Racing Against the Clock

At least he had gotten a response. “What’s your name?” he repeated.

Fear flitted across her face. She paused a moment before saying hesitantly, “I don’t know.”

He had the oddest notion that she was lying, but it wasn’t that unusual for patients to suffer temporary amnesia following a major trauma such as a car accident. So maybe he was imagining things.

“Can you tell me what chemicals you were transporting? It’s important.”

“Chemicals?” Her voice went up an octave and she dropped her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There were no chemicals in my car.”

“The paramedics found broken glass vials and a damaged empty lockbox in your vehicle.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jane Doe repeated, but she still refused to meet his gaze.

“It’s important. Your life might depend upon this.”

“I’m sorry,” she insisted. “I don’t remember anything about any chemical.”

“Where were you going?”

She shook her head. “I can’t recall. Are the paramedics okay? Did they come into contact with these chemicals?”

Something flickered in her eyes. Remorse? He knew now that she was lying but he had no idea why.

“Possibly.” Two could play this withholding information game. A little guilt might loosen her tongue. “I’ve got to check your lab values, then I’ll be right back with some papers for you to sign. Permission to do surgery. Since you don’t know what your name is, you can sign with an X.”

“All right,” Jane Doe murmured, and he had the suspicion she was simply placating him.

He left the examining room and stepped into the empty work lane. He pulled the door closed behind him, sealing the woman inside. His mind whirled. What had just passed between the two of them? Why was his pulse thready, his breathing rapid?

The intern, obeying his command, had shut down one whole side of the E.R. The HAZMAT decontamination team had arrived garbed in gas masks and rubber suits. The three men carried instruments that looked something like Geiger counters. A band of curious nurses watched the proceedings from behind a glass partition. A representative from administration waited with them, safely out of harm’s way, no doubt fretting over the cost involved.

“Doctor.” One of the members of the decontamination unit moved to block his exit.

Tyler knew what to do without being told. He stopped, raised his arms level with his shoulders and allowed them to run their instruments over his body, searching for foreign material.

“You’re clean,” the man said at last. “But I recommend you decontaminate, just in case.”

“Do you have any idea what the chemical is?” Tyler asked.

“No, sir.” The man shook his head. “We just came from the accident site and we’ve impounded the car.”

“Good.”

Whatever the chemical was, it must have a short half-life if the HAZMAT crew had been unable to find anything. He would check with the lab, then visit the paramedics. Tyler stripped off the barrier gown, the rubber gloves and paper mask and tossed the items in a special biomedical-hazards bin located near the exit. After scouring his skin in the decontamination shower, he dressed in fresh hospital scrubs and combed his damp hair.

As he left the E.R. and headed for the lab, he was stopped in the corridor by a uniformed police officer.

“Dr. Fresno?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Officer Blankenship and I understand you examined the Jane Doe who was brought in this evening from the MVA on Interstate 45.”

“That’s correct.”

“When can we interview her?”

Tyler shook his head. “I’m afraid she won’t be much help. She’s suffering from amnesia and I’ll probably be taking her to surgery soon.”

“We understand from several eyewitnesses that she was forced off the road by a white sedan. We need to confirm that.”

“Come back in the morning, officer. You’ll be able to talk to her then.”

“Will do.” The policeman thanked him and left.

Tyler continued on his way, his mind on his patient. Someone had intentionally run her off the road? If so, why? Did it have anything to do with those chemicals she was transporting? Or was it a random case of road rage? He worried his brow with his fingers and pushed through the door into the lab. There he found a wizened technician peering through a microscope.

“Any luck identifying the chemical that Jane Doe was transporting?” he asked the ruddy complexioned, sixty-year-old Irishman perched on the stool.

Danny O’Brien, of the twinkling blue eyes, infectious grin and short stature, abandoned the microscope. He greeted Tyler with a hearty slap on the shoulder. “I shoulda known you would be the one behind this mess. You’ve played havoc with my dinner hour.”

“Hey, I didn’t start it.” Tyler grinned. “E.R. called me as a consult.”

Danny sobered. “I think you better take a look at her blood work.” He handed Tyler a computer printout with Jane Doe’s name at the top and list of lab values beneath.

“Her white blood cell and reticulocyte counts are dangerously low.” Tyler’s heart plummeted.

Cancer.

The word ripped through his mind and he immediately thought of Yvette. Did Jane Doe have cancer? Had the woman taken matters into her own hands and concocted her own bizarre chemotherapy? She wouldn’t have been the first to try such a daring and desperate experiment. It would explain her reluctance to admit to having the chemicals in her possession.

“Such a shame,” he whispered and stroked a finger over the piece of paper as if stroking her in a gesture of comfort.

How tragic that a woman so young and beautiful could be in such dire trouble. He didn’t want to feel the surge of sadness that rose inside him, but he did. He clenched his jaw, chasing away the softness in his heart. He plucked a prescription pad from the pocket of his lab jacket and scribbled something on it.

“Run these additional tests. And page me the minute you have a fix on that chemical.”

“We don’t have enough blood left to run all this,” Danny said. “Could you get me another sample? The HAZMAT team is only letting essential personnel into her room.”

“Will do.” Tyler nodded. He felt sorry for her. She was in pain. All alone. Not even remembering her own name.

“She got to you, didn’t she?”

“What?” Tyler stopped at the door and turned to stare at Danny.

“Jane Doe.” Danny tapped the left side of his chest.

“No.” Tyler denied Danny’s perceptive observations.