Bless the Broken Road

When a phone rings at 4AM at a doctor’s house, its never good news.  On the third ring a slender hand slid out from beneath the blankets, and gripped the receiver and pulled it under the covers with her.

“Walker residence.”

Damn, she hated being right. With the blankets over her head, Chance winced at the booming volume of the night nurse’s voice bare in her ear. Lordy, night nurses should not have foghorn vocal cords. But despite that, she absorbed the information the Tricounty nurse was relaying to her about the patient in question. Vital signs unstable, white blood cell raising, red blood cell falling, all the classic signs of a post op patient going sour.

Chance glanced at her sleeping companion, who thankfully had the Coltrane ability to sleep through Armageddon. Tenderly, she touched the dark hair before reaching over the side of the bed for her robe. Least she could do is let him sleep, even if she had to leave. It wouldn’t be the first time a medical emergency caused her to leave his side in the middle of the night.

Such was the life of an ER surgeon, even more so for one who stretched from the ER and her own practice, both high-stress, fulltime jobs. It was a life that was growing more and more exhausting and frustrating over the last two years, but Doc loathed to give up either. The Tricounty ER was fast-paced, exiting and challenged her skills, not to mention excellent pay. But the more time she spent in Hazzard, she had grown love the friendlier, more casual form of medicine of a country sawbones. Where she actually knew her patient’s names, rather than a case number and diagnosis of a big city hospital. Where she actually made house calls and felt she was part of the community, instead of detached from it.  As for the pay, most people in Hazzard didn’t have health insurance nor much money. So Chance had long ago begun offering her services for barter. Healing Farmer Jacob’s son’s chicken pox had earned her a homemade dinner made by his wife, stitching a nasty gash on Cooter’s hand from a cranky engine got her a free oil change on her motorcycle. Chance never set a price on anything, just whatever people felt they could give. What she could not use herself, she traded to Rhuebottoms or to the Dukes. It was a fair and easy system, although it forced Chance to rely on state aid for medical suppliers and drug companies. Funny, how they didn’t see 2 dozen eggs, fresh baked goods or produce were worth gauze, tape and antiseptic.

Slipping on her robe, she quietly treaded to the living room, speaking softly to the nurse to order tests, monitor vitals every 15 minutes, and prepare a blood transfusion. But Chance knew all that probably wouldn’t be enough. She would have to go in again. Opening up a post op patient a second time was always risky, but if the cause was a slipped stitched or a blood clot, she would have to correct it surgically.

“Ok, Who’s the surgeon on call? Dr. Becker?” Oh great. If she ever had a rival, that was him. Since medical school, Becker seemed always trying to one-up her. And was finally able when Chance passed up a promotion to take over the Hazzard clinic. Now he was Chance’s boss, and enjoying that fact. Probably had something to do with the fact he placed 4^th in their medical class, Chance placed 3^rd.  Although knowing she was probably interrupting his sleep as well brightened her morning already. “Fine, prep the patient and notify Dr. Becker that I’ll scrub in as soon I get in. About 45 minutes.”

Not wasting any time in polite chitchat, Chance hung up and got dressed as quietly as she could. Glancing at the clock, she sighed. Only 5 hours of sleep and her 12 hour shift started in another 3 hours. She would most likely be going straight from the OR to the ER and on not nearly enough sleep.  Well, again, not the first time, wouldn’t be the last. Leaning over the bed, she gave gentle kiss to the still slumbering man and left the loft apartment. As tempting as it was stay curled with him, she had work to do.

<> 

As the motorcycle flies, it was 30 minutes to Tricounty. It would take her another 15 to change into the pee green surgical scrubs and scrub in. It was a different person altogether than the Hazzard Doc, in appearance and attitude. Aside from the scrubs, her boots were replaced with tennis shoes, the slippery OR floor demanded it. And her long blonde hair was shoved underneath a bandana style surgical cap. Finally outer gown, gloves and mask, all placed in her by the attending nurse. Only her cobalt blue eyes were visible.  The change didn’t stop there. Doc was easy-going and teasing in nature at Hazzard, but when a patient’s life was on the line, she snapped orders, and expected them to be obeyed, instantly. A doctor’s arrogance. Worse yet, a doctor who knew what she was doing and took it very personally when patients went south. Fortunately, unlike Becker, she was respectful to the nurses and thankful for their help.

On the way here, Chance had mentally reviewed the file.  The patient had come in to have his gall bladder removed. But since then, his blood tests never stabilized. Inwardly, Chance groaned because she knew probably the gall acid was leaking around the stitches and doing god knows what to the man’s insides. Simply fixing the pervious surgery alone would take at least 6 hours.

