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The unconscious man lying on the table in Trauma Two was one of the largest humans Mark had ever encountered. He was at least 6’7” and 350 lbs. He wore a leather jacket, leather pants, and motorcycle boots the size of small boats. The biker’s red hair was matted with blood and beer, thanks to the glass bottle that shattered over his skull. Three stab wounds in his side were sluggishly bleeding. The head lac from the Coors Light left a spidery web of dried blood on his face, dribbling all the way down to his bushy red beard.
Predictably, his opponents in the bar fight weren’t in much better shape. One of them was currently being worked on by Susan in Trauma One, one was in radiology, and the only conscious one was being questioned by the cops.
“Woah! I’ve always wanted to meet Paul Bunyan,” Carter said with a grin. Malik was the only one who laughed at his joke.
Mark rolled his eyes and pulled on his gloves.
“Carol, let’s start an IV.”
“You got it.”
“Malik and Carter, put this guy in soft restraints in case he wakes up agita–,” Mark was cut off when the patient shot straight up in one swift motion.
Apparently, the IV needle’s pinch was the jolt needed to reanimate Frankenstein’s monster.
The man started swinging before his eyes even opened. It was as if he took a nap mid-fight and was ready to pick up exactly where he left off. The IV pole went flying across the room like a javelin, barely missing Mark’s head.
“Someone call security!” Mark shouted while ducking more projectiles in the air. “5mg of Haldol and 5mg of Versed, NOW!”
He should have known Carol was already on it. The nurse approached the giant’s flank, syringes in hand, dodging and weaving like a MMA fighter. But just as she was about to jab him, the man whirled around with a roar. His fists, each the size of Carol’s head, swung at her.
“Watch out!” Mark leapt forward, the inevitable collision was too far away and he felt as if he was moving through molasses.
As the meaty hammers flew toward Carol’s face, a blur of blue and yellow pushed her out of the way.
Carter. Thank god.
Mark’s relief was short-lived, because in the next instant, the angry grizzly wrapped his paws around Carter’s arms and lifted him off the floor.
John, a 6’1” full grown man, looked comically petite within the giant’s grasp. His sneakers scrambled for purchase but found nothing but air. Next thing Mark knew, Carter was tossed across the room like a pitbull’s chew toy.
Mark watched in horror and awe as the med student’s body flew through the air seemingly in slow motion. On his trajectory, Carter knocked over the only instrument tower still standing. When his head made contact with the tiled wall, a crack echoed throughout the trauma room.
Carter crumbled to the ground in a boneless heap.
Time sped up again as Mark rushed to John’s side.
In the background, he vaguely registered the sound of running feet. The cavalry finally descended. Two security guards and a pair of cops burst through the swinging doors and wrestled the beast to the ground. Carol wasted no time jabbing him with the sedatives.
Rescue may have arrived but the current state of the med student shot a fresh wave of adrenaline into Mark’s heart. Carter’s limp form transported the attending to three months ago, when the young man collapsed by the admit desk. The memory of Carter’s dead weight in his arms still made Mark nauseous.
John had just gotten his cast removed last month. Finally cleared for work by his orthopedic surgeon and physical therapist, Carter was eager to slip back into routine, insisting that working would be better for his mental health than sulking on Benton’s couch. Mark and Peter reluctantly signed off on it.
“He’s driving me nuts at home,” Benton vented to Mark in the lounge. “If he keeps hounding me about work I’m going to drop him off at the animal shelter.”
Mark chuckled. He knew how much Benton secretly cared about his student but was still surprised when the gruff surgeon offered to let Carter stay at his place post op. Carter resisted at first, saying he can get an apartment in town, that Gamma would pay for it. But Peter straightened his back and spoke in his most commanding tone, all but ordered Carter to stay with him so he could keep an eye on his recovery.
Carter never could say “no” to an order from Benton.
Returning to work seemed to live up to Carter’s hypothesis; the ER staff shared knowing smiles as color slowly returned to the kid’s cheeks and that boyish grin spread across his face again. But the images from that day were seared into all of their brains—pale skin marbled with half moon bruises, arms and chest dotted with cigar burns, oozing lash marks layered with pearly scars—it was hard to reconcile what they witnessed with the jovial and compassionate young man they called colleague, friend, and brother.
The kid was finally healing, yet here he was again, broken on the floor.
