Albert: A Short Story
The Story Behind the Story
All Images: Pixabay
This story was inspired by an episode from my childhood, when my brother nearly lost his life. He languished as a boy with rheumatic fever. One day he was rushed to the local hospital. Doctors there told my mother her son would die, and they declined to treat him. They were going to remove oxygen support.
Someone, a family member, arranged for a transfer to St. Francis Hospital in Roslyn, New York. This was an 80-mile ambulance ride. Doctors at St. Francis explained that my brother's condition was grave, but they said they would try to save his life. They did.
My brother grew up, had a successful business career and raised three children. The story Albert is my way of working through feelings I've had about my brother's narrow escape from death. I couldn't resist injecting irony into the piece.
Albert
He popped a couple of bennies. Within minutes the ceiling lights in the ER blurred. His right hand trembled.
The reaction was too soon. Must have been the ones he took earlier. No more tonight, he promised himself. That's my limit.
He had to snap out of the slump. He'd been popping bennies all week. But there were six hours left to his shift. Somehow, he'd get through it. Couldn't screw up anymore. It would be the end of his residency.
"The blood work on the dialysis patient is back," Maureen said, staring at him as she pushed a sheaf of papers in front of his face. "Albert, the blood work, the stats you asked for, they're here. ALBERT..."
"Maureen, I'm not deaf. I hear you. The Schmidt woman's blood work. I've got it." He hoped she’d think he was just tired, but she kept staring at him.
Schmidt. Complicated history. He didn’t want Schmidt tonight. Not tonight. Her numbers were all over the place.
"Maureen, send her up to Nephrology. I'll talk to the family."
'The family' consisted of a gray-faced man who weighed in at about ninety pounds. Albert surveyed the gaunt figure in front of him.
"Mr. Schmidt, your wife's creatinine's a little off. She'd be better with the nephrologists upstairs, so I'm going to admit her. You just have to go to the front desk and fill out some forms."
The man opened his mouth. He was going to say something, to ask a question. Albert left before the words could come out.
Not tonight, he thought. I can't deal with you, and my own shit, tonight. Take it upstairs, Mr. Schmidt. I'll bet they haven't been awake for twenty-four hours.
Albert ducked into the staff bathroom and held onto the sink. The cold porcelain felt like fire against his flesh. He turned on the faucets, ran water on his wrists, and wiped his face with a damp paper towel.
I look almost as bad as I feel, he thought. He’d seen those frantic eyes before, on patients in the ER. He combed his hair and flattened his collar.
He still couldn’t get his right hand under control. The tremor was traveling up to the shoulder. He stuck the hand in his pocket.
Had to go back now, or they'd come looking for him.
The waiting room was packed. Around the corner, in the treatment area, closed curtains reminded Albert of the unsolved mysteries that awaited him. Behind each curtain a riddle. It didn’t matter what the riddle was or who it belonged to, Albert had to come up with a solution.
An ambulance disgorged another puzzle into the ER. A boy, motionless, on a gurney, his face covered by an oxygen mask. A slight figure, probably the mother, was leaning over the gurney as it rolled past the reception window and rows of passive onlookers.
Trouble, Albert thought, when the woman shuffled by. She was making choking sounds as she followed the technicians into one of the curtained bays. Albert leaned against the counter.
"Albert. Albert, they need you. NOW. The child is barely breathing."
Maureen was staring at him again but this time she had a kind of halo around her head. The halo didn't make her look like an angel. It made her look like something from another planet. She was all fuzzy and jumping around. He put his left hand out to touch her shoulder and keep her in one place.
There was so much noise in the room he couldn't make out what she was saying. He took the papers she seemed intent on giving to him. She steered him toward the back of the emergency room.
Albert placed his feet one in front of the other, and headed in the direction Maureen pointed. He was picking up some of her words now.
"Heart failure. Nine years old."
Albert put the clues together...nine...heart failure. They couldn't be serious. But no one was laughing. Certainly not the mother. He turned his back to her as he pulled the curtain behind him and looked down at the boy.
Cyanotic.