As Chance stepped into the OR room, Becker raised his hands and stepped backwards and allowed Chance to step into his place, a ritualistic gesture that always made Chance think of casino dealers finishing their shift.  The circulating nurse was charting notes, gathering supplies but staying out of reach of the sterile zone around the patient. The anathestlogist keeping careful watch over the vitals signs. A scene that had become very familiar to the young surgeon for the past five years. 

When Chance worked on a patient, she automatically become so intensely focused that sometimes the outside world couldn’t intrude. Barely five minutes into the procedure, she finally caught the nurse clearing her throat and glanced to the side. Following her eyes, there stood Dr. Becker, still in full scrubs but out of the sterile zone. And he had that smug look.  Under her mask, she gritted her teeth. Here it comes, and she was trapped with her hands full of ick and no where to run.  She sighed, might as well get this over this.

“Something on your mind, Dr. Becker?”

“Just sticking around to see if you needed any help. Hopefully you can see tell the difference between human patients and livestock.”

Very used to Becker’s jokes about her new “hayseed” practice, Chance easily shot back. “Pretty sure I’m looking at an ass now.”

This type of conversation wasn’t unusual for the two surgeons. Competitiveness was an aspect of their trade, and the personalities that was required to make it as a successful surgeon. Medical schools only took in the best and brightest, surgical rotations were the most grueling, intellectually and physically of them all. And even once out of school, it didn’t stop. The best surgeons got the most complex, challenging cases, thus they got the best reputation. A mediocre surgeon spent most of his days doing bland cases like appendectomies and circumcisums. An excellent surgeon is the one the nurses call for emergencies surgeries.  Hence, Doc was called a lot, while Becker was usually asked to step in only until she arrived. It was another bad mark in his book against her. Unfortunately, now that Becker was chief resident surgeon, bad marks made very long days for her.

<> 

The surgery had been more complicated then Chance had originally thought. Fixing the gallbladder once again, she had found several ulcers as well. So it was over seven hours later when she left the ER. Seven hours of detailed, meticulous work. Once she was out of the operating room, she stripped her gloves and gowns, let her back hit the wall and then slid down to sit on the floor of the scrubbing room. Thankfully, she was out of sight of both patients and staff. Just for a moment, she was exhausted.  Charting and follow-up could wait five minutes while she got her second wind.  Or was this her third?  A few hours spent over a patient felt almost the same as a five mile run, no wonder they called it marathon surgery.  And the ER was still waiting for her. Pushing herself back up, she had barely reached the elevator when her beeping starting going on. Glancing down, sure enough it was the ER, with a 911 code.

Tricounty ER was roughly the shape of a horseshoe, with the nurse’s station on the bottom, private trauma rooms on one end, curtained areas on the other for lesser cases. And it was already filled to the brim with patients, nurses, doctors and other medical staff.  Most people thought of hospital emergency rooms with dread. To them, the white walls, glaring lights, and smell of antiseptics meant sickness, pain and even death. To Chance, they meant life and hope, a place where injury and sickness can be battle with the resources needed.

A hospital ER was a study of controlled chaos. People hurrying back and forth, various machines beeping, phones ringing, and staff calling orders and information to each other. You had to tune it all out except for what you needed or else it was overwhelming.  It’s just something you get used to, just like the constant scent of blood and antiseptic that marks most hospitals. Even as soon as she pushed open the trauma room opens she was bombarded with information, from both nurse and paramedic. A long time ago, the blood and distress had been distracting but now she looked it over calmly, ignoring it as she worked. It all had a certain repetitiveness to it. A car accident victim, listen to the chest for fluid around the heart and lung, check pupil response for brain damage, order x-rays for skull and bone fracture, brain scan, complete blood count and fix any injuries needed. She shouted out orders with a calm sure way that came with repetition. It was almost like a damned auto assembly line compared to Hazzard. Chance saw sometimes 30 patients in a shift, which meant less than 10 minutes with each. Then they were moved to surgery, or another floor, or discharged. She couldn’t linger with any one patient or the next poor soul who needed a doctor waited that much longer. That was why she had taken the clinic in Hazzard. Some doctors thrived in the impersonal environment. Chance herself had once, been working in Hazzard had changed her. Now she felt a little frustration, helplessness and even rage when she watched a patient leave the ER with nowhere near the comfort a doctor should be able to give. A comfort she was always able to give in Hazzard.

But just the same there was that addictive adrenaline rush when an ambulance came roaring up to the door and, yes, even the intimidated way people treat surgeons. Doctors gained their arrogance for a reason. You stride into a room and people come to attention. You bark an order and it’s instantly obeyed. You start not to notice because you’re used to it, even expect it.  Even Chance fell to it, but for her it was tempered by the fact she took it as a personal battle every time she had a patient on the table. Death was on the enemy and she fought it with all the skills and knowledge she had. Sometimes it wasn’t enough and then you had to make the end painless as possible, but that didn’t she didn’t take it personally each and every time. Especially when she had to talk to the family, explain to them in the cool and calm way she was taught in medical school to give the bad news. You have to be solid, calm, the rock while the tears came. Only when you were alone, you could let your shoulders slump and sometimes the tears came for the doctors too. Not in the grieving of a friend or family, but tears of rage of the unfairness of it all.  It was part of the job, part of the oath each doctor and nurse took, to heal, to comfort, to save. Dozens of lives a day sometimes.

