And Miles To Go Before I Sleep

"And Miles to Go Before I Sleep"

by Paracelsus

Part II

On Friday morning, Margaret Pohuhu awoke at her usual time. She lay in bed for a moment before starting her morning routine, remembering: no dream last night. Nothing out of the ordinary. Good.

She got up and stretched, wandered to the bathroom. She glanced out the window in passing: overcast skies. Winter had definitely arrived. A typical winter day. Good.

She showered, dressed, and breakfasted, all the while praying that today would be a perfectly normal day. Yesterday had been the strangest day of her life.

If she'd ended the sentence with "so far", it would have been correct.

*

All hopes of normalcy were banished as soon as Margaret stepped through the main entrance of Christchurch Hospital. The reception area was total chaos. Two nurses, an intern, a receptionist, and several administrative clerks were chasing a large white bird as it flew wildly around the room. Several others were standing against the walls, cheering them on, or offering suggestions.

"What in the world...?" Margaret didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

"It just flew in, Dr. Pohuhu!" cried the receptionist. "It came through the door, a moment ago! We can't seem to corner it!"

The bird landed on the front desk and screeched in fury. Now that it was still, they could see it was a white owl. (An albino Ruru? No, this bird was a larger bird than the native owl...) It stared balefully at Dr. Pohuhu as if it recognized her. For a moment, at least, it looked willing to stay in one spot.

Margaret took a cautious step toward it, just as the front door opened and another doctor came into the foyer. The owl immediate spread its wings and took flight, zooming past Margaret and out the open door. It had flown away so abruptly, it still had papers from the desk clutched in its talons.

The second doctor looked behind him as it flew up, away, and disappeared into the cloudy sky. "Whoa. That's a strange start to the day, isn't it?" he said.

"And that's all the strangeness I intend to take for the day," replied Margaret. Somehow, her tone lacked conviction.

Nurse MacCrimmon was again on duty in the ICU ward. She intercepted Dr. Pohuhu as she approached the nurse's station; her face had an unusually bemused look. "Good morning, doctor. Have you had your coffee yet?"

"Morning, Beth," she answered warily. "Um, yes, I've had coffee."

"Oh, good. Then take a look at this." She handed over the chart for little Katy Chao, their leukemia patient. Margaret opened it, and gasped. "White count doubled? Overnight?"

"And other CBC parameters to match." Beth glanced over to Katy's bed. "She's looking about ten times better than she did when she came in here."

"The donor marrow must've finally taken hold," Margaret mused, half to herself. "But I've never heard of it reacting so quickly." She shook her head and handed the chart back to Beth. "Did Dr. Wells order anything new? He'd asked me yesterday to keep an eye on Katy, maybe he knew something was about..."

"Not that I was told, doctor. It just... happened."

Margaret and Beth walked over to the nurse's station. "Let's hold on to this for the moment, all right? This could be a one-day spike. I don't want to raise hopes unnecessarily; we'll wait and see if the trend continues." She collected the charts and began her morning rounds.

Katy's case was the most dramatic improvement in the ICU that morning, but it turned out hers wasn't the only one. Every patient showed some improvement over the day before: Mr. Watson's infection had greatly subsided, with inflammation almost nil. Mrs. Goodwin was more animated today, on both sides of her body, suggesting improved circulation; Dr. Pohuhu wondered just what a CAT scan might show. Ms. Puketapu's hip was stable, but she seemed much more comfortable today.

Coming to the last bed, to the patient she'd dubbed Jim, Dr. Pohuhu was almost prepared to find the necrotic tissues on his third-degree burns were sloughing, with new skin beginning to appear. She was not prepared for what she actually found: that the burns on Jim's hands were now, somehow, second-degree burns.

Jim watched in silence as she inspected his hands, then startled her by saying, "Good morning, doctor. Is everything all right?"

Margaret was surprised that he was talking, and so lucidly. This was rapid recovery for a trauma case - why hadn't Beth mentioned it? "Morning, Jim," she said. He smiled gently. She reviewed the chart again. "'All right'? Yes and no. Your hands are doing much better than I expected."