Had to take the pulse with the left hand because the right hand was still out of control. Albert could feel his own pulse racing. Maybe that's why he barely got a pulse from the boy.
Stethoscope on the child’s chest.
"Swoosh." Blood backing up through the valve. Dull thud when he tapped on the breastbone. Fluid. What could he do to keep that mother quiet?
Order an oxygen tent be draped around the bed.
Maureen was standing next to him when he left the bay. She was staring at him, as it seemed she'd been doing all night.
“Someone has to talk to that mother, Maureen. I can’t do it tonight. You’ve got to handle this because he's not going to come out of it, and someone has to make her understand. That oxygen's not going to help. He's done.”
Albert didn’t wait for Maureen to reply. He turned on his heel and started to leave the area when something pulled at his arm. What's that? Who's that? He tugged his arm irritably away and looked down at his side.
"Doctor...."
Albert squinted. There was something vaguely familiar about the little man. The gray-faced man. The Schmidt woman. Albert put his open palm between him and the gray-faced man.
"I'll get back to you..." He walked away without giving the man a chance to lodge an appeal.
"Albert..." What was wrong with everybody today? He couldn't take a step and they were all over him.
"What the..." He almost cursed, but it was Maureen again. Fuzzy Maureen. Red blob glowing in a bath of ethereal light.
She was OK but she was sure getting in his face. He felt beads of sweat forming on his brow.
“Maureen, I need a little slack right now. I've just gotta..." His voice boomed in his head. She was an ally. She was safe. All he needed was a few minutes to chill out. It was getting harder to catch his breath. He felt a peculiar pressure in his chest, as though a very heavy person was sitting on him.
He started toward the bathroom again without explaining himself further. It seemed as though the bathroom had moved to the other side of the building. Impossibly far away. His feet dragged. His skin felt numb. His lips were dry and thick. All he had to do was get to the bathroom and he'd be all right. He focused on that one goal. He didn't see anybody, or care about anything else.
Get to the bathroom. Black spots before his eyes grew till all he saw was black. The din in his ears was overwhelming and he felt cold, hard pressure against his hands and face. He was aware of voices and someone lifting him. They put him on a soft surface.
"Albert, it’s Maureen, can you hear me at all?" There she was. She'd been with him all night. She wasn’t glowing anymore but she was pale and red and two inches from his eyes.
"Albert, you passed out. I think you've had a heart attack. We're calling Dr. Pinkus."
He found his tongue and formed the words, which surprised him when they came out. "I'm all right. Just need a little rest that's all. Just need to rest.”
There was a commotion next to him, on other side of the curtain.
"Incompetent,” someone was yelling. “He's going to see some real doctors. Get out of the way. They're taking my son to a real hospital for real care. This is legal homicide. That's what you practice." Albert saw them carry somebody away and he could hear the same voice as it trailed off in the distance.
Suddenly the pressure in Albert's chest exploded and consumed him. He heard people rushing around as a black mass settled on his brain. Was it Maureen? Did she say code blue? He felt them pounding on him and tearing at his clothes and he wanted to tell them to just let him rest, but he couldn't find his tongue again. It didn't matter after a moment what they did. He wasn't going to try anymore. He was just going to relax and get some sleep.
Blessings to your relative AND to the St. Francis staff for not giving up to save your brother's life! 💙 (I don't understand why the local hospital refused to try or at the very least wouldn't call another hospital that they felt was better equipped to treat him.)
Knowing why you wrote this story, how personal it is for you, made it nearly impossible for me to feel much for empathy for Albert. (I realize that having life and death decisions on one's shoulders all day long, day after day, can break one down and I can't say how I would bear up personally to that sort of pressure so I try to be fair in my thinking.) Still, the consequences of his choices weren't limited only to himself (though your story made sure that he'll be paying those).
🤗 This emoji doesn't nearly suffice for a proper hug that I want to give you for sharing your memories and for how difficult it must have been for you to write this story.
Thank you for the hug :))
I love St. Francis. My brother has expressed his gratitude to the hospital over the years in many ways. An interesting anecdote: back in those years, Perry Como used to go to the pediatric ward to cheer up the kids. Did it without publicity or fanfare. A real mensch.