But was it worth the cold “treat them then street them” practice? Chance was starting to think not.

<> 

Almost as soon as Chance reentered the nurse’s station, one of the nurses called her for rounds.  Most of the patients were regular cases, car accidents, fights and one gunshot victim. All in the process of being sent to other areas of the hospital or home. Chance didn't stay with any of them more than 5 minutes before the nurse lead her to the next. She had time to give them all a quick assessment, order more tests or drugs if needed and onto the next. And her frustration grew. Coming to the last bed, an older man, with ragged, dirty clothes and a full beard sat there, mumbling to himself.  By the look and smell of him, he had been homeless, and by the vacant expression, he didn’t know the difference.

Chance looked at the chart, there was no information. “Who’s this?” She gently tipped the man’s head from one side to the other, looking for injuries. The man moved obediently, like a dog would.

“Homeless John Doe, the officer called him Father Mulligan. He’s a regular here. Every now and them they bring him in to clean him up, feed him and then off he goes again.”

“Why the “Father” title?”

“He likes to baptize people, caught him splashing joggers from the park fountain. Last time he was in here, he started using bedpans.”

Hiding a cringe, Chance smiled at  him, which got no response. “Seems plenty calm now.”

The nurses checked her notes. “Dr. Becker ordered a full Haldol treatment. And a pysch consult.” Her voice held a bit of amusement. “Seems the good doctor was one of the ‘saved’ ones last time.”

Haldol. A powerful sedative. It made people into zombies, just like now. Chance bite down her rage against the easy, heartless orders. Keep them sedated and quiet. And order a pysch consult, maybe we can lock them up.  Becker should be using his degree as toilet papers, at least then it would get some use.

“Hold the Haldol, let him sober up after lunch and cancel the pysch consult. If Becker has a problem with it, he can come see me about.” The nurse looked dubious but nodded.  “And if he starts baptizing, get him a clean bedpan, I know some of us here could use a shower.”

<> 

Pouring over her charts, Chance become conscious of being stared at. She looked up to a half dozen youthful faces, each of them wearing a labcoat and clutching a clipboard with eager anticipation. She looked at the nurse with a raised eyebrow.

“Med students.”

Ah. Explains the caught deer look. “Welcome. Don’t kill anyone.”  The quick smile betrayed the stern tone behind it, and that Chance was just joking. They relaxed marginally. They all looked half scared to death just being in the ER. 

As they were ushered away, Chance shook her head ruefully. Was she ever really that young, that hopeful about medicine. Probably before the real world came crashing down, as it would for them eventually. More than half would wash out, the hours, the suffering, the horrendous studying. The types of the medicine they saw was what she found in Hazzard, but it was the exemption to the rule. Chance sighed, speaking more to herself than the nurse.

“Med students, all they want to know in the ER rotations are what type of things we’ve rectually extracted and if we ever killed anyone.”

The nurse grinned. “And?”

“Well let’s just say I lost a perfectly good stethoscope and only med students.” Chance chuckled, not clarifying which answered which question, but leaving the nurse’s station in a bit higher spirits.

<> 

At the moment though, she was too tired to think.  The day was starting to catch up with her. Not even the stomach-turning coffee in the staff lounge wasn’t waking her up. She needed sleep but that wasn’t possible. But she had another few hours to get through the day and if she didn’t snap out of it, she could make a mistake and  kill someone.

But even a five minute break during a twelve hour shift was a luxury when there were people in pain, frightened, new patients being brought in by ambulance every few minutes, or god forbid, coding out right in the ER.

The short breaks weren’t wasted time, as Chance took the opportunity to review and sign several charts while sitting at the nurse’s station. Chaos was still happening around her, but she ignored it. Not out of callousness, but with the knowledge that the ER had enough personnel to survive without her. And it did well, she wasn’t indispensable here, just another good surgeon.

The crackles of the CB at the nurse’s station announced the break was about to be cut short. Even before the nurse completed taking the information from the EMT…middle aged man, apparent overdose, going into respiratory failure…vitals signs. It didn’t sound good…the information was coming even as Chance grabbed a paper gown while running to the double doors, slamming them open just as the ambulance pulled up, lights and sirens both going full blast.

The EMT’s rushed the stretcher through the double doors, Chance fell into line beside it. It was the part of the ER she loved, the adrenaline rush, the fight to save a life that’s not your own.  Unfortunately, Doc wasn’t the only one fighting. The patient was not a small man and, confused and scared, he was flailing and screaming incoherently while Chance, two nurses and the EMT tried to hold down limbs while trying to get IV’s started, get an assessment and save the man’s life. Not an easy task.

