REDEEMED
Photo by Piron Guillaume on Unsplash
If you haven't already, kindly do me the honours of reading the first two stories of the series here and here. I will decline payout for this post and make another post summing up all three episodes in this series which I (just now) decided to name Journey to Redemption.
Hope you enjoy the final episode in this series.
Photo by Ben White on Unsplash
"You should come to church with me." Freda was insistent. For days now she was demanding that he went to church with her.
"Leave it to religion to exploit the weak." He retorted then massaged the migraine that was pulsing at his temple.
"Do I look weak to you?" Her eyes narrowed.
Of course not but he was...weak. He was now stealing pethidine to help him deal with his pain. He wasn't quite addicted yet, but that was just a matter of time.
"Knock it off, Freda. This is the last time I want to hear about this."
She stood there a moment longer before stomping out of his office. Ken sighed. Knowing Freda, it was just a matter of time before she dragged him by ear to the damn church. He sighed again. He missed the days when doctors were demi-gods in the eyes of nurses.
"Dr. Martinez you are needed at the ER." The PA announced.
Cold sweats broke on his forehead. He looked around his office. The whitewashed walls were more stifling than usual. His eyes fell on the day old pizza responisble for his migraine. He should take it out. He should also get up and go to the ER but he couldn't. He sat still hoping that he would soon be forgotten.
"Dr. Ken Martinez," Freda yelled before bursting into his office, "We need you at the ER now. No wait, I think that patient has already been rushed to theatre. Please hurry!" Just as she burst in, she burst out in such a haste that Ken was compelled to go after her.
When he stepped into the corridor he saw her vanish into a crowd of people with various degrees of injury.
"Some idiot decided to run his car into a crowd of protestors." He heard one nurse say to a doctor as they rushed past him to the ER. It was going to be a long day.
He took his right and headed for the theatre.
The surgical assistant addressed him, "Our patient hit her head to the curb when the car hit her bicycle. She wasn't wearing a helmet. MRI shows..." He did not hear anything else. Sprawled on the operation table was his daughter -- blonde and bruised.
"Dr. Martinez, are you okay?"
"Uh, y-yes Justin. Go on." He went to stand at the side of the table.
"She came in with a vitals of..." Justin continued.
Ken shook his head slightly. He saw it now. It wasn't Joana.Of course it wasn't Joana. The more he tried to convince himself, the more his hands quivered until it became obvious to everyone in theatre that he wasn't fine.
"Call Dr. Barnes." He mumbled before stuttering out of the theatre. It was obviously the withdrawal setting in. He had a few ampoules of pethidine in his desk.
He threw off the theatre gown and clutched the walls to steady himself. After what felt like hours, he entered his office and broke an ampoule. He tried to steady his hands as he drew the clear liquid it into a needle. That was difficult enough. Now, he had to find a vein. He found one easily enough and jabbed the needle into his arm.
"Dr. Martinez?" He jumped at Freda's voice causing him to stick the needle deeper into his arm. Ken pressed his lips together to swallow back the scream that welled in his throat.
"God damn it, Freda!" He threw the needle at her feet. She did not recoil instead, she gave him the pitiable look he abhorred. She then walked out his office. He never felt more alone when she did. He let his back touch the wall as he slowly took his seat on the bare ground. Rock bottom was a cold cold place.
Freda soon returned with gauze and bandages. She dressed the bleeding needle stab and helped him up.
"We are going to church."
"But you are on duty." Ken replied weakly.
"Fred will take over."
Neither Freda nor Ken said another word till they got to the church which was a few minutes drive away from the hospital. There were only three other people there.
"I will leave you to pray and come back after a while."
"Is that how it's done?" He panicked. What would he say? "Won't you pray for me or something?"
"You can pray for yourself better than I can." Freda smiled and left him at the back of the church and joined the other three at the front. He sat on the stairs.
"Help me." Immediately he uttered the words, he broke down in tears. He hadn't had a good cry since he saw Joana's picture on the computer. After he wept his heart out, he felt a little better.
Freda soon came with the other three people and laid hands on him. Ever since he could remember it was only his mother who had ever prayed for him. As they lifted their hands off his back, he felt lighter.
"Thank you." He muttered during their ride back to the hospital.
"Don't mention, doc."
The day was indeed long. He went back in time to take over the surgery from Dr. Barnes. The patient lived and so did many others who were brought to the ER that day.
Some did die but others lived and that was life. He could either be stuck mourning the dead or move forward to comfort the living. He could go home and comfort his wife.
When he went home that night, he found her in Joana's room staring blindly at a blank canvas.
"Betty?" She started in fright at his call. He went and held her.
"Ken." She sobbed.
He patted her head."Remember when we were younger and wanted to be musicians?"She nodded against his chest. "Remember the song we wrote?"
"Rough seas make better sailors," She sang.
"Rougher still makes the best of the lot." He joined her.
"Storms come. Leave behind colours.
Calmer still we will be till it's passed." They sang in discordant harmony.
They held on tighter to each other. "Thank God we didn't become musicians." Betty smiled.
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