time. Let's have a look at you. Debbie, can you help me roll him over?

Sure. They got me rolled over, and I concentrated on feeling something, anything, while Shane examined me.

Your incision looks good. Tell me when you can feel something.

Okay.

Nothing?

Nothing.

I just stuck a pin in each of your legs.

I didn't feel a thing.

Don't worry yet, Jay.

Easy for you to say. They got me rolled back over, and Debbie readjusted my bedding.

Look, Jay, I'm going to be completely honest with you regarding my opinion. Your SCI is definitely incomplete.

Which means?

Which means that we're just going to have to wait and see what happens. I've gotten your spine stabilized, but we don't completely know about nerve damage or how quickly your muscle use might come back, or to what extent. I want to move you into our physical therapy wing. You should be ready to start PT soon. The quicker we get you moving again, the quicker you might be able to move yourself.

I looked at him for a moment. How am I going to do physical therapy when my legs don't move? I can't feel anything down there.

You might be surprised. We have an excellent PT staff; it's a big part of what we do.

Great.

He clasped my shoulder. Jay, I'm not going to tell you how to feel; there is no way that I can know. You feel what you feel. The only thing that I can say is that I've noticed throughout my career that patients who want to get better, who believe it can happen, do. Usually they fare better than those who don't. Now, speaking of other patients...

Yeah, thanks Doc. I'll see you later.

Count on it.

Debbie leaned over and kissed me. I've got to get back to work myself. Call downstairs if you need me.

Sure. Debbie had years of experience as an ER nurse. She found that Meyer-Randolph Institute in Fairfax, Virginia was the place for dealing with my kind of injury. ER nursing was a tight-knit community, and she maintained contacts wherever she could. She managed to procure a job here before we moved.

I spent the rest of the day staring at the ceiling, trying to think with limited success.

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I was soaring over mountains, sometimes going as high as an eagle and then I would swoop back down until I was just over the treetops. I was beginning to do a series of lazy figure eights. I got a terrible cramp in my right arm. I tried to fight through it, but to my horror I suddenly banked steeply to the right. I began a long plunge toward the ground.

I was almost in the trees when the cramp began to ease. I was able to halt my descent. Once again, I was soaring through the sun-dappled sky, enjoying the feeling of wind in my face.

I suddenly felt something in my ear. Something that beeped. I felt something constricting my arm, getting tighter and tighter. What was this? What was bothering me way up here above the earth? And then I knew.

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Jenny, do you have to do that now?

Sorry, Jay, she said softly. The Doc wants regular vitals for a couple of days. I thought I could get them without waking you... guess not.

That's okay, I sighed. Do what you have to do.

I always do.

Do one thing for me before you go?

Sure, what do you need?

Straighten that picture on the wall. It's been bugging me.

She turned and looked at the wall at the foot of my bed. I don't blame you for being bugged, she said as she walked toward it. That just upsets my delicate sense of balance. She righted the crooked picture. I'll leave you alone to go back to sleep. Pleasant dreams.

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Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick. 

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

That's good, Jay, we're almost halfway done. Try to hold still now.

The voice was tinny coming out of the little speaker. I was getting a cramp in my side trying to hold still inside the tube that entombed me while the God-awful racket assaulted my senses.

Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick. 

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

I'd heard stories about people undergoing an MRI that had never known they were claustrophobic suddenly freaking out and demanding to be removed from the tube. Before I was a medic I had worked in bio-medical electronics, taking care of patient care machines. The technician specialist that worked on the hospital's MRI machine had given me and some fellow techs a tour, which was fascinating; it was an amazing machine.

I understood what the machine was doing and how it was doing it, but it didn't make it any easier. Once you were shoved into a narrow tube and had your senses assaulted by loud noises―all the time being told to lay as still as possible―it took all your concentration just to make it through to the end. My biggest fear was that I'd flinch at a crucial moment, ruin the image, and have to start all over again.

Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.   

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Oh God, please, let it be over soon. I'll be good, I swear. Just please let me OUT OF THIS DAMN TUBE!

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An incomplete spinal cord injury at lumbar vertebra five. That meant that my spinal cord was partially severed in my lower back. If it had been a complete injury, I’d be a paraplegic for sure.

They'd given me methylprednisolone, a steroid to reduce inflammation, just after the accident. It had helped as far as reducing inflammation, but I still couldn't move my legs or feel anything in them.

