Free Worse Than Being Alone by Patricia M. Clark Page A

category, which meant her progress or lack of it
over the next couple of weeks would determine the outcome. I kept a
running list of top 10 ways I didn’t want to die, and getting
severely burned still remained Number One.
    Mary Poppins burst out of her front door wearing a
black raincoat and carrying the familiar huge purse. She had a
spring to her step and a look of determination. Bingo, I thought as
I watched Mary jump in her CRV and take off.
    I kept a loose tail, guessing Mary
might be headed for the Galleria, a huge mall located in Richmond
Heights, an upscale area with shopping and businesses. Mary exited
the highway at Brentwood, confirming my hunch. I parked several
rows over from Mary and watched her enter the mall. Mary headed for
Nordstrom, presumably to begin her shopping spree. She looked
content and completely at ease as if her actions were totally
legal.
    I let her move through multiple
departments until I was sure Mary had lifted several items. When
Mary entered the jewelry department, I called the Nordstrom’s
operator, asking to be transferred to the security department. I
described Mary Poppins to the suspicious man who answered the
phone. Unsure they would follow up on my tip, I waited until I
spotted several burly men who appeared to be watching
Mary.
    Retracing my steps to Harley’s van, I watched the
scene unfold as Mary left the mall, followed by the two men. Just
as Mary was about to step off the curb, they closed in and detained
the suddenly agitated Mary Poppins, who looked appropriately
outraged. I started humming as I drove away from the mall, headed
to St. John’s.
    The elevator at St. John’s was
crowded, which was fine, as I was dreading checking on Beverly
Knull and meeting her family. Ghosts of burn unit patients I had
once cared for seemed to hover in the car as I rode up to the
seventh floor. Just for clarification, I don’t see dead people.
There just always seemed to be some kind of strange feeling or aura
I experienced when I worked in acute care. The hair on the back of
my neck would stand up as if some kind of presence was floating
around. The thought that usually crossed my mind was that it was
the Grim Reaper coming to collect someone.
    I was on my way to meet the unit manager, Barbara
Talbot, whom I still considered a friend. Except for the ghosts, I
was the last person on the elevator by the time I got to the
seventh floor. The doors opened and I exited, making a sharp right
turn that led down the corridor to the unit located at the end of
the hallway.
    When I reached the unit, I hit the button on the
automatic door and the loud swish announced my arrival. I spotted
Barbara Talbot, who smiled and came over to greet me. An ex nun,
Barbara is tall and thin, exuding a stern persona probably left
over from her years in the convent. Underneath that facade is a
wonderfully warm and compassionate soul. I just have to remind
myself not to talk like a drunken sailor when I’m around her.
    “ Hey stranger,” she said as we
hugged. “Why don’t we go to my office for a minute? I’ll grab Ms.
Knull’s chart.”
    Chart in hand, Barbara led the way to her office. As
a representative of the insurance company paying the bills, I was
allowed under Missouri law to review an injured worker’s chart.
Barbara closed the door and I took a seat in front of her desk.
Barbara handed me the chart.
    I began flipping through the information, reading
the history and physical and progress notes. Shaking my head, I
asked. “She really has significant burns. What do you think her
chances are?”
    “ My guess is 50-50,” she said.
“Most of her burns are second-degree, but 60 percent is a lot of
skin surface. She’s in a medically induced coma.”
    “ She’s on a vent, right?” I asked,
referring to a machine that was providing respiration.
    “ Yeah,” she said. “At this point,
she seems stable but you know how this goes.”
    “ I remember all too well. A burn
like this is absolutely