Friday, October 12, 2012

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          Caught up in that past reflection, I remembered that it was dark then and that I was working late at the office, with just a desk lamp shining low over my papers.  I was dictating with my feet up on the windowsill, my back to the door.  I heard something scrape on the floor behind me and spun around in my chair.  She was standing in the doorway leaning against the jam.  We made eye contact and she walked into the room, tall and blonde, smiling a smile that would have melted a weaker man.  She was dressed to the nines and had a body that you could tell she knew how to use.  I stood up as she came around my desk and pointed two 38’s at me.  It was then that I realized that she was carrying a gun in her right hand.
          “So, you’re Dr. Matrix,” was how she started out.  “I need your services.  I’m a desperate woman,” she continued in a low alto.
          I thought that it must be cold outside or she was really glad to see me.  She wasn’t afraid to stand up close, inside my space.  She was a cool number, a close talker.  She didn’t seem desperate.  “What kind of services are you after.  I can offer you a wide variety, some very personal, and they’re all guaranteed,” I said with a slight smile on my face, “...and why the shooter?”
          Her voice a whisper, her eyes locked on mine she said, “The gun is because it’s dark outside and I’m scared.  I need you for a job.  It is going to be hard and require a lot of probing on your part, maybe into some areas that you aren’t comfortable.  But I think that you’re the man to do it.”  She had a gentle hint of a French accent.
          “Probing comes with my profession, believe me, so that doesn’t concern me.  But, before I agree to help I am going to need some history, about you and about what you’ve got yourself into.  Like your name for starters,” I whispered back.  “And you are safe here.”  I added, as I slid my hand down along her arm and gently took the gun out of her hand.  She took a step back and gave me that smile she had walked in with.  It made me think of a thousand sensual moments.  It was obvious that she was a complete and total package.  It would be hard not to want to help her.
          She proceeded to tell me about her dead husband, about the multi-million dollar inheritance and about the police.  She needed help getting out of the murder rap and she had heard about me from a lot of sources.  She gave me her complete history, including the fact that she was way behind in having a physical exam and pap smear.  She was very emotional and I comforted and reassured her.  I told her that she needed to trust me and that I would take care of everything.  I agreed to take the case and told her to see me the next morning in my clinic.  I figured that was a good place to start.  The rest was history….
          The hum of the road brought me back inside the roadster.  It was 5:30 AM and the sky was starting to show signs of the oncoming dawn when I idled back into the garage.  I went into the house and found that the ghosts and terrors had fled with the gently growing light.  Within a few minutes I was back in the bedroom, in my sleeping clothes, crawling back into bed.  It didn’t look like Sarah had moved.  I could just see her sensual rounded curves under the bedsheets and momentarily considered gently waking her with kisses and caresses.  She would have obliged me, even half-awake, because she loved me and wouldn’t say no, and she liked how I made her feel, despite the tension.  But it had been a difficult weekend for her too, so instead I lay down next to her, feeling her warmth. 
          Sarah stirred beside me and brought her arm across my chest.  She was warm and fragrant.  Her skin always had a delicious, sensuous aroma.  I brought my hand to her shoulder and down along her side and discovered, in that moment, that she was naked beside me.
          “You’ve had quite a weekend.  I’ve been waiting for you,” she whispered.
          “I have.  I thought you were asleep.  I didn’t want to wake you,” I replied as I gently caressed her round, full breast, finding the nipple and softly teasing it. 
          She moved against me and opened herself to me, letting me know that she didn’t want to just talk.  “I need some quality time with you too, you know,” she said as her hand moved across me.  “I need your touch,” she whispered as she led my hand across her smooth, soft abdomen.
          It was then that we began our dance together; a wonderful warm, erotic dance of the senses.  She was a wonderful partner.  We had been together a long time and though we knew the steps they were always new and fresh.  We danced a slow dance and in those moments we were in our own world, just the two of us. 
          She let me explore her, touch and arouse her as she returned those sensations to me.  She was firm and gentle and I moved with her.  I could hear her breathing change and could feel the waves of pleasure course through my own body.  She moved over me letting me have her whole body and finally at the perfect moment our mutual pleasure exploded, mingling our minds and bodies together in an intimacy and closeness that words fail to describe.
          Exhausted, she lay down beside me; her body warm and slick with the wetness of sex.  “Wow,” was all that I could say.  Lying there with my arm around her I could feel her body relax and her breathing become deep and regular.  She was asleep in my arms.  We had shared what we both needed and now she could sleep.
          With the growing light in the room I tried to quiet my mind.   I knew that the chance of sleep was unlikely.  Lying there I closed my eyes and watched the patterns of light against dark, flashing across the back of my eyelids.  I tried to find stars in the patterns because I knew that I could float through them into sleep.  I thought about the demons that had fled the house and those that were always there, on the edge of my consciousness, waiting to trap me in their web of depression, confusion, anger and fear and I thought about the very short weekend I had just survived.  I thought about Sarah lying beside me and the solace she gave me.  I needed to get some semblance of rest before the morning came.  I knew it would come too quickly. 

