Doctor Thorne pulled his scrubs from his locker. The staff locker rooms were in the hospital basement—smells like mildew and feet. He wouldn’t go down there at all if he didn’t also like showing up and leaving work in a suit.
Paralyzed
III: Victim One
He stripped down to his boxer-briefs and put on his light blue scrubs. He then put on his long white jacket, putting his vial marked Propofol in his right pocket. He neatly folded his shirt and pants and ran them through the bar of a hanger.
He heard footsteps from the hallway and wondered who was there.
Putting his jacket over the hanger, he left the locker room with his suit in one hand and his briefcase in the other. Wouldn’t dream of hanging my suit in a locker.
He shuddered at the thought of dreaming. The image of a wide brim black fedora entered his mind, and he quickly ejected the thought before more came.
Dr. Thorne walked the basement halls of St. Gressil‘s Hospital alone. But he preferred it that way.
Going up the elevator, he reached the fourth floor, and he went into his office. He hung the hanger on a hook on his door and sat behind his desk.
Time to prepare, he thought. It wouldn’t be long before the operation. He closed his eyes and visualized how the surgery would go—the outline of a shadowy figure appeared in the darkness of his mind.
He opened his eyes with a start. And he suddenly didn’t want to be alone in his office. Dr. Thorne opened his briefcase and pulled out the patient’s files and left his office in a hurry.
Dr. Thorne stepped into the patient’s room. She was sitting on the bed and wearing a hospital gown. The room was like every other patient room in St. Gressil‘s Hospital: white walls, fluorescent lights, and large windows with vertical blinds.
He looked at her charts, pretending to read. He had spent hours reading her charts; he had it memorized by now—everything had to be perfect.
“Liza?” He glanced up at her through his large glasses. “Ms. Liza Strom?”
“Yes, sir.”
He put on a polite smile. “Lovely name.”
“Thank you.” She crossed her ankles as they dangled off the bed. She was young—twenty seven—and her blonde hair was covering one of her green eyes.
“You’re awfully young for arthritis.”
She looked away, as if embarrassed. “I know—bad genes I guess.”
“Well I’d say your genes are just fine,” he said with a wink.
She gave him a shy smile.
He put his hand on his chest. “I’m Doctor Thorne, and I’ll be your anesthesiologist throughout the operation.” He wanted to brush her hair aside and reveal her other freckled cheek. He wanted her to look him in the eyes as he told her about the chemicals he’d pump her full of.
“Ok.” She looked confused.
“I’ll be giving you happy juice so you don’t feel pain or discomfort.” He smiled more genuinely, though for a completely different reason than context would suggest.
“Oh,” she said, smiling back. “Sounds good to me.” She pulled back a lock of blonde hair, revealing part of her veiled face.
“Right. Well, if you’re ready, we’ll go over everything I’ll be doing, and you can sign a consent form to allow the use of my chemicals.”
Liza looked at him awkwardly. “Chemicals? I don’t like chemicals.”
Don’t like chemicals? Chemicals run the world, bitch! Dr. Thorne wanted to yell it in her face. Do you take a pill to sleep? Maybe knock back a few to kick a headache? Do you eat? Chemicals! Instead, he said: “Chemicals are our friends. Besides, you want to be asleep for the operation, don’t you? And you don’t want to feel anything, do you?”
Her eyes filled with terror. “Of course not!”
“Then you’ve gotta chum up to chemicals, lady.” He glanced down at her charts.
“What chemicals do you want to give me?” She brushed her hair out of her face.
Dr. Thorne fought back a smile from forming. “Well your knee replacement will take about two hours, so I’ll need to give you the strongest stuff I’ve got.”
So young for bad knees, he thought. But this life grinds the weak and feeble and stuffs them into tomorrow’s lunch.
The taste of smoked sausage came to his mouth. He inhaled slowly through his nostrils.
“You’ll be fine,” he said. “If you’re ready, I’ll walk you through the whole thing.”
She gave a reassured smile. “Ok.”
“I’d like to start off by giving you general anesthesia. This will quickly put you to sleep, numb your whole body, and ensure your comfort both during and after the operation. I’ll then administer a paralyzing agent. This may sound unnecessary, but it is. Throughout the surgery, I’ll be giving you more sedatives to ensure you stay asleep.”
The patient looked confused.
“Do you understand?” he said. Not sure what’s not to understand.
“I think so,” Liza said. She blinked in rapid succession. “Is this all really necessary? You said the operation was only two hours long.”
Dr. Thorne became cross. He longed for the operation to start, longed to show her how necessary his chemicals were. She’ll be begging for them in an instant.
“It’s all very necessary,” he said. “I need you to sign a consent form.” He put on the most trusting smile he could muster, and he handed her a piece of paper and a pen.
She looked at the paper, all the more confused. “What’s this for?”
“Well I need your consent to administer the drugs.”
“Oh.”
“The consent form explains the risks of using these drugs. They’re small risks, but bad things can happen. There’s a chance you could wake up during the operation, experience discomfort while asleep, and the form covers other bad things that could happen.”
Liza looked at him with fear in her green eyes.