My prognosis was uncertain; we’d just have to wait and see. Waiting was something that took up most of my days. I was getting tired of waiting, but what else could I do?

I lay staring at the ceiling of my room wondering just how the hell I'd gotten here. Well, I knew how I had gotten here... technically. I'd been working on a patient in the back of an ambulance when some fool had run a stoplight and T-boned us. Obviously, the lights, siren, and air horn hadn't been enough to get his attention.

They found out later that he had been texting with his girlfriend. He’d lost his license, and had to pay a lot of money, but he was still able to walk.

The ambulance had gone off on the right, hit a gully, and rolled. The rest of the crew had been belted in, and the patient had been strapped down. I hadn't been so lucky. I'd slammed the small of my back against something hard. At least that's what they told me later.

I woke up in a trauma room at the hospital strapped to a backboard with my head immobilized. Everyone around me had been familiar—they were my friends and I knew them well. But at first, I thought that maybe I had died because they all looked like they were attending a funeral.

I lay thinking, wondering about what kind of a future my wife and I might have. What kind of a man could I possibly be to her now? How were we going to live, and what kind of point would there be to it? Questions seemed to be all that I had right now.

Hey, isn't this the same sort of place where we first met? Debbie walked into the room, kissed me, and gently laid her hand on mine.

I looked up into those beautiful blue eyes and wondered, for the thousandth time what I could offer her now. I couldn't trust myself to speak, and I felt an unbidden tear roll down my cheek.

Come on now, none of that, she said as she grabbed a tissue off the bed stand and wiped it away. The Doc says your back looks stable, and your musculature needs work to avoid atrophy. They're going to step up the start of your physical therapy.

Great. That's good, I said flatly. I felt miserable. I seemed to have no control over anything, and I wasn’t used to feeling helpless. I had no idea how to handle it.

Baby, I know this is hard, but you're going to have to try. Is there anything I can get for you?

I bit back a sarcastic remark. Some ice water would be nice.

She took the pitcher off the bed stand. I'll be right back, she said and stepped out of the room. She was back in less than a minute, and she poured some water in a cup and set it on the rolling bed table, moving it closer to me.

Thanks, I mumbled.

She stood watching me for a moment as I brought the cup to my lips, took a sip, and put it back.

An SCI is serious, there’s no two ways about it, she said softly. But you have to concentrate on the good points. Yours is not as bad as it could have been, and with therapy...

Yeah, yeah, therapy! I groused.

C'mon, Jay, you've got to try to be positive!

Positive?! I had raised my voice suddenly. And just how positive do you think you're going to be after living with a cripple for a couple of years?! Just how positive do you think you're going to be after you've started pining for a real man?!

That's not fair! Her voice had risen as well.

Not fair?! Not fair?! You're not the one whose legs won't work! You're not the one that has to lay here like a useless lump! I lay there, my breath coming in short gasps.

Suddenly two nurses appeared from the hallway, eyeing us with apprehension as if they expected violence. They continued to hover by my door, looking ready to jump in if needed.

I couldn’t seem to control my anger. In some ways I feel as if I died in that accident! Maybe you'd be better off if I had!

Debbie's face had turned red as she seethed with anger of her own. Her voice sounded as if she was barely controlling it, which was something that I had rarely, if ever, heard. "Jay Barlow, who the hell do you think I am?! I've been married to you for more than two decades, and I'm not giving up on you now! Not now or ever!

Don't you dare say I'd be better off without you! You didn't die, you're alive! You need to realize that fact and get busy working to live the best life you can. If you want to lay here feeling sorry for yourself, you go right ahead. But I'm not going to listen to it!

She turned abruptly and stormed out the door.

The two nurses were looking at me with trepidation, as if they expected me to get up and start making trouble.

What are you looking at?!

They turned and left.

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I was gazing around my new room, which looked remarkably like my old room. There was a bed and a Geri-chair that was like a recliner but nowhere near as comfortable. There was a TV with a bunch of channels and nothing worth watching. The wall space featured a sink and a couple of generic prints on the wall that looked like something out of a Holiday Inn in the fifties. One of them was crooked, which didn’t surprise me in the least.

I had slept fitfully, when I had slept at all. The bed felt as hard as a board. It was impossible to get comfortable,