"Well," said Jim after a moment, "that's good, isn't it?"

"As far as you're concerned, yes. But either the ER staff can't tell the difference between second-degree and third-degree burns, or something impossible has happened. I know they're not incompetent, and I don't believe in medical miracles."

"Which doesn't seem to leave anything," Jim pointed out. "And yet..." He displayed his hands.

"Mmm. Well, I can't argue with facts. Your hands are better than I expected." She looked over the rest of his body: the cuts and burns along his torso and upper arms were nearly healed. They couldn't possibly have been as severe as they'd seemed yesterday, she decided. The jagged scar on his forehead, she discovered on inspection, was many years old; it must have been blood loss that caused it to look so vivid when he arrived. She ordered a CBC, and made a note to transfuse a unit of blood if anemia persisted.

Physical examination done, she looked her patient in the eye. "How are you otherwise? Do you remember what happened to you?"

Jim closed his eyes for a brief moment. "Not... not exactly, doctor. I remember there was pain... awful pain. I don't know how, or what..." He closed his eyes again. His brow furrowed. "The first thing I can remember clearly is waking up here. In hospital. I don't remember..." His eyes opened again, and tried to focus on Margaret. "You say my name's Jim?"

Amnesia, thought Margaret. Caused by shock, perhaps? The X-rays showed no internal head injuries. "Isn't it? Do you remember your name?"

"Everyone's been calling me Jim, or Jimmy. I assumed that was my name. It... it felt right."

"Do you know where you are? The date? Where you live?"

"I'm... I'm in hospital. The date is, uh, late June. I live at... I live..." He clearly couldn't say. He's squinting, she realized. Could he need glasses? If I can get him to read me an eye chart, we might have a clue to finding his identity.

She assumed a confident tone. "Well, don't worry about it for the moment. You concentrate on getting well. Once the body improves, the mind should follow."

"Yes, doctor." Margaret turned to leave, and Jim added, "Um, doctor? Do you know when I'll be allowed to leave?"

"Tired of us so soon, Jim?" smiled Margaret. "You'll have to stay here until we're sure you'll be all right, physically and mentally. I don't know how long that will be."

"Am I going to be arrested?"

Now seriously concerned, Margaret came back to Jim's bedside. "No, of course not. Why would you think that?"

"Uh... I heard someone talking about the police, and I thought..."

"The police found you and brought you here. They may want to question you when you're feeling better. Don't worry, you aren't in trouble. You were the victim of a crime." At least, I hope so, thought Margaret. You do seem awfully eager to be gone. "You should rest now. Look, I have other rounds to make, but I'd like to come back and talk to you when I'm on break."

"I'd like that. Thank you, doctor umm?"

"Pohuhu. Now rest."

"Yes, ma'am," he said with his charming smile, and settled back into his bed. Margaret turned and walked back to the nurse's station, scribbling on Jim's chart as she walked. Got to see who's on call this week for psychiatric consultation. How early can I schedule a visit?

*

Margaret was returning to the ICU ward that afternoon when she received her greatest shock of the day: Nana Pohuhu was visiting the ward.

She wasn't unknown to the hospital staff; she'd been a frequent visitor in the past. But she'd mostly been coming to see older Maori patients, what Margaret half-jokingly called her "congregation". It had been months since last she'd come to Christchurch Hospital.

And here she was, asking for Jim, of all people. Margaret saw her speaking to one of the ward nurses, the nurse pointing to Jim's bed, and Nana walking over to it. She hurried to join them, arriving at the bed just as Nana did.

Nana stood silently by the bed for a long moment, regarding Jim. Jim became aware of her presence, and nodded a greeting. She didn't respond, but continued staring. Eventually, he became unsettled, and finally stared back at her. Neither spoke.

"Do you know why you are here?" An abrupt way to start a conversation, but it was typically Nana; Margaret hoped her patient wouldn't take offense. She didn't interrupt, but she stood ready to play peacemaker if necessary.