“I need a gurney and a neck brace!” Mark shouted. “Carter! Carter wake up! Can you hear me?”
Hands and bodies rushed over; they secured the unconscious figure with practiced efficiency and abundant care.
“We need a CT and an x-ray,” Mark barked.
He glanced over at Susan, now leaning over the prone form of the biker. Susan mouthed “go” at Mark. That was all the permission Mark needed to turn his attention fully to Carter.
The attending didn’t leave the kid’s side as he was carried away and hooked up to the monitors. When he peeled back Carter’s eyelids and found the pupils equal and reactive to light, Mark breathed a sigh of relief. He continued his exam for spinal cord injury and found no red flags. Mark desperately hoped that the CT scan would confirm his initial assessment.
Mark was not a religious man but he sent a silent prayer to the powers that be. Please give this kid a break.
As Carter was wheeled off to radiology, Mark asked Haleh to call Benton.
“Dr. Benton’s in surgery, should I tell him?” The nurse said, receiver in one hand.
The attending gave it some thought. “No, let him finish. There’s nothing Peter can do right now anyway. Let’s see what Carter’s scans says.”
Mark’s shoulders lightened significantly when the scans came back clear. Carter had a concussion and will undoubtedly be sore for a while, but no broken bones, no spinal injury, and no brain bleed. He just had to wake up.
They parked the student in Exam Four. Carol, Haleh, and Lydia streamed in; they took turns lovingly checking his nasal cannula, adjusting his blanket, and stroking his hair. Mark felt superfluous watching from the sideline. He gave the kid’s shoulder a squeeze, reminded him napping on shift is frowned upon, and slipped out the door.
Thirty minutes later, while Mark was in the middle of assessing a broken arm from a ladder fall, Carol flung open the curtain.
“Mark, you better come. It’s Carter.”
The panic in Carol’s eyes had Mark’s feet moving in a flash. He followed the nurse to the exam room, fearing the worst. Did he develop a bleed? Did I miss a fracture on the scan? But the sight that awaited him was worse than he feared.
The bed was empty. Sensors and IVs dangled aimlessly, missing their host. Mark quickly scanned the room, not seeing the patient anywhere. Then he heard it—soft whimpers and unintelligible mumblings coming from the corner of the room.
Mark took a step forward but Carol stopped him with a gentle hand on the arm.
“When I tried to get close, he freaked out. Go slow.” Mark could see now that her eyes were wet and her voice trembled. Carol was the toughest of them all, seeing her shaken struck fear in Mark’s heart.
Taking soft, tentative steps, Mark inched toward the sound. As he got closer, the patient slowly came into view.
On the floor, sat the young man clad in a thin gown. He was huddled and squeezed in the crevice between the supply cabinet and the waste bin. His back was pressed against the wall. Pale arms encircled bent legs tightly, making him appear impossibly small.
Carter’s face was hidden in his knees but Mark could hear the soft, rhythmic whimpers. As he got closer, as quietly as possible, he could hear whispers as well.
“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…please stop…”
A lump formed in Mark’s throat that he couldn’t quite swallow.
“John, it’s me. It’s Mark.” The doctor crouched down a few feet away from the trembling student. He spoke in a soft voice he once reserved for Rachel when she woke in her crib crying from night terrors.
Nonetheless, John flinched. His face snapped up, revealing a mess of tears. His eyes darted around the room wildly before landing on Mark’s face. The boy scampered backward, pressing even further into the corner.
Carter let out a desperate, fearful whine like a wounded animal trapped in a snare. His breathing quickened into shallow gasps.
“No! No, please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry. I’ll do better!”
John’s eyes were wild. His fingers clenched his calves so tightly his knuckles turned bone white. Tremors rocked his body like tiny earthquakes.
A battle raged within Mark—the sorrow he felt for the traumatized young man before him and the fury he felt for the monsters who brutalized him and forsake him clashed viciously. But he pushed aside the chaos and composed himself. The physician in him recognized the signs of shock in his patient. It was imperative that John woke up from this panicked spiral.
“I’m not going to hurt you, John. You’re not…you’re not at home. You’re in the hospital. There was an accident with a patient.” Mark tried to explain but John didn’t seem to register any of it.
He was gasping now, barely taking in any oxygen. Wide eyes remained terrified and unseeing.