Finally the patient had tired himself out enough that Chance could reach across him to grab a charcoal bag to try and null the overdose. That was her mistake. What she mistook for exhaustion was actually the patient getting a second wind when she felt him grab her by the upper arms and suddenly push up and away.  Taken completely off guard, she was shoved backwards and tripped over her own shoes, fallen back into a tray of instruments, sending the tray over sideways and Chance with it.

CRASH

Metal crashed into the tile like a hailstorm as the blonde doctor found herself on her back, stunned and gasping for air. That bloody did it.

Growling, she grabbed the man’s arm and slammed it down onto the table and pulled the restraints tight. She was done being gentle, he certainly wasn’t returning the favor. Although she couldn’t entirely blame him, he was scared, confused and probably delusional from the amount of drugs he had taken. The EMT had brought them in, as they had been found. Several bottles of epinephrine, a powerful stimulator with enough boost to jumpstart a corpse and give an incredible high. It was quickly becoming the prescription drug of choice among the well-heeled group.

Now that the patient was no longer fighting their efforts, Doc got the charcoal in them and him sedated, and the vitals stabilized. It had been only ten minutes since he had entered the ER. Unless he needed surgery, that would be the extent of Doc’s care for him. It would probably be a trip up to the pysch ward. Again, she felt that pain of frustration that for the cold medical workings, it went well with her rapidly aching back from the fall.

Long OR, crowded ER, being attacked by the chief surgeon and a patient… Yep, this was officially a bad day. Bad days were starting to outnumber the good in her mind. She considered this is she stripped off her gown and gloves and threw them on the floor. The ER trauma room was still a bloody mess, equipment, soiled linens and everything else still lay waiting for the quick cleanup between patients. Again, a bloody, literally, assembly line.

She was still deep in thought when the nurse joined her. Chance shook her head, not really speaking to anyone in particular.

“Why would someone do this to themselves?”

The nurse started to gather up used supplies with a resigned efficiency.

“Lots of reasons…stress, depression, just wanting to not feel anything, no pain, no anger, just a numbness that gets them through day by day. Could you grab me a bag of saline solution, doctor?”

Chance kneeled down to grab one, and of course bonked her head on the upper cabinet. Rubbing it and cursing not quite under her breath, she glanced behind her and saw the nurse had her back to the blonde doctor. Least she was saved one embarrassment today.

Chance slammed the cabinet shut, taking her anger out on the furniture. Crouched down, she looked up to find herself eye level with the bottles of epinephrine, still left behind….

…to not feel anything, no pain, no anger, just a numbness that gets them through day by day.

Before the thought had finished, Chance found the bottle in her hand, looking at it with an unnerving detachment.  Even as a voice inside her head screamed for sanity.

No, You can’t!

She shook six pills into her hand.

Think about your career, your life!

But her mind and her body seemed to be separated, like she was watching like she was doing through a camera. And didn’t realize she had taken the pills until she felt their rough, acid touch down her throat.

Jesus, Chance, What have you DONE?

Chance hadn’t made it six steps out the exam door before everything struck, as if her mind and body suddenly came back as one. She swayed and leaned against the wall, feeling ill, not just from the pills, although it was a fast acting drug, but the implications of what she had said. In 10 seconds of no control, she had thrown everything she had known away. For what?

Luckily, the woman’s restroom was across the hall, Chance ducked into and kneeled down next to the toilet.  It didn’t take much for her to force the pills back up and out. Her stomach has already churning and her blood racing from the little bit her body managed to absorb into her system already. But thankfully, not enough for permanent or noticeable damage.

What have you done? What have you done? What have you done?

The phrase echoed itself in her head, so much that Chance covered her ears with her hands as she sat on the floor, leaning against the stall. Wiping her trembling hand down her face, she felt sweat. She got up and splashed water from the sink into her face, and started into her own eyes…Dilated and scared, like a shocked animal’s.

Chance closed her eyes and gritted her teeth and stood there shaking as the last of the drug coursed through her, not realizing how hard she was gripping the counter until she felt it bite into her hands. She prayed noone came in to see her like this, so it would be all over.

When at last it was spent, and Chance took in giant breaths of air, trying to calm her pounding heart.

She looked at her watch, she couldn’t just leave the hospital. She still had hours to go and patients who depended on her. Once she left, she would collapse in fear and despair. But right now, she had to put herself last and help those even worse off then her.

<> 

The road back to Hazzard was a familiar drive, so Doc’s thoughts wandered to the point not even paying attention to the heavy rock music pounding out of the speakers. But the more she thought about what had happened, or almost happened, the more her hands started to shake on the steering wheel.