Jim seemed to respond to the authority in Nana's voice. "They tell me someone attacked me. They must have hurt me pretty badly."

"No," Nana shook her head and frowned. "That is only what brought you here. Do you not know why?"

He was silent for a moment. "In the end, ma'am, nobody really knows why about anything." He glanced at Margaret. "Dr. Pohuhu, who is...?"

Nana overrode him. "How did you get these?" She gestured at his burned hands. "Remember for me."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. I can't. It... it hurts to try."

"How did you get this?" She reached out with one finger to the scar on his forehead. As soon as she touched it, she and Jim both drew long shivering breaths, as though they had both been plunged into an icy coldness. She dropped her hand and continued, in the tone of someone answering her own question.

"The same man did both to you. All your life he wanted you dead. Now he is dead. And you..." She peered into his eyes. He returned the gaze, unflinching. "You should have died, too. Instead you are here."

"Yes, um, well..." Jim obviously considered disputing with the tiny old woman, and as obviously decided against it. He shifted his gaze to Margaret. "That would explain why I'm here, I reckon. To recover? This is a hospital, after all."

"You should have died. You expected to die." Nana touched his arm, bringing his eyes back to hers. "Did you want to die, tohunga?

Jim fell quiet. Nana waited, every line in her stance demanding a response. Finally, slowly, as though it pained him to say it, he replied, "I wanted to rest."

She nodded. "Understandable. But you cannot go to bed until you've finished your chores. Papa has tasks for you yet."

"Papa? Your father?"

"My mother. Your mother, too."

"You call your mother Papa?" Jim acted confused. Nana sighed impatiently.

"Papatuanuku, if you like. She is the Great Mother. The Earth Mother. The Mother of All." She grasped his forearm more firmly. "You did her great service, tohunga. But there are still tasks she needs done. And only you can do them." She fixed Jim with the fierce glare Margaret knew so well. Amazingly, Jim didn't try to avoid it; he seemed to stiffen instead. Despite his gentle speech, Margaret realized, this was not a man who could be browbeaten or bullied.

At last, Jim said, "No."

"You must!" Nana gripped his arm tighter. Margaret tried to intervene, but Nana ignored her, focusing entirely on the skinny invalid before her. "Why else would she save you from death? Why else bring you here?"

"As a reward, maybe? A chance to rest? A little peace? If you're right, I've certainly earned it." Jim spoke mildly, but with steel firmness. His green eyes bore into Nana's brown ones, not yielding an inch.

To Margaret's surprise, Nana was the first to break eye contact. She released his arm. "You may have earned it," she acknowledged. "But it will not be yet."

"We'll see." His tone conceded nothing.

"Nana, that's enough!" Dr. Pohuhu broke in. "I can't have you badgering my patients like this. Jim, are you...?"

Jim hastened to reassure her that he was fine, while at the same time Nana hastened to reassure her that she meant no harm. They realized at the same moment that they were talking over each other, and fell simultaneously silent. Then suddenly, as if on cue, they grinned broadly at one another.

"You will remember what I said, tohunga," said Nana.

"I will, Professor," said Jim. "But no promises."

She nodded, and turned to Margaret. "Forgive me, child. I know you are here to be his healer, but I had to come today. I do apologize - " she looked from Margaret to Jim, " - to both of you, for intruding." She took Margaret's hands. The former fierceness was nowhere to be seen. "Will I see you next week?"

"Thursday as usual, Nana," Margaret replied. "Behave yourself until then, if you can."

Nana looked down, where she and Margaret still held hands. The grin returned to her face, and she nodded once, firmly. It wasn't the nod of someone agreeing to behave; it was the nod of someone whose plans were finally coming together. She released Margaret's hands and took her leave.

Once Nana had left the ward, Margaret turned back to Jim. She wanted to apologize for Nana's behavior - which, even by Nana's standards, had been bizarre. Before she could open her mouth, though, Jim spoke up. "Is she related to you? There's a certain resemblance."

"My paternal grandmother. Most people say I take after my mother's side of the family."