Yes, it was difficult to find empathy for Albert, but your analysis is spot on, I think. The daily pressure builds and we are not our best selves because of it, sometimes.
I hope you and your family are having a peaceful and not too "stuffy" Thanksgiving holiday.
Wow! This story was intense and I could feel how desperate everyone was. My heart was racing and I couldn't read it fast enough. Your poor brother! Thank goodness he finally had a doctor that would at least try to save his life and thank goodness he pulled through. It makes me wonder if Albert the doctor pulled through, would he be a better doctor because of his own experience. A very well written story @agmoore! : )
Thank you!! I kept cutting the story to increase the pace. A good teacher (several) taught me to cut the deadwood... I guess it works.
It was a horrible time, but my brother came back with a vengeance. He has lived his life with a kind of enthusiasm that's hard to match.
To me, Albert is almost real. When I create a character it feels that way. Yes, I think he survived and became a much better doctor.
Happy Thanksgiving !
Cutting the deadwood is much easier said than done, but you did it well. I am so happy that your brother lived and thrived. : )
🙂🙂
Informing us about the events that inspired the story causes us to read it it from a rather emotional lens from the very beginning. Like when we are about to watch a movie we know it was based on real occurrences.
One awaits the boy to enter the scene with mounted concerns; first because we know he will be denied further treatment to begin with, and then because Albert is in bad shape! But, as we hear the mother saying the boy will be looked after elsewhere (and we know things turned out well for him) all our sorrows turn to Dr. Albert, who, in the end just decided to stop trying. Just like he suggested it should be done with the boy a few minutes back.
I read the entire story with bated breath @agmoore. This is a touching, beautifully written story. Excellent reading for a cold evening (outside).
Much love to you and your brother from Portugal 🍵😊🌷
Dear Abigail, you bring tears to my eyes. I'm so glad you enjoyed my story and saw what I was attempting to accomplish.
Of course the back story was essential, I believe. And I tried not to be too hard on Albert. He did suffer the fate he imposed on others, but I gave him the chance of survival.
I wanted to convey a sense of panic, as there was in my family, during this episode. Albert was my stand in.
I never miss an opportunity to plug St. Francis Hospital. What a place. They not only gave my brother a shot a life, but for months afterwards they provided a comfortable, nurturing place for him to convalesce.
Thank you so much for sending warmth my way. It is returned with great affection from your friend on Steemit, and off. ❤
It's one thing to hear a story, read a book or watch a film and get all the perspectives presented. As viewers, we understand everyone involved because we are told their story. As those affected, we feel different. We don't have the distance when it comes to family members. In the case of your brother, a doctor has made a wrong decision and a relative a right one. It is a very good story because it shows that people are fallible and that you should trust yourself when you have doubts. It is encouraging and I am grateful that you dared to share it and send a message.
I was especially touched that despite the widespread medical hopelessness, your brother was lucky to be surrounded by people who were confident. This, I think, is the most important aspect of this family experience.
I wonder how old you were at that time?
That you let the doctor die of a heart attack: is that the irony you are referring to?
I was 5. My brother's illness had a profound effect on the house. He had been an invalid in bed for a long time with the heart disease and then afterwards had to fight for his life with drugs and procedures that were new. But he made it :)
Thank you for your wise insight. I hope I gave Albert a chance to survive. He was in the emergency room and had immediate care, so things should have worked out for him. Though I'm pretty sure he lost his job.😎
The irony was in his having a heart attack, as my brother was nearly killed by heart disease. It's actually not much fun bringing back those memories, but probably good to work that stuff out.
sometimes it can be surprising that an episode of which we thought we are long through can still arouse those feelings. We humans are incredible. Everything counts which helps to mature :)
Wow man that was really good. I am glad your brother made it. It is sad how true that might have been.
Thank you @stever82. There's always a risk, when you write about something personal, that emotions will get in the way of the writing. Funny, all these years later and I can still feel the deep emotion of that time.
Very well done. The backstory does help us a little, but I think it's a good story on its own. A good pull on the heartstrings.
Thank you! Coming from a professional, that's high praise.
Wow - thank you for your story..
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