Abuse of narcotics was an unforgivable crime in medicine, even for a moment’s mistake. She could at the very least be fired, at the worst her license would be pulled pending investigations, should she come forward with what she did. That wasn’t what was frightening her; it had that moment of temptation, when she lost control, when she simply didn’t give a damn, about her career, her life...anything.

She had to tell someone, someone she knew wouldn’t condemn her for what she had done, for the weakness she had shown.  She was scared, scared right down to the bone. She had been scared before, but not like this, scared for her life in South America, scared for her patients a dozen times a day, but never scared like this. Scared of her very soul.  Scared because if she had one close call, maybe she wouldn’t be able to pull herself back in time next time.

There were not that many people she felt she could share feelings like this with. But there was one. One who knew her heart and soul like few did. And he wouldn’t judge her for a moment’s misjudgment. And she could really talk about what’s troubling her heart.

So lost in thought, Doc was not even aware that her hands had followed her line of thoughts and brought the Bronco to the Coltrane Farm. Stepping out of the vehicle, she wandered up to the porch, and wondered what she would say to him.

Inside the Coltrane homestead, the baying of a bassett hound announced a visitor.  Flash's insistent howl stirred the lone occupant of the house, who had been foraging for leftovers in the fridge. Brian abandoned his quest for dinner in order to answer the door.  "Awright! I'm comin', Flash, no need to call in the State Patrol...."

He picked up the bassett and moved her aside, checked the window, and then opened the door quickly.  His dark eyes widened in surprise, and a ready smile lifted his clean-shaven, Coltrane face.  "Doc!"

Chance smiled at the greeting, although it didn’t quite reach her troubled eyes.  “Evening, Brian.” As she came up the porch steps, she kept her expression mild, but Brian knew her well enough to know when something was wrong. There would be plenty of time to explain, for the moment she was simply happy to see him, her emotions lifting a little already.

"C'mon in, mah love,"   Brian drawled cheerfully. "It's just me n' Flash heah tonight. "  He stepped aside and held open the door.  "I can put on a pot of coffee, if ya'd like....tho' mine ain't the same octane as the pine tar you normally dig."

“Thanks, I could use it.” Bending down to scratch behind Flash’s ear as she entered. The basset hound whined softly and nudge her hand as she wasn’t a stranger in this house. “I think Boss Hogg is still using my coffee pot to repave Main Street.”

As tempting as it was, Chance knew she couldn’t really put this off. She needed to talk, get this weight off her. “Brian, what I really need…is to talk tonight.” Her soft spoken entreaty said more than her words did.

He closed the door quietly, and stood there a moment.  "What's wrong....?"

Oh Lord, where to start…Chance shrugged off her jacket and sat in one of the dining chairs nearby. Rubbing her hands as if they were cold, she drew in a deep breath.

“Something happened at work today, Brian. And now I’m really scared…” It was a difficult admission for her, to be scared of much of anything. “Maybe you ought to sit down to hear this.”

Taking a steadying breath, Brian did as Chance suggested.  He pulled out a chair for himself and eased into it, leaning forward to take one of her hands into his own.  He clutched it in a reassuring grip, and forced his own voice to remain calm, soothing.  "Awright.  Ah'm heah.  I'm listenin'."

Looking down at their joined hands, Chance tightened her grip a bit and closed her eyes while retelling the story. “There was a patient in the ER today, Ephedrine overdose. It was one of those days where the ER is like a pressure cooker.” Although Chance never went into details about her patients, the effects of days like that were known enough, ranging between absolute exhaustion to a natural high, depending on circumstances.  She swallowed, the next words getting harder to speaker. “Something inside me snapped, the patient’s pills were lying on the counter, the EMT had brought them along. Before I realized what I had done…I had swallowed a half dozen of them. ” She stopped there, but she didn’t raise her eyes to Brian’s yet, not knowing his reaction would be to that.

The admission was met with a shocked silence.  Brian's chest rose with a sharp intake of breath, and if Chance had dared to look into his eyes, she would have seen the pained disbelief within them.  But he said nothing....and simply waited for the rest, his thumb lightly caressing the hand clutched within his own.

Without looking up, she drew in another steadying breath and continued. “I forced myself to get rid of them before they could reach my bloodstream. But my god, Brian, I’ve never been this scared. I just…detached myself, I didn’t feel or think anything, just took those damn pills as if they were the answer. I completely lost control of myself.” Now she did raise her gaze, the cobalt blue darkened with fear, guilt and a plea for understanding. “I’m frightened, my love.”

"So am I,"  he admitted softly, his resonant voice remaining calm, despite everything inside of him wanting to scream. "Doc...it sounds like you acted on an impulse. Has this...evah happened before?"

