Rexanne Becnel - Blink Of An Eye

Eventually someone showed up with plates of red beans, and we all ate. Only later did the good doctor come out front for a break and to stretch out his back.

“Thanks for the history you gathered on the heart-attack victim,” he said, giving me a grateful smile. “I gather you’ve worked in the field before.”

“Yes, but…it’s been a while.”

He chuckled. “Some things you never forget. I’m Ben Comeaux.” He extended his hand.

“Jane Falgoust. You’re a good Cajun, judging by your name.” And that typical Cajun coloring, dark hair, midnight eyes and a winning smile.

“You got it. A bayou boy transplanted to the big city. So what did you do?”

“Do? Oh, you mean in nursing. Neonatal, surgical, emergency room.”

“Damn. So why are you out here checking patients in? We need you in the exam room.”

I shook my head. “I don’t do that anymore. Besides, I haven’t kept my license current.”

“You think anyone here cares? Come on.” And just like that I was back doing what I never thought I’d be able to do again: working in an emergency room, swabbing wounds, giving shots and handling drugs the licensing board had decided I had no business handling.

But the temptation I feared never raised its ugly head. For one thing, we were all working under one crowded canvas roof, talking back and forth, lending a helping hand to one another. Even Lucky pitched in, entertaining two little girls who were deathly afraid of needles, while I gave them tetanus shots. For another thing, they didn’t have a very big selection of drugs on hand. Mainly tetanus vaccines, blood thinners and coagulants, antibiotics—both oral and intravenous—and some moderate-level pain pills.

Regardless though, I wasn’t into prescription medicines anymore. I hadn’t been for seven years. As easy as my access to them had been on the job in hospitals, in some ways they’d been even easier to get in a bar. People—especially drunk and wasted people—offer bartenders all kinds of stuff. I could have made a bundle buying and selling drugs on the side. But I hadn’t. Why would I want to help anyone ruin their life with drugs? I was a perfect example of how easily drug abuse could ruin your life. I hadn’t died from it, but my career had been killed and it had been downhill ever since.

But I was back in nursing again, if only temporarily, and I was going to make the most of it. I used to be a damned good nurse. I would prove I could be a good one again, even if I was the only one who’d ever know.

After lunch we kept on. Enoch and Sarah came by and stayed, helping out any way they could. A fresh team of doctors came by a few hours later, and suddenly I realized that the whole day was gone. I’d been so busy I hadn’t noticed.

Lucky lay asleep underneath the cot, but the minute I stepped out of the tent, he was there with me.

“Great dog.” It was Dr. Comeaux. “You two went through the storm together?”

“We sure did.” I fondled the goofy mutt’s floppy ears.

“How long have you had him?”

“Would you believe only about a week? I promised to take care of him for his real owner.”

We stood outside the tent, neither of us going anywhere. Finally he said, “Can we count on your help tomorrow?”

“Sure.” I stared up at him. He was good-looking in this shaggy, unselfconscious way. Probably younger than me, but not too much. “How did this all get started?”

He looked back at the makeshift ER and shook his head. “Three of us work with Doctors International On Call. We got here this past Saturday and set up with help from the Red Cross. The military isn’t too happy we’re here, but they are reluctantly providing security. As for the others, they’re mostly like you, good folks who didn’t evacuate and now want to help their fellow man. So, why didn’t you evacuate?”

“I’m not sure anymore. So, where are you guys staying?” I asked, wanting to head off any questions about myself.

He pointed to a building across Frenchman Street from the park. “A guy opened his apartment to us. How about you?”

“I have an apartment on Dauphine not far from here.”

“You’re not walking back by yourself, are you? Because I can walk you home.”

“No, I’m fine. I came with two of my neighbors. And of course I have Lucky to protect me.”

He studied me a moment. “I don’t know why you left the medical field, Jane. But I think you ought to reconsider.” Then he grinned. “See you tomorrow?”

I nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

I smiled to myself as I walked home with Enoch and Sarah, filled with this warm glow of pleasure, all due to what he’d said. Ben Comeaux was a good doctor, so that made his compliment even sweeter. Too bad I couldn’t just snap my fingers, straighten out my life and resume my lost career.

For now, though, I vowed to enjoy my newfound work. Who knew how long it would be before I’d ever have another job again?

The next day I brought my cell phone with me. There was a guy with a generator at the park, and in exchange for gasoline, he was letting people charge up their phones. I figured that whoever had left the 1972 Chrysler that was half-hidden by a downed crepe myrtle tree wouldn’t begrudge me a gallon or so.

Enoch and I siphoned the gas, and by the time we returned home that night, we both had working phones. Make that charged-up phones. Unfortunately they didn’t work thanks to the network being laid to ruin by the storm. But I learned from Ben that text messages could get through. It turns out they’re a lot less of a drain on the system.

The problem was, the only number I wanted to call was the place Clark had been evacuated to. But that was a landline, so text messaging wouldn’t work.

I know, I know. A major American city with no working phone system is inconceivable. Throw in no running water, no electricity, no gas, no television and only one radio station, and you get a nightmare no one can imagine. You have to live it to believe it. And we were living it.

But I tried hard not to focus on anything more than whatever problem was immediately in front of me. The next patient. My next meal. A charged-up phone.

Anyway, I spent the whole evening trying to get a call through, to no avail. In between calls, I refilled Mr. French’s buckets from the pool. I’d brought him a meal and two bottles of water. In return he shared his bleach with me so I could decontaminate some pool water for washing up.

It was a surreal existence. By day, the streets around the park were a constant ebb and flow of humanity, and I was too busy at the medical tent to think about the future. I was mainly taking vitals, giving shots, swabbing and stitching every kind of wound imaginable. For the crazies—and there were too many of them—we couldn’t do too much. Some were crazy from drug use; others were crazy due to a loss of their regular meds. We tried to help, but psychiatric medicines don’t usually give instant results. Plus we didn’t have anybody’s medical records and had to go by what they told us—not always an accurate system. For the most part we had to revert to antianxiety medications like Xanax. But it was just a stopgap measure, and we knew it.

A few days later we finally received an influx of new medications. Of course we were also under orders to evacuate the city. Like that was going to happen. Although the city was crawling with army types, they still didn’t have the manpower to drag everyone away. And besides, where would they take them? To the edge of town? Every edge of New Orleans is water.

The irony was not lost on any of us. Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink. Actually the city water had come back on. But we were cautioned not to drink it or bathe in it because of the strong chemicals put in it to disinfect the system. At least we could flush the toilets.