A Thousand Doctors

A woman suffering traumatic brain injury struggles to communicate about her attacker.

The patient, a young woman, was on her back in the hospital bed, still as death, her neck in a white brace. When we came in, her eyes blinked open and wandered around in confusion before settling on me. They were nice blue eyes, a bit unfocused and bloodshot from the head trauma she’d received in the hit-and-run.

“Hi, Mattie. I’m Mike Seever. I’m a policeman. I came to talk to you about your accident. I’m hoping you can explain what you said in the ambulance about ‘a thousand doctors’.”          

Mattie’s mouth was open, slack-jawed. To me, she looked confused and scared, like a lost little girl. She took a breath. “Aaaaaauuuuh,” she managed.          

I raised my eyebrows at Adrienne, the nurse who had escorted me into the room. She shrugged and motioned me aside. “She might not be able to talk for a while. It’s called aphasia and it happens sometimes with TBI, traumatic brain injury. Usually other symptoms, too.”          

“Symptoms? Like what?”          

“Confusion, dizziness, slurred speech, memory lapses. She might not be able to follow conversations. She may not be able to write, or might struggle to find words, or might be able to say only single words, or talk with great difficulty and slowness. I’ll get you a pamphlet on the condition. I’ll be right back. Please don’t get her upset.”          

I looked at the girl in the bed, reviewing in my mind the few facts I knew. Mattie Harrison, 28, single, 5’ 9”, 142 lbs, lives downtown, struck in a crosswalk last night, no witnesses, driver took off. Lived alone, no roommate, no boyfriend. A writer, a person who lived by words. Shit, being unable to talk or read or write would be rough.          

“Mattie, it’s okay if you can’t talk right now. We’ll have lots of time to talk. How about if you hear me and understand what I’m saying, you blink your eyes twice. Okay?”          

Her eyes darted about wildly, as though tracking a flock of birds flitting around the room. She didn’t blink. She did frown and give a drawn-out “Aaaaaaaah” before closing her eyes. I think she fell asleep. Probably a good thing.          

Adrienne brisked back into the room and handed me a brochure about TBI and aphasia.          

“So, how is she,” I asked quietly. “She gonna be okay?”          

“Recovery from TBI takes time. Aside from severe hematoma on her right thigh where she was struck, her only serious injury was from her head striking the pavement. Her MRI shows no skull fracture. That’s why she’s here and not in Intensive Care, though we’re monitoring closely for blood clots or other complications and she has the neck brace to help stabilize her head.”          

“No broken bones?”          

“Fortunately, no. It was a glancing blow. She may have been dodging when she was hit. Anyway, I’ve got to go. You can stay another ten minutes. Don’t tire her out. If she sleeps, let her sleep.”          

Dodging, yes, but still thrown 12 feet through the air. “You are an incredibly lucky lady,” I told her. Her eyes opened, and this time found me quickly.”          

“Aaaaaeeee.” Was that ‘Hi’?          

“Ohhhh-ooooo.” Maybe I was being wishful, but was that ‘Who are you’?          

“I’m Detective Mike Seever, Mattie. We want to find the car that hit you. I really want to nail that bastard. Our only clue is what you said when you briefly gained consciousness while the EMTs were loading you into the ambulance. They tell me you said, “Thousand doctors”. The ambulance guys had though she was out of it and spewing nonsense, but it was all I had to go on.          

She looked puzzled. “Ah?” Definitely a question.          

“You’ve only had a couple of doctors, Mattie. There was an emergency room doc when you came in, and then the trauma team who did the initial workup. The other people were nurses or medical technicians. It may have seemed like a lot.”          

“N-n-n-n-n!” She was stuttering, I guess with frustration. Her eyes closed and her body relaxed into sleep.          

While she rested, I browsed the pamphlet Adrienne had given me. Man, a whack on the skull could really scramble your brains. You could have weakness or lack of control in the muscles of the face or mouth resulting in slowed or slurred speech or inability to move lips or tongue in the right way to say sounds. You could even have personality changes.          

Mattie’s eyes opened again and this time looked right at me. “Miiiiiiiiiiike,” she said, though it sounded like a word dragged out of a mudhole with a rope..          

“Hi, Mattie. Welcome back.” I smiled to encourage her. She was clearly giving it her best.          

“L-l-l-l-l.” She frowned and tried again. “Li-li-li-li.” I nodded. That’s it, tiger, keep at it. “Seh-seh-seh-seh-seh.” She sighed, almost a snort, and I could sense her frustration. “Sen-sen-sen-sen-sen. Ssss-ssss-ssss.”          

“License,” I guessed. “Are you saying ‘license’?”          

“Ah!” Her slack lips tightened in what I hoped was a smile.          

“Good work, Mattie. You’re telling me that ‘a thousand doctors’ refers to a license plate?”          

“Ah!”          

“So the number is a thousand, one-zero-zero-zero?”          

“Ah!”          

“Now we’re making progress! You’re super, Mattie!” Her eyes closed, and I slipped out of the room to run the plate ‘1000 DRS’          

* * *

I quickly found out that twelve states used that format of 0000AAA, while four used 0000AA. So I’d accounted for 1000DR as well. I got a search started for those sixteen plates. After a little thought, I realized that DR1000 or DRS1000 might also work. Turned out that no state uses the second format. So I added DR1000 to the search and found three more possibles.          

When I returned to her room the two days later, Mattie was awake and sitting up, and spotted me immediately. “Ah?” she wondered. Whatever her speech problems, her brain seemed to be working pretty well. I had to admire her spirit.          

“Bad news, I’m afraid, Mattie. We ran all the plates with 1000 and DR or DRS and all are out-of-state and accounted for.”          

“N-n-n-n-n!” She frowned and pounded her fists on the bed. “N-n-n-n-d-d-d-d.” She waved me closer and I came to stand by the bed. She used me as a pole to climb up and stand.          

“Jesus, Mattie! Are you sure you should be up?” But by the time I got that out, she was dragging me out of the room and down the hall to the nursing station.          

“Mattie, honey,” said the startled Adrienne, “You shouldn’t be up without the physical therapist! Now let’s get you back into bed.”          

Ignoring the nurse, Mattie pointed to the attendance board, which showed the staff on duty. She pounded her fist beside the top of the list and glared at me before allowing Adrienne to lead her away. She looked over her shoulder and her pleading glance pulled at me all the way to her room.          

I moved closer to the board and examined the first few names closely:          
                   Attending Physician: Jaymar Sohi, MD          
                   On-Call: Patricia Jenkins, MD          
                   Charge Nurse: Ramona Garcia, RN          

It was a face-palm moment. Why hadn’t I thought of that?          

* * *

By the time I breezed in with my good news, Mattie was doing far better. A week of physiotherapy had done wonders, because she greeted me with a smile and walked me to a patient lounge. Her speech was still halting and uncertain, but she managed to drag out “Aieeeeeee Miiiiiiiiike” in a sort of breathy hiss. I cold tell how much effort it took her. What a trooper!          

“We got him, Mattie. And we could never have done it without you! White Honda, drunk driver, Florida plate 1000 MD. Just like you said, Mattie, a thousand doctors.”          

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” said Mattie, and clapped her hands.          

=30=

Wordcount: 1281

Disclaimer: I vaguely recall reading a similar story in a comic book when I was a kid. No plagiarism is intended.