Chance rubbed her face, and then nodded. “Nothing to this scale, but if you remember when I first came into Hazzard and burned out, how I got on my bike drunk and nearly crashed?  I’m scared I’m diving headlong into another burnout…or worse.” The condition wasn’t uncommon in a field like hers, but the combination of emotion and drugs of any sort made it more than dangerous.  And with her dividing her time and energy between the clinic and ER, the stress was accelerated twofold.

Brian's sigh was audible.  He did, in fact, remember.  Instinctively, he wanted to talk Chance into a change of career, or sweep her away into a new life and protect her.  But opening conversation along these lines would be unproductive at best, and at worst, tear her up even further.  Instead, he asked questions....questions he feared the answers to, though his Atlantan drawl remained quiet.   "Mah love....you're a veteran of the emergency room...and you don't break easy. Is there anythin' else goin' on, that's been eatin' at you? Somethin' addin' to the pressure?"

Oh, there was. The blonde doctor licked her lips and tried to find the right words, restlessly adjusting her grip on Brian’s hands.  “Brian, since I came into Hazzard, my view on medicine has been changing. I used to love the rush of the ER, but now I feel more and more frustration and anger at the assembly line work and the short time I have with patients.  I’ve grown to love the medical work I do in Hazzard, caring for people on every level. But I’ve been torn.  Can I justify not using my skills in higher volume, helping as many people as I can, instead of using them for fewer people, but better? And perhaps saving my own sanity in the bargain?”

"Doc....most folks would decide what's right for them, based upon what they personally wanted...or thought they needed."   Brian took a breath, his own history making career discussions awkward.   "But you always have this thang about duty.  You've put yourself where angels fear to tread, time and time again...for duty.  Is it gonna make you feel that guilty, to hang up the city gig and devote yerself to your clinic in Hazzard?  Even if that city gig is makin' you ready to destroy yourself ?  How can that be the right thing, Doc?"

Once upon a time, Chance would have said it would have, but now…the prospect of giving up the ER completely to become a family physician was growing more and more tempting.  Although years of being told what she desired was secondary provided a stubborn final barrier. She folded her other hand around Brian’s, her voice soft with the information she revealed to few others. “Imagine being told the first eighteen years of your life that because of how you were born, you were fated to give something back to those who saved you.”

"You've paid your dues."   The Atlantan drawl firmed within Brian's tone.  "You're still helpin' people, heah in Hazzard. Nobody said you had to suffer for a livin'.  So why put yourself through the wringer?"

Chance sighed heavily, knowing she was emptying a lot of emotions and years of personal turmoil onto this man.  But as he was involved in her life, he deserved to know everything behind her logic. “Perhaps you are right, Brian.  But you do deserve to know why the thought of losing myself in drugs scares me so….I started this life addicted to drugs. When they found my mother, she was living on the streets, so strung out on cocaine she didn’t even know my name. I probably was born in some back alley, literally. I wasn’t expected to live, a low birth weight crack baby. After I beat the odds and survived, one of the doctors named me Chance. I owe my life to these people, That’s why I become a doctor, to help others as they helped me, to give back something I was given. Life.”

The unexpected, personal information caused Brian to shift his posture in the chair, awkwardly.  Though his hand remained gripped around Chance's, and there was no judgment in his dark eyes.  Only a knowing sympathy...and an echo of pain.   "Mah love,"  he drawled quietly.  "The stress you're puttin' yourself through is more than payment.  It's punishment.  I know guilt when I hear it."

That was something to think about. “Maybe, Brian…you are right and its time I release myself from the service I believe I still owe.” Could she be punishing herself for simply who she was and the circumstances of her birth? Had somewhat along the line gratitude had become servitude? Chance rubbed her eyes; clear thoughts were getting harder by the moment. Little sleep and a long, long day were catching up with her. She didn’t even know if what she was saying to Brian made sense at this point.

He studied her face a long moment. The lines of fatigue and the dark circles under Chance's eyes spoke enough for the slow ruin she was heading for.  But it was also clear that she was not going to leave the path of destiny, as she saw it.  Even if it meant her destruction.   The knowledge made Brian gently release her hand.  He stood up to slowly pace the floor, emotion driving him to action. Any action.  "What will it take, Doc..."  he finally said.  "I understand the problem, but I ain't sure you'll accept the solution.  You'd feel guilty if you quit the E.R.  That's really what's kept you there..."

Watching the pacing, Chance leaned back in the chair, thought back through the day and all the frustration and anger she had felt before even the incidents with the pills, and how long she’s felt like that in the ER. “I think I would feel guilty for a while, but I’ll tell you honestly, the thought of quitting the ER has been going back and forth in my mind for months now. Maybe this scare was the kick in the ass I need to see what I’m headed for.” She looked up at Brian and spoke softly. “ I think what it will take is someone I know, love and trust telling me its OK to put myself first for once.”