“You have nothing to worry about. These things are so rare I might as well not mention them, but I’m required to by law. You’ll be safe and comfortable with me at your side.”
“Thank you, doctor,” she said, and she signed the form.
Dr. Thorne walked out of the patient’s room with a clipboard in hand and the Devil’s very grin on his face.
Nurses prepped Liza Strom and had her lay on the rolling bed she’d be operated on.
She had just laid down when Dr. Thorne picked up the needle of the intravenous line and hovered it over her face.
“Are you ready?” he said. In his mind he was giddy, impatient to stick the needle into her arm.
Liza nodded.
He moved to her left arm and applied pressure to find a vein. He jabbed the needle into the largest vein he could find.
Liza winced.
He didn’t bother reacting to her discomfort. He looked up at the two nurses. “She’s ready to go.”
The nurses rolled Liza down the long hallways of St. Gressil‘s Hospital.
Dr. Thorne walked beside them, wheeling the IV pole. He had watched the nurses help her onto the bed—her face had twisted in pain. It’s that bad, eh? A thought drifted into his mind: what if he called off the whole thing? She clearly had an intimate relationship with pain.
“I’m not going soft,” he said without realizing. I’ve come too far to go back now. He stared down the hall with a lifeless gaze.
“What?” Liza said, looking up at Dr. Thorne.
He looked back at her, not knowing why she had addressed him. Her blonde hair was pulled behind her, and he could see both of her green eyes piercing his brown ones.
Then he realized he must have muttered some of his thoughts aloud.
“Uh nothing,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
The nurse to his left looked at him with disgust.
If only she was the one on the table today.
The presession ended in the operation room. A large room with big circular lights and metal cabinets. The surgeon team was already in the room and preparing for the operation.
Dr. Thorne quickly washed his hands at the scrub station and put on his mask. He then shuffled to the anesthesia machine in the corner. He typed furiously while the nurses moved the bed into the center of the room.
He knew this was his moment.
Turning to the machine, he looked through the plastic screen between him and the vials of drugs ready to be administered. He typed into the machine’s keyboard and hit enter. The machine unlocked and the plastic screen opened.
Dr. Thorne snatched the vial of Propofol and replaced it with his vial labeled Propofol. No sleep for Liza, he thought. With succinylcholine successfully in place, he closed the plastic screen, and he sat back and watched the nurses leave the operation room.
He then wheeled the IV pole over to Liza’s left. Connecting the line to the anesthesia machine, he went to the keyboard and typed the drug he wanted and how much the machine would administer. He chose Propofol, though it was really succinylcholine he was giving her.
He watched as the chemical entered the tube and slowly reached Liza’s IV. Leaning over her head, he said: “Chemicals are our friends.” And he let a toothy smile slip. He quickly wiped his face of emotion.
Liza looked at him with confusion in her green eyes.
He loved that confused look on her. It fit her like a suit.
Succinylcholine chloride filled her system, and her eyes turned from confused to stone. The paralyzing agent expelled all expressions from her face.
Dr. Thorne looked up to see a nurse busy and the surgeon team almost finishing their prep. “She’s ready, Doctor Colwell.”
Doctor Everit Colwell looked up from his work. His eyes were cold, but he nodded with approval.
Dr. Thorne suspected Dr. Colwell’s face would be like a stone behind his mask.
Dr. Colwell continued his preparations, instructing his team on how they would best help him.
But Dr. Thorne was not interested in his associate’s dealings. He looked into those green eyes, and he thought he could see a pinch of that confusion—just a pinch.
That was when the nurse shoved a catheter into her.
He could only imagine the pain she’d be feeling now. He looked at the anesthesia machine’s monitor and saw her heart rate was going up. Oh yeah, she felt that. It was all going according to his plan.
The nurse then rubbed an antiseptic solution over both of Liza’s knees.
Dr. Colwell then took a black marker and drew lines on her knees. Once the guiding lines were drawn, he brought his scalpel to her right knee. He glanced at Dr. Thorne.
He nodded, then looked down at Liza’s eyes. “It begins.”
She could hear everything, feel everything. He knew that—a secret they would share.
Dr. Thorne watched her green eyes as the first incision was made. Relief ran through his body as he saw her irises go wide. At that he knew his experiment was a success, but the chaos needed to last the whole two hour operation.
He looked at his monitor and saw her heart rate rise as her blood pressure lowered. Her body wants to pass out. Dr. Thorne typed on the keyboard and ephedrine went through the IV and into Liza’s system.
Can’t have any of that, he thought. The adrenaline will keep you awake.
Dr. Thorne looked up and saw Colwell still at work with the scalpel. He’ll be separating the muscle and ligaments now. He fought back a smile.
“Assessing the patella,” Dr. Colwell said.
Dr. Thorne saw him moving Liza’s kneecap around as he determined if it needed a prosthesis. He winced, considering how it would feel to have his kneecap forced into strange positions. Then he smirked.
“No good,” Dr. Colwell said. “We need to resurface it. Get me the oscillating saw.”
One of the assistants handed him the silver saw, which looked like a thin power drill with a rectangular three inch metal slab sticking out of it.
