Protect Me(44)

I smile down at the little guy next to me. “Well, my name is Nathan, too,” I tell the boy. He gives me a huge, toothy smile. “I’ll tell you what, Nathan. You go in that ambulance with these people, and I’ll come see you in the hospital very soon. Okay?”

Nathan shakes his head vigorously up and down as the same smile continues to wash over me. I watch as he is wheeled away from me and hoisted up into the awaiting ambulance. His mother leaps up into the rig before the doors are closed and they speed away towards the hospital.

“You need to have it checked out,” the male paramedic states.

“No I don’t,” I reply.

“No arguments, Stevens. You know you have to go get checked out before you can report back to the station,” Chief Hernandez states.

I concede again and lie back on the gurney as they strap me down. Once inside the rig, I’m hooked up to all sorts of wires and tubes. The female paramedic inserts the IV into my hand as I close my eyes, taking in all of the events of the past few hours. I think about the little boy whose life we saved today. I think about the close call I was in, again. And then I think of Lia. Her sitting at home or at work, oblivious that anything is even happening to me. We could be happily married one, two, or ten years from now. I could have easily not made it out of that building. She could be sitting there, rocking our child to sleep, when they arrive to tell her that her husband isn’t coming home.

And that’s why a future with Lia can’t happen. As much as I try to fight it, I care too much for her to hurt her this way. She deserves to be happily married with a child or two of her own. A child similar to little Nathan.

My chest aches as I picture Lia walking down the aisle towards a man that isn’t me. I picture Lia pregnant with a child that isn’t mine. I picture her old and gray as she sits in a damn rocking chair on a front porch, sipping a glass of lemonade, and holding a hand that doesn’t belong to me.

Fuck, my subconscious is a cruel bastard.

I squeeze my eyes shut and will the unwanted images out of my head. The rig slows down and I feel the sharp turn to the left and into the hospital’s Emergency Room entrance. The doors open and the awaiting medical staff all jump to action. I’m wheeled into a small, curtained room and evaluated. I answer the questions as the doctor goes about shining the light in my eyes and checking me over. “I want to get a CT Scan just to rule out a concussion, but I think you’re good, Mr. Stevens,” the attending physician states.

I’m taken straight down to X-Ray and bypass the few waiting patients. That’s the thing I’ve noticed is that emergency personnel and first responders tend to get priority for examinations like this. It sucks, but what can I do?

Fortunately, the scan doesn’t take too long and I’m wheeled back to the Emergency Room. Chief Hernandez is waiting in the little room and gives me a friendly wave as I’m brought back in.

“Any word on the boy?” I ask.

“He’s going to be fine. You saved his life, Stevens.”

“I just did what any one of you would have done, sir.”

“True, but you ran back into that building before the report was even finished coming over the speaker, without a second thought or glance back. You’re a good man and a damn fine firefighter,” he says.

The doctor that checked me out earlier comes into the room. “Everything came back clear on the scan, Mr. Stevens,” he tells me as he looks over the papers in his hand.

“Can I get out of here?” I ask, anxious to go see Nathan.

“Yes. The nurse is working on your release papers now. Here are your discharge orders. Rest for the next forty-eight hours and then you can resume normal activity,” he tells me as he hands me the stack of papers in his hand.

“Done,” I tell him, already throwing my legs over the side of the bed.

“Take it easy and if you experience any dizziness or pain, please come back in as soon as possible,” he states before exiting the room.

“What room is Nathan in?” I ask as I wait for the nurse.

“208 in the pediatric wing,” Chief says. I know that wing all too well. My niece, Bean, was a patient for four days almost two years ago, due to pneumonia. Those first two days were the scariest damned days of my life.

As soon as the nurse comes in and I throw my chicken-scratched name across the form, I take off towards the elevator. Chief hangs with me, apparently accompanying me to the room. Then it hits me that I don’t have a ride, and the realization that Chief is stuck here with me until I decide to leave settles over me.

I spend the next hour with Nathan in his brightly colored room, playing with the matchbox cars I picked up at the gift shop that I walked by. His mother hugged me no less than a dozen times and followed each hug up with a big, “thank you.” The nursing staff is in and out of his room and assure his mother - and me - that the young boy will make a complete recovery. They are keeping him overnight due to the smoke inhalation, but anticipate that he’ll be going home - or going to his grandmother’s house - sometime tomorrow.