Brian ceased his restless motion, turning to face her once more.   "If what you need is somebody's permission and approval to do what's best for you...."    His words paused, his voice tight with emotion.  "You have mine.  In fact, you got more than that."   Stepping forward, Brian leaned over and rested his hands over Chance's shoulders.  "I'm askin' you....beggin' you...quit the E.R.  'Cause if you keep puttin' yourself on a path of self-destruction, you'll reach a point where mah words don't mean nothin' no more...and there won't be anythin' I can do to help you."

Chance shivered; because she knew what Brian was saying was true. Even though she escaped today, she was charging down a road that could lead to the end of her career, her sanity, maybe her life. The thought of being beyond the words of a loved one was terrifying indeed. Chance knew now she wasn’t just asking permission to leave, she was screaming for a lifeline.  Someone to pull her away from that bleak path.  Bowing her head, she reached one head up and tenderly touch Brian’s…and gave a slow nod, not realizing she was releasing a long breath in the process. “I will.  Because I want to...no...need to.”

He knelt before her, bending a knee to the floor.  Her lowered head was no escape now, from his worried, dark-eyed gaze. "You must.  I don't want to lose you, Chance....I don't want to watch you slip away by inches and minutes and just find you gone. "

She gave him a small smile. "I don't want to lose me either, Brian. I love Hazzard and this is where I want to be. And I love you and don't want to be gone from you." Taking a deep breathe she added. "I'll call Tricounty tomorrow and give them a week's notice to my resignation."

Brian nodded.  "Awright.  I suppose that's fair enuff.  But don't you let them talk you into more, Doc.  I'm kinda worried about you makin' in another week, given what's already happened."

"After the week's over, I'll give myself that much time off to recover and rest.  I'll probably sleep for the first three days alone." Chuckling roughly, she leaned forward until she rested her forehead on Brian's. Her next words were whispered. "Thank you, my love."

"You're welcome."   He closed his eyes a moment and sighed deeply, his relief evident.  After another minute, he stood up, pausing halfway to place a kiss to Chance's cheek.  "Meantime, I'm gonna keep a close eye on you and make a pest of mahself in the process."

Raising an eyebrow, Chance couldn't help but ask. "And how will you do that, my love?"

He shrugged, straightening up to full height and smiling, answering with a purposely-lazy drawl.  "Ah dunno, maybe land mahself in the E.R. every day, see how you're doin'..."

Never able to resist a tease, even in her exhausted state, she grinned back to him. "Well we do have med students right now who need someone to practice on..."

Brian's eyes widened at this, the notion clearly calling his bluff.  "Gah! Nevahmind. I'll just visit you when your shift is over."  

She laughed at his expression. "Deal. I won't even torture you with vending machine coffee. Speaking of which, if I'm going to drive home in one piece tonight, I'm going to need a cup to stay awake behind the wheel."

"You got it.  Hell, I'll fix you a pot of Fed-fuel.....I know how to make it taste just like the stuff they serve durin' interrogations.  Khee, one cup and you'll be spillin' everythang...."   Brian grinned and darted off to the kitchen, happy to be useful.  He also knew that Chance's exhaustion and emotional load were still present, and he was doing his best to lighten the mood.  The cupboards banged and dishes rattled as he clanked around the coffee pot.  "You want dog biscuits with that?"  

"Maybe next time. It can't be any worse than the stuff in the hospital doctor's lounge. Thank god there were stomach pumps on that floor." Chance felt more relaxed now, even released some burden she hasn't been aware until recently she had been carrying. However with that relaxation, her exhaustion came over her full force. Listening to Brian putter around the kitchen, she didn't realize that she was losing the battle with sleep, even as her eyes were closing.

Brian spent a couple minutes setting up the coffee pot.  When the brewing was underway, he came out from the kitchen to find one Dr. Walker fast asleep in a dining room chair.  At her feet, sat the bassett hound, who had come out in readiness at the words dog biscuit.

Chuckling softly, Brian stooped over and gently lifted Chance from the chair, carrying her over to the couch.  He set her down into it, and admired how her blonde hair spilled over the couch pillow.  In slumber, the care-worn lines were eased from her face, and her expression of peace made her beauty all the more radiant to him.  He refrained from the temptation to kiss her, not wishing to wake her up.  Instead, he retrieved a blanket from upstairs and lightly covered her with it, whispering as he tucked her in.  "Sweet dreams, Doc."

<> 

Chance awoke the next morning feeling more rested than she had in days. And smiling when she found a fresh pot of coffee waiting for her. She and Brian talked a little more. He made her promise once again to take it easy for the next week. She gave him her word and a grateful kiss goodbye while she went to the clinic to rest for the day. Luckily, this was her day off but instead of doing the paperwork she had planned on, she wanted to sleep instead. 