Dr. Colwell partially detached the kneecap and started up the saw.
Dr. Thorne looked down at Liza when the shrill buzzing of the bone saw started.
The buzz pitched as Dr. Colwell cut into the backside of the kneecap. He leaned in close, making sure he cut away all the damaged bone. “Patella is ready.” He held out his hand.
One of the assistants gave him a circular piece of metal.
“Get me the cement as well,” Dr. Colwell said, his voice betraying annoyance.
The other assistant handed him the surgical cement.
After Dr. Colwell fixed the prosthesis to the kneecap, he brought the bone saw to Liza’s shin bone. The buzz pitched as he put pressure on the saw to cut through bone, droplets of blood flying. “Get me some suction, goddammit.”
One of the assistants put a suction tube into the wound to suck out blood.
“This isn’t a circus,” Dr. Colwell said. “Have the damn thing ready next time.”
“Yes, doctor,” the assistant said. She couldn’t hide her anxiety.
Looking into those green eyes, Dr. Thorne saw the pain. Without turning away, he increased the ephedrine.
Dr. Colwell had cut off a chunk of her shin bone and was cutting into it again. He did this over and over until he was satisfied with how much damaged bone he had cut out.
One assistant spread surgical cement over the metal prosthesis and handed it to Dr. Colwell. He placed the prosthesis over the shin bone. He then grabbed the bone saw.
The buzz pitched as the saw cut through the bottom of the thigh bone.
Dr. Thorne only looked away from Liza’s eyes to monitor the stage of the operation. He watched Dr. Colwell cut into the thigh bone again and again.
Finally Dr. Colwell placed the second prosthesis over the thigh bone.
He looked back at the anesthesia machine and cursed under his breath. He had gotten too caught up in watching the pain that he missed Liza passing out.
Dr. Thorne was furious with her for the rest of the operation. How could she do this to me? But even though she was not awake, he refused to give her fentanyl for the pain. He hoped she could still feel.
Dr. Colwell did the same procedure with Liza’s left knee as he did for her right. After suturing her up, he proclaimed the operation was a complete success. He shook hands with the nurse and his two assistants.
And Dr. Thorne quietly seethed as nurses came in the OR and wheeled Liza out to be observed in a recovery room.
He followed them, so he could administer post operation drugs… Such as the Fentanyl he deprived her of.
Doctor Thorne had given Liza the drugs she needed to bounce back from paralysis, and he had given her fentanyl. Though he only gave her pain relievers because the nurses would observe her.
He waited for the physical therapist to finish speaking with her before sneaking into her recovery room, a prison she would remain in for several days.
Liza’s head snapped up at the closing of the door.
“Hello Liza,” he said, almost hesitantly as he walked toward her. He was nervous—a feeling he hated. But this was his first major experiment for his righteous works.
She seemed standoffish. She lay on the bed and looked at him as if she didn’t know him. But she did.
“I…” he looked away. “I came to check how the operation went for you.”
Liza stared at him, her blonde hair nappy and spread over the pillow.
Dr. Thorne crossed the room to her in two strides and looked into her green eyes. “I want to know how you felt.” His hands were on her bed.
She drew back.
He thought she’d scream, and he took a step back. “I’d like to know so I can improve my craft,” he said, his voice dripping with cruel intent. “I want to get better at what I do.”
“Don’t you know?” Her voice was hoarse. Her face spelled betrayal.
He inhaled deeply through his nostrils. “Know what?” He adjusted his large glasses.
Liza shifted in her bed, moving her body as far away from him as she could. She winced from the pain.
Dr. Thorne chuckled at the thought that the pain she now felt was like heaven compared to what she felt during the surgery.
“I felt,” she said. And her eyes went wide. There was a maddening look about her. “I felt it.”
“Felt what exactly?”
“Everything,” she hissed. “You…” she looked away. “You said it wouldn’t happen. You said it was rare.”
“I don’t understand.”
He saw her green eyes, and they now reminded him of a snake’s eyes.
“Leave me.”
“I’m afraid I’ll need more information than that,” he said.
“Leave or I scream.”
“I forewarned you,” Dr. Thorne said. “You signed the consent form knowing this could happen.”
Her eyes narrowed—realization tinted in them. “You think you can bullshit your way out of this?”
“Liza, I don’t know what happened in there to make you feel this way,” he said, and he stepped up to the bed again. “But I assure you, I’m legally covered.”
“You’re sick.”
Dr. Throne turned around and put his hands behind his back. He chuckled. “You were sick. Now you aren’t. You’re high on chemicals that are messing with your sense of reality. You’re distorting the truth with your imagination.”
“Your face above mine was what I saw. The whole time before the dark hit me.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I didn’t dare think you’d purposely do such a thing… but now I know.”
“And it’ll be your word against a trained professional,” he said. “I hope you have a wonderful recovery, and I’m sorry you couldn’t sleep through the operation.” He smiled and left the room.
He could hear her shouting at him as he walked down the hall, but he couldn’t make out what she said.
It doesn’t matter. She has nothing on me.