Free Amnesia by Rick Simnitt

rounds.
    “Okay Robbie,” she called to the patient, “time to get your vitals again.” She pulled out a small notebook she carried in her smock and checked his blood pressure, pulse, temperature, and oxygen saturation levels, each time penning reminders in her tiny book.
    “Everything looks good!” she exclaimed, as if she were totally awed by the fact. “Now we need to turn you. Wouldn’t want a tough guy like you getting bed sores, now would we?”
    Gently, as if with great strength hidden in her short form, she picked up his right shoulder and pushed his bulk over onto his left side. The covers slipped down to his waist revealing bruising all down his back, starting at the wide shoulders, past the tapered contour of his torso down to the small of his back. More the figure of a runner than that of a NFL lineman, he still had a commanding physique, Lissa noticed, despite his current condition.
    Bracing his shoulder with her left arm, Dolores pulled his legs back and placed his long arm in front of his body. Then she gently pulled the left shoulder back until it rested in the center of the bed. Finally she straightened the covers, fluffed and replaced the pillows, one under his head another between his legs, and patted him on the exposed shoulder.
    “Now that wasn’t too bad, now was it Robbie. See you again in a couple of hours.” She took one last look at the IV lines to ensure they weren’t tangled then turned to leave.
    “Robbie?”
    Startled, Dolores yelped and clutched at her large chest trying to calm her beating heart. Slowing her breathing she wheezed out, “Doctor Brandon? I didn’t know you were there. Next time cough or something would you? I need my heart in one piece for a while longer.”
    Lissa chuckled and smiled apologetically repeating her question. “You called him Robbie. Did we find out his name?”
    “Oh that,” the startled nurse brushed off, calmer now and back under control. “No, it was the name of my youngest boy. He would have been the same age. And I hate the name ‘John Doe.’ I didn’t think it would hurt.” With sudden realization of the doctor’s position above hers she added fearfully, “You won’t report me for it, will you?”
    Lissa smiled compassionately at the elder woman trying to set her at ease. “Of course not, I think I would have done the same thing. What happened to him, your Robbie? Of course, if you would rather not…” she trailed off not wanting to intrude.
    “Oh, no, of course not. Not much to tell that you don’t hear in the papers. He was the typical teenager, wanting to spend more time with his friends than anything else. Then one night they decided to add some beer to their party and went up into the foothills. The driver is in jail still, charged with killing him and the other three kids in the car.”
    She paused, reflecting on her thoughts. “It doesn’t help, you know, putting that child in jail for basically the rest of his life. It doesn’t help the hurt, it only adds another heart that is hurting—his own mama’s.”
    She shook her head coming back to the moment. “Anyways, when I first saw this boy he reminded me of my own sweet Robbie, so I started calling him that. Maybe it will help him feel loved, help him find his way back home to us.”
    Lissa couldn’t help feeling warmly about this loving lady who had seen so much, not only as a nurse where there is a steady stream of misery, but also as a mother who had to bury her youngest child because of a thoughtless moment. She was even more impressed with her compassionate understanding of others when society would teach us to hate and cheer at another’s pain. The world could use more like Dolores she decided, especially in the medical arena.
    The nurse shuffled back out to attend to the others dependent on her care and the doctor turned back once again to the man lying in the bed, seeing him a little more a man and less a patient. She walked over to the bed, searching the