"I was referring to the matriarchal tone of authority, doctor." Jim spoke archly, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. Now he's having fun with me. He must be feeling better.

"So long as you recognize it, young man," she responded in kind. He grinned. Margaret decided no apology was needed. "What did Nana mean about 'service to Papa?' What service does she think you've done?"

The grin died. "I really have no idea. I've tried, but I just don't remember..." He hesitated for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "Pain is supposed to be nature's way of telling you, 'Yo, don't do that.' You pull the kitty's tail, you get scratched - you learn not to do that again. Well, when I try to remember anything about my, my accident... my life..." He gestured toward his head. "It hurts. Not just the memory of pain, but real pain. If my body is telling me not to do something, not to remember, should I ignore the message?"

Clearly, Jim felt no desire to recall the events preceding his arrival in the ICU. He preferred to escape them entirely - maybe his whole prior life as well. Whether it was because the memories were linked to physical pain, or whether the pain was his subconscious mind's attempt to prevent him from remembering - it hardly mattered. Margaret, silently damning the staff psychiatrist for his absence, chose her words carefully.

"That's certainly one reason for pain. But there are others. After all, healing frequently involves pain, but that doesn't mean nature's telling your body not to heal." He considered the point, as she continued, "Sometimes, pain can be an alert. And sometimes... even if you do something that brings pain, you have to ignore the pain, because what you're doing is more important. Every animal has a pain reflex, after all; but very few were given a brain that lets them ignore it."

"If there's a good enough reason." Jim rubbed his eyes. "I just feel... tired," he told her earnestly. "Not just physically, but... it's like I've been working hard at something all my life, and I'm bone weary. Maybe that's what your Nana was talking about; I don't know."

"And you resent being asked to do more of the same?"

"Um, 'resent' may be too strong a word. I just feel it's time for a change. Get away. Wander the back country, find someplace peaceful. Maybe become a shepherd."

Get away from people, Margaret interpreted. Who is he trying to avoid? Why? It was time to set a lighter tone. "You know, my father was a game warden. He was constantly out in the field. He'd be gone from home for weeks at a time. Not a restful life, really."

"What does he do now?" asked Jim politely. "Is he retired?"

"No," Margaret said softly. "He died when I was about five years old."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was a long time ago." She smiled wistfully. "I still remember him, a little. He seemed so big and tough - I remember he had these callused hands, from working outside. And sometimes he even came home with burn marks on his arms. But he was the most tender man. He really loved me and Mum." She paused, remembering. "He called me Opaleyes when he wanted to tease me."

Jim squinted into her face. "I'd've said Topazeyes, but it doesn't fall as trippingly from the tongue. Maybe Ambereyes."

"Oh, like you'd know, Beryleyes."

He half-smiled to acknowledge the sally, and responded, "He probably only called you that when you were angry about something."

"Why..." Margaret searched her memories. "Yes, that's right. I never thought of that. How did you know that?"

He looked blank momentarily, then shrugged. "Opal is fiery, I guess."

"Ah. I don't think I want to go there." She gathered herself and told him, "Well, I have to continue my rounds. Talk to you tomorrow? I've floor duty all this weekend."

"I'm not going anywhere," he smiled. I have got to learn to resist that smile.

As she was turning away, something occurred to her. "Why did you call Nana 'Professor'?"

"Oh, she reminded me of..." Jim faltered. The blank, lost expression returned for a moment, then he said, "I vaguely recall a teacher I used to have: stern, no-nonsense... Your grandmother must be like her, I think. Her name was... was..." He furrowed his brows in frustration, then shook his head. "It won't come." He forced a smile and added, "But it just seemed appropriate, somehow. My turn, now: why did your Nana call me 'tohunga'? What does that mean?"

"I'd wondered why myself. Tohunga is a title among my people. It hasn't an exact translation." Margaret considered. "'Wise man'? 'Shaman'?" She shrugged. "I suppose the closest might be 'wizard.'"

She stopped talking abruptly at the look in his face. She'd seen those green eyes confused, in pain, resolute, playful - but never until that moment had they been afraid.