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

the beginning...

George Matrix,
Detective-Gynecologist

“—all of those moments will be lost in time,
like tears in the rain.”

                                                                   Roy Batty, Nexus 6

                                                                                 Blade Runner

Prologue

          I had finally gotten to bed about 2:00 AM Monday morning after spending most of the night filling out reports at the police precinct and answering questions.  No matter what I chose as a career, it seemed like paperwork and lawyers dogged my every step.  The paperwork was a necessary evil but the lawyers descended on you like ravenous jackals, their nostrils flared with the smell of blood and money, circling, hoping for something injured, dead or dying to feed on, growing fat off other’s misfortune. They were like the plague in the middle ages adding a putrid stench of death to the scent of humanity.  I said a little prayer involving them as I drifted off to sleep.  I doubted that it would be answered. 
          At 3:30 AM a call from the hospital maternity unit invaded my dreams.  The phone brought me out of a deep sleep that I had fallen into pretty easily.  After all, I was exhausted.  My dual professions, as a gynecologist and as a detective, had collided and combined to create a weekend for me that few would believe, or even understand.  At first I didn’t know what I was hearing but as my awareness rose out of the dark depths of my dreams I realized that I was hearing the phone ringing next to my head.  Feeling around on the nightstand I found the phone, eventually, and brought it to my ear.  “This is Dr. Matrix,” I said, barely registering my thoughts in the real world.
          “This is labor and delivery.”  It was Lynn, a night nurse who had been working on the maternity unit for about four years.  “Sorry to have to call you at this hour, Dr. Matrix, but a patient of yours, Marissa Jackson, just came in and she is well into her labor.  In fact, she is pretty close to delivery.  I think that you had better head this way.  She is about eight centimeters dilated and moving pretty fast.  The baby is doing fine but I think it is coming down breech.  It doesn’t feel like a head in there.  You had better hurry Dr. Matrix.  Do you want me to call anesthesia, or for more backup help?”
          “No, I’m on my way,” was all I could manage as I hung up the phone.  Sarah hadn’t even stirred beside me.  She had shared a bed with me long enough and even though I wasn’t there as often now she still knew the routine.  Her back was to me and I could hear her soft, steadily rhythmic breathing.  My eyes moved over her sleeping form and I thought of the stress that we’d been living through for so long, most of it a result of my life, my demons, my professions.  I was glad she could sleep through the ringing.  She seemed to have problems finding the peace that sleep offered. 
          Throwing off the covers I rose up and sat on the side of the bed.  I took a few deep breaths, trying to shake off the extreme tiredness that enveloped me.  The shadowy silent specters of the night filled the room and dark emotions swirled around me as I battled them back into the black recesses of my mind, trying to throw off my sleep deprived weariness.  Rubbing my palms against my face I stood, walked over to the closet through the darkness, felt around for the clothes that I needed and got into them as fast as I could.    Dressing in the dark was nothing new to me, though I did show up at the hospital once wearing two different shoes.  I was on cruise control, doing what I had done over and over for so many years.  And it was getting harder and harder to do it. 
          Finding my keys on the bureau I made my way through the darkened hallways down to the main floor of the house, through the kitchen and into the garage.  Exhausted from the weekend and deep into the night, I could feel the ghosts of my life follow me through the darkened halls and rooms.  They were always there.  It was difficult to know whether it was stress or weariness that brought them to life but it was these times, in the depths of the dark house, where they haunted me.  They were silent specters of bad decisions, bad relationships, heavy responsibilities and life changing moments that I could look back upon and wonder what my life would have been like “if”.  Black thoughts of anger would engulf me and many a night I traveled in my mind to imagined worlds of revenge and retribution.  Sensing my vulnerabilities- depression, frustration and hopelessness would try to lay siege in my mind.  These were just the tips of icebergs floating in the oceans of emotion that I watched with fear, and sometimes envy, as I passed them in the night.
          Sliding into the roadster and firing up the engine as the garage door opened, I backed out onto the street and headed toward the hospital.