Mark felt utterly helpless.
“Carol, call Peter in the OR. Tell him to get down here right away. And get 5mg of Hadol on standby.”
Mark prayed that the surgeon could get through to Carter. He didn’t want to hold the kid down and stab him with a needle, adding another mark on his endless tally of torments.
Within minutes, Peter’s thundering footsteps arrived at the door.
Mark heard his raised voice and Carol’s pacifying one. She must have been giving him a rundown of the situation and he was no doubt losing his mind with worry.
A moment later, the door opened. Benton walked in, quiet but steady, and crouched down next to the attending. When Mark glanced over, he took in the newcomer’s tightly controlled features. The turmoil beneath was betrayed only by a subtle clench of the jaw.
Peter slowly let out a long, steady breath then scooted closer to the hunched figure. He was close enough to reach out and touch the boy now, but he kept his hands at his sides.
“Carter, listen to my voice. You are safe. You are in the ER.”
Peter was firm but not unkind. The familiar register seemed to awaken something in John.
The student’s eye stopped roving around the room, stopped chasing phantoms from the past, and settled on his mentor. His chest still heaved with effort but he seemed a little closer to the present.
“That’s right Carter, look at me. I’m right here. You’re safe. I’m going to put my hand on your arm now.”
Peter slowly, ever so carefully, reached his hand toward John. Mark almost gasped when Peter made contact. But the boy didn’t pull back.
“Doc…Doctor Benton?” said John between staccato breaths, his voice barely above a whisper.
“That’s right. I’m here.”
“My dad…he’s mad at me.”
Mark’s heart sank at the mention of that man. He remembered when John showed up at the hospital that day, barely conscious, muttering only warnings of his father.
“He’s not here. He can’t hurt you anymore. Do you trust me?” Peter inched a little closer.
John took in the words, then after a moment, nodded shakily.
“Can I hold you?” Benton asked, with no hint of self-consciousness.
The student took a shuddering breath then nodded again.
Peter leaned forward and enveloped the younger man into his chest, his broad arms folded around John like wings. Mark watched as John’s shoulders tensed at first contact, then collapsed completely, all the tension draining out of him—a drowning man reaching dry land.
Sobs wrecked John’s body, shaking both figures as they sat intertwined on the ground.
“Shh…shh…you’re safe now. You’re safe.” Peter murmured into John’s ear as he stroked the young man’s hair.
“Breathe with me. That’s right. Good boy, Carter.”
The minutes trickled by, Carter’s sobs quieted and his breathing began to deepen. The palpable tension in the room began to dissipate as well.
Mark looked on silently from an arm’s length away, noticing that Peter’s grip around Carter never loosened.
“I’m going to pick you up and put you back in bed so you can rest,” Peter explained calmly.
Carter muttered a reply into Benton’s chest, only then did Peter begin to shift.
Benton’s right arm snaked beneath Carter’s knees, his left arm cradled the young man’s back. Each movement was deliberate, firm, and grounding. Peter rose to one foot then the other, all the while holding his fragile cargo.
Mark offered a hand to steady Peter but it was entirely for his own sake because the surgeon did not falter. Benton carried John as if he weighed next to nothing, as if he was a child on the edge of sleep after a car ride home. But Mark knew that John was never really a child and he never received any care and tenderness close to this from his own parents.
After Peter gingerly placed the boy into bed, Mark helped him reattach all the wires and tubes. The young man’s lashes began to flutter and eventually kissed his cheeks as sleep and exhaustion pulled him under.
Peter brushed a strand of hair away from John’s brow. The gesture so unassuming yet tender it made Mark’s heart ache.
He stared at the pair before him—the solitary surgeon ambitious to a fault and the zealous, devoted student seeking his approval—what a pair they made. When John Carter walked through the doors of County General in his tailored white coat, Mark would have never guessed that he would be the one to thaw Peter Benton’s heart.
The teacher, finally satisfied that his student was comfortable and situated, settled into the bedside chair. His shoulders slumped forward.
“Want me to—”
“No, Mark, thank you. Go ahead and get back to work. I’ll keep an eye on him,” Peter said, not taking his eyes off the unconscious form. He carefully lifted one of Carter’s hands and enfolded it between his own.
Mark took one last look then walked back toward the bustle of the ER.
John Carter was in good hands.