Her call to Tricounty however was not so calm. They pulled every trick they could to keep her. She was one of their best surgeons, the patients needed her, her skills would waste in Hazzard, even tried a pay raise. But Chance stood firm, stating that this would be her last week, she would not take call after today nor overtime. The one concession she did make was to agree to occasional elective cases, free to turn down as she chose, to keep her skills sharp.

After this, she brought her coffee out onto the porch; kicking off her shoes and stretching out in the room, watching the people she had come to love go by.  She used to laugh at how physicians became attached to their patients, but now she understood why. The physical health of this town was her responsibility, and that brought her a sense of pride, not frustration.

But she would do Hazzard no good if she burned herself to the point of medical exhaustion or, worse, falling to something like drugs. So for herself and Hazzard, she would cut down on her hours. Not just from Tricounty but maybe from the clinic. Certainly she use another physician on a part-time or on call basis. Maybe she should inquire around the Atlanta hospitals. It would take a certain kind of doctor to be to deal with the unique problem of a rural doctor, and the laughingly small salary Chance could offer.

Maybe she could even contact Doctors Without Borders again, if she was going to keep her skills sharp, she  might as well do so in a humanitarian effort instead of lining a hospital's pocket

<> 

Ironically on this her last day at Tricounty, the place whose pace nearly drove her mad, it was actually pretty slow.  Chance’s patient load was busy but not overwhelming and Dr. Becker actually seemed in a cheerful mood.  They were both getting what they wanted, away from each other. Even on an elective basis, Doc wouldn’t be under the man’s supervision any more, but a guest of the hospital.

Exiting an exam room, Chance caught sight of Father Mulligan shuffling down the hallway. She sighed. Better get to him before Becker does. The homeless man was looking to each side, as if confused and searching, his hands wrapped around a small bundle in his arms. He stopped when Chance caught up with him.

“Fath…” She didn’t get anymore out of her throat before the old man opened the bundle in front of him and gave the horrified doctor a beseechingly wordless look.

In his arms was a tiny, premature baby, hardly breathing.

Doc’s yell for help was heard echoing down the ER hall.

Five hours later, Chance sat beside an infant incubator in the NICU.  The baby the Father had brought in was sleeping in it, now stable. From what she could gather from the frightened homeless man, he had found the child abandoned to die behind the dumpsters.  Even in his confused state, he had brought it when he himself had gotten help.

It had been such a close call. A few more hours and the elements would have taken the tiny life. It was barely developed enough to survive even breathing on its own but Chance and the local OB had worked for nearly two hours straight to save the baby and ultimately succeeded.

One hour ago, Chance’s employment at Tricounty had ended. But she was still in her scrubs and tennis shoes, gazing thoughtfully at the last life she had saved at Tricounty. And finding it so appropriate. Just as she was saved so long ago, now she saved another young helpless life, making the circle complete.

She knew she should leave. Brian would be expecting her home soon, but for some reason she stayed where she sat, watching the infant sleep when by all odds it should be dead.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, musing the fate of her final patient at Tricounty and thinking of her own similar start to life, when a hand laid on her shoulder, causing her to jump. It was the night NICU nurse, who had thought Chance had dozed off at the cribside. Technically Chance was no longer an employee and had to abide by hospital visiting hours. But seeing this infant had no family, the nurses had let her stay well past the time restrictions. But now she had to go. Tomorrow the wheels of fate would turn for this small life and who knows where it would go, but her part of it was finished.

Sighing, she got up and stretched, working the kinks of her back. As the nurse began her assessment of the baby, Chance leaned over and said quietly to her, as not to wake the child.

“You gotta watch out for the ones that start small, they’re stronger than you think.”

With that advice and a small smile, Chance left Tricounty Hospital for the final time.

<> 

On the way home, Chance switched from her usual heavy metal to country, the electric guitar and pounding drums not really suiting her mood. She caught the tail end of a song that seem singularly appropriate to the events of the day, her talk with Brian and the road that brought her from the Tricounty NICU so many years ago to owning a clinic in Hazzard.

…I think about the years I spent just passing through

I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you

But you just smile and take my hand

You've been there you understand

It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true

Every long lost dream led me to where you are

Others who broke my heart they were like northern stars

Pointing me on my way into your loving arms

This much I know is true

That God blessed the broken road

That led me straight to you

Now I'm just rolling home

Into my lover's arms

This much I know is true

That God blessed the broken road

That led me straight to you

That God blessed the broken road

That led me straight to you.

Almost as soon as she crossed the Hazzard county line, an orange blur came tearing into her side vision. She instinctively slammed on the brakes and the horn as the General Lee came blasted by, Rosco in hot pursuit. The Dixie horn and Rosco’s siren a familiar greeting, Chance switched on her CB to hear the Dukes friendly gibes and Rosco’s threats, punctuated with the occasional “Jit”, “Khee” or “Du-oh”.

Leaning back in her seat, Doc laughed long and hard.

Yep, It was good to be home. Home for good. 

END