Chapter 2

CAL – The edge of death

I rubbed the back of my neck trying to work out the knots formed from driving for hours hunched over the steering wheel, watching for slick spots on I-70; squinting through the occasional snow flurries.

“It sure has been a hectic trip,” I mused. When my sister had called from Grand Junction about the baby, I had just come off a twelve-hour shift as an intern at the Hospital at the University of Colorado in Denver. I had graduated last spring and after my internship I was moving to Grand Junction to be near my family, and to be near the open country I so loved. It was a great thought, Caleb Townsend a doctor! It did have a certain ring to it.

I’d been able to grab a couple of hours sleep before I started on the trip across the state. I had been lucky: the traffic was light and the weather was great. There were a few light snow flurries but that was nothing for my big F-250 four-wheeler. It actually belonged to the family ranch near Rifle but I had been using it all through school.

Jan had a difficult delivery but the tiny pink creature, so obviously a girl, made the trip worthwhile. After a quick visit at the hospital, I had time to run out to the ranch for dinner and a good night’s sleep and then back to the hospital to visit some more with my sister and brother-in-law, Tad. Time got away from me and I was late heading back to Denver for my scheduled midnight shift. I stopped at Vail for some coffee and a quick steak and made sure to fill my thermos.

Back on the road, I pushed it a little but was finally getting close to Dillon; I was looking at maybe an hour and a half more driving to get to Denver. I was getting a little sleepy and it was just ten o’clock so I pulled into the roadside park I sometimes stopped at. I figured a cup of coffee and a short walk in the crisp; cold air would still get me to the hospital in good time and wide awake.

There was a car there, which surprised me. I pulled next to an older Chevy – somewhat the worse for wear - on the passenger side and got out, something not seeming quite right! I walked around the car; the driver’s window was rolled down. I jerked open the door seeing a woman inside as the dim overhead light came on. I put my hand to her throat to check for a pulse and was surprised how lovely she was ... an aura of childlike innocence surrounding her; her exposed skin the color of alabaster - translucently white from the cold.

I felt a thready pulse, a last gasp at life beating a melancholy farewell. On her lap was what looked like a letter – instinctively I crammed in my pocket. Knowing I didn’t have much time I unfastened her seat belt, picked her up and laid her across the seat of the truck. Not taking the time for the seat belt I lifted her head on my lap and started the truck, turning the heater on high. On an impulse, I jumped out and rolled her car window up.

Grabbing my cell phone, I called 911, told them who I was, and asked them to alert the Vail Valley Medical Center, about twenty miles back on I-70 in Vail. It wasn’t more than twenty minutes from where I was to the hospital, and I knew I could get there before the ambulance could have even arrived at the roadside park. With no cars on the road, I made good time and as I pulled up to the emergency entrance, they were outside waiting for me.

While they put her on a gurney, taking her inside the hospital, I walked in with the doctor pulling duty, telling her what I knew; I didn’t tell her about the car window being open or the note. The doctor nodded and went to treat the girl for hypothermia.

A nurse pointed out a phone I could use to call my hospital. I got hold of the supervising physician and explained what had happened. She agreed to bring in one of the on-call interns and, as a result, I wouldn