          From Sarah’s house I could get to the hospital in seven minutes in the dead of the night.  That time also included pushing the envelope on a few traffic laws.  Accelerating down the road I lowered the window to let the cool air pour over me, to help me wake up and to get my thinking straight before I got to the hospital.  It had rained on and off during the weekend and I loved the fresh clean smell of the air that swirled around me, its coolness on my face helping to clear away the darkness.  It was that time of night, just before dawn, when there were no other cars on the highway and the world seemed so peaceful and serene.  It was during these quiet moments of reflection when I wished that the world were different.  At the beginning of the day it seemed to offer so much.  By the end of the day what it seemed to offer was definitely different, darker; but that just might have been me.
            Everything that flew by the roadster was still in black and gray.  The only light was the soft glow of the roadster’s instrument panel and the headlights against the black pavement.  I didn’t want music, instead I just listened to the purr of the roadster’s engine, the low hum of the tires and the sound of the wind.  There was a certain peace that I found in the lonesome darkness.
          As the brisk air flowed past me, in the quiet of the roadster, my thoughts often turned within and I longed for my youth that I had left behind.  I thought of all of my hopes, dreams and desires.  I thought about what made me alive and unique and how all the elements of my life were interwoven and interconnected.  I thought a lot about the women in my life.  I thought about the universe and I thought about God and I wondered at the miracle and mystery of the world that flew by me.  I could feel the constant tug-of-war between feelings and fantasy, dedication and desire, love and passion within myself and I wondered which side would win.  By the time I was at the hospital I was fully awake and ready to go.
          What dark demons haunted me or what dreams I dreamt didn’t matter during these times.  Babies waited for no man and now, once again, there was a woman who needed my help.  Somehow these moments would transform me and I could put aside the internal cacophony and find focus in using my skills to help a woman in need.  Running to the Maternity unit I could tell by the activity of the other nurses that Mrs. Jackson was, indeed, moving along quickly.  Lynn poked her head out of the room that Mrs. Jackson was in and smiled, “Oh, there you are, Dr. Matrix. Marissa is ready for you now.  She was completely dilated when I checked her about one minute ago.  She is definitely in a breech position, too.  I’m sure that’s a little bottom that I am feeling.” 
          In my experience, Lynn was one of the best maternity nurses with whom I had ever worked.  She was also one of the most beautiful, both inside and out, and she was a patient of mine.  She was natural, sandy blonde with a gorgeous smile.  Her eyes sparkled and her lips were moist and full.  I had a tremendous appreciation for the type of woman that she was, as a gynecologist, and as a man.  As a physician I also had a great appreciation for the type of nurse she was.  Because of her very warm and caring nature the patients loved her and, contrary to rational thought, she seemed to enjoy working nights.  She was confident and competent at what she did and nothing seemed to faze her. 
          My practice style didn’t faze her either.  If a patient of any other doctor had shown up at eight centimeters and breech there would have been complete bedlam on the unit, with nurses racing around, the doctor shouting orders and the patient and family in a complete state of panic.  No other doctor would touch a vaginal breech delivery for two reasons; lawyers and their own inability and inexperience.  I still did them for three reasons; 1) I was good at what I did, 2) I wasn’t afraid to use my abilities to help my patients and 3) I hated the self-serving lawyers and I was not going to let them dictate the care of my patients.  I hated “knee jerk” medicine that was meant to keep the legal dogs at bay.  I always tried to do what was right for the patient, to use my skills and experience to help the patient, despite the circling Jackals.
          “Do I have time to change into my scrubs?”  I asked.
          “She is doing great, Dr. Matrix, really in good control considering that this is her first baby.  When I told her that I thought she was breech she said that she wasn’t worried, because you were her doctor and had already talked to her about the possibility.  I think you have time, but hurry please.”  She flashed that incredible smile at me again as she disappeared back into the room.
          The last time that I had seen Mrs. Jackson in the clinic I thought that she was breech after examining her and, indeed, had had a long discussion with her concerning that situation.  I discussed the risks with her, but as all doctors do, I naturally skewed them in the direction of my own beliefs, talents and clinical experience.  Most doctors had no abilities when it came to this type of situation, or they handled this and every situation as if a lawyer were lying next to the patient with his (or her) legs spread, too.  Those doctors would have given her a whole different slant on the situation.  A lot of Mrs. Jackson’s calm probably had to do with our discussion; and she knew my reputation as an obstetrician.
          It is never a good idea to take a lot of time outside the delivery room when a baby is on its way down the birth canal, so I ran down to the doctor’s changing room, stripped out of my clothes, put on my scrubs and was back in Mrs. Jackson’s room in about two minutes.  Lynn had Mrs. Jackson up in stirrups and was coaching her through her pushing efforts.  Mr. Jackson stood on the other side of the bed, holding his wife’s hand, his eyes wide and dilated and looking very nervous.  I could see that it was definitely a butt that was bulging at the edge of the vaginal opening.  Behind us the television droned a re-run of Rio Bravo on the hospital cable channel.  It seemed to be the only movie that played at this time of night.  Nobody in the room was watching it.  It was just white noise. 
          The butt-first or “frank breech” was the most common type of breech presentation.  Statistically, if anyone bothered to read the literature, there was little difference in outcome between it and the baby coming headfirst, especially if the physician knew what he was doing.  In fact the baby was just as likely to sustain an injury being delivered through a c-section incision, as it was if it came out of the birth canal.  A colleague of mine once performed an emergency c-section on a woman who came in at eight centimeters dilatation with a breech in her second pregnancy.  She had delivered her first baby, weighing nine pounds, head first and vaginally.  He told her that there was too much danger and risk involved in letting her deliver a breech baby naturally, therefore a cesarean section was indicated and it had to be done quickly.  While he was in the operating room doing this “emergency” surgery another patient of his came to the Maternity unit in labor, with her first baby, also in a breech position.  She delivered a healthy baby spontaneously in the hospital bed before any nurses could even get to her. 
          I got into my surgical gown and put my sterile gloves on, without taking my eyes off of Mrs. Jackson’s bulging vaginal opening.  I did a quick visual check of my delivery instruments and glanced at Mr. Jackson.  “Are you doing okay?”  I asked, smiling encouragement.  He looked like a deer caught in the headlights; the bright lights of responsibility rushing toward him.  I remembered that feeling when my own kids were born and I sympathized with him.  In his state of being overwhelmed and scared for his wife he did manage a nod in my direction.
          I made eye contact with Lynn and looked at Mr. Jackson.  She understood and brought a chair over to him, encouraging him to sit down during the last part of his wife’s labor. We had both seen fathers topple over like leaden oaks as their baby was delivered, sustaining everything from forehead gashes to concussions depending on where they landed.  The last thing Lynn and I needed was to have to take care of him too. 
          Sitting on a stool, I rolled up between Mrs. Jackson’s legs.  Talking gently I spoke to Lynn, “Okay, Lynn, when most of the baby is out, except for the head, I may put a towel around the body and ask you to hold it horizontally.  I’ll only do this if I need to put forceps on to help get the head out.  Otherwise, I want you to be ready to give me pressure just above the pubic bone as I deliver the head.  Got that?”  She nodded and smiled at me as she held Mrs. Jackson’s hand.  I knew that I could rely on her.  Her abilities made doing what I did easier and her smile made my work more fun; always the sign of a very good nurse. 
          Then speaking to Mrs. Jackson gently, I continued, “Marissa, the baby is doing fine.  All you have to do is push it out.”  I smiled reassuringly, “With a breech baby I need you to push with all of your might after I get the butt and the legs out.  I need you to push the head down so that I can get the arms out.  Can you do that for me?”  I smiled and spoke quietly and confidently.
          She didn’t notice my bedside manner.  She was moaning intermittently, consumed with the last stages of her labor.  She did look at me occasionally, giving me the feeling that she knew that I was there and that she had heard me.
          The baby’s butt progressively stretched through the vaginal opening and, using maneuvers that I had developed over years of experience delivering babies, I was able to get the butt out without tearing Mrs. Jackson’s vagina.  Some physicians would have cut her from stem to stern because of their misguided notions and fears surrounding a breech delivery.  After the butt I popped the legs out one at a time.  I looked up and said, “Well Mrs. Jackson you definitely have a little girl here.  Now its time for you to really push for me,” and then aside to Lynn, “Okay, get ready to give me that downward pressure.” 
          Supporting the baby’s abdomen as Mrs. Jackson pushed with all of her remaining strength, I helped the baby out to the shoulders.  Feeling inside her vagina, along side the shoulders, I was able to find the arms.  The first popped out easily and the second was stuck up over the baby’s head, like it was raising its hand to ask a question.  I had to rotate the body to the opposite side and sweep my finger up and over the head to find the elbow, to bend it, and then bring the arm down across the chest and out of the vagina.  Now the baby was delivered, except for the head.  I was in that critical time that seemed to flow in slow motion.  The baby’s umbilical cord was effectively compressed in the vaginal canal by its own head, cutting off its oxygen.  There was no going back. 
          “Okay, Lynn, I need that pressure now,” I said as I slid my hand into the backside of the vagina, still keeping the baby’s body horizontal along my forearm.  Finding the face by feel I put my middle finger into the baby’s mouth, brought its chin down and then, in concert with Lynn’s pressure, brought the body up and with a turn, a twist and a flip the baby was delivered.  I suctioned its mouth as it took its first breath.  The baby started to cry as if insulted by the treatment it had just received.  It was a vigorous little girl.
          Sitting there with a brand new baby in my hands I found myself in that moment of marvel that I always experienced when I brought a new life into the world.  I am always mystified and amazed.  It is almost a spiritual feeling that never changes, no matter how many babies I deliver.  That moment reminds me, every time, of my own children, of when I brought them into the world so many years ago.  The great mysteries of life, God and the cosmos are never very far from my mind but never closer than in such a moment.
          The baby was crying and squirming.  I broke my momentary reverie, clamped the cord and had Mr. Jackson, standing next to his wife with an ashen, worried look, cut the cord.  The clamped portion of the cord still had pressure in it and blood went everywhere when he did it.  He looked pale, but didn’t look like he would faint; always a potential problem with husbands, boyfriends and significant others. 
          I placed the baby on Mrs. Jackson’s abdomen.  The baby was crying, Mrs. Jackson was crying and Mr. Jackson was fighting back tears.  It was a great moment.
          Finishing up, after the placenta delivered, I shook Mr. Jackson’s hand, thanked Lynn for her help, did my paperwork at the nurse’s station, went down to the doctor’s locker and changed back into my street clothes.  On my way out Lynn walked out of the Jackson’s room, “That was a great, Dr. Matrix.  I had fun, but I don’t think that the patients ever really appreciate what you do for them, especially in this situation.”
          “Thanks,” I said, smiling at her, “It does seem thankless sometimes, but it was fun and you were a great help.  I always enjoy working with you.  It makes these situations a lot easier.”  I punched in the code to let myself out through the unit’s double doors.  “The feeling is mutual,” she said with a flash of her smile and what I thought might have been a wink.  “By the way,” she continued, “do you think that I could see you in your clinic this week?  I just burned through another boyfriend and I want to be sure that he didn’t leave me with any surprises.” 
          “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said reaching out and touching her arm, “What kind of idiot would let you go anyway?”
          “Another one who didn’t like the hours I keep, I guess”, she said with a little sadness in her voice.
          Smiling at her and putting my arm around her shoulders I spoke softly, “There are some things and some people who are worth the loss of sleep and you are one of those.  A guy would have to be a complete fool not to see that.   Just call my office and tell them that I want you worked into my schedule whenever you wish.”
          A smile returning to her face, she looked up at me, her eyes shining with a hint of tears, and whispered, “Thanks Dr. Matrix.   Thanks for understanding.  That helps.  I like it when you have to come in here on my shift.  You are a good physician and a good man.  It always makes my day, or night I should say.”  As she spoke she brought her arms up and around me and hugged herself to me.  She held herself there for a moment and I could feel the fullness and pressure of her breasts.  She looked up as she released me and smiled warmly, her eyes still moist.  She turned and I watched her walk up the hallway toward the nurse’s station.  She had a great walk.  I hated the hurt that I sensed in her.  I could feel that old feeling of wanting to do something about it.  But, I knew that there were some problems that I couldn’t solve, at least, not without other consequences.  After all, I was just one man.  I had a bit of sadness in my eyes as I watched her move up the hallway away from me.
          Turning and still running on autopilot, I made my way out through the hospital’s corridors and doors to the doctor’s parking lot, found my roadster and headed back home.  I kept the windows up, just listening to the sounds of the roadster and letting the tensions of the delivery experience fade and my mind relax.  I smiled to myself as I thought about Lynn and her wink; and that brought my mind around to my client in the case that Dirk and I had been celebrating on Friday before the events of the weekend overcame us.  She and Lynn shared a lot of similarities.  That case seemed pretty routine now, in fact pretty tame even though it had all of the elements of murder and money, given the weekend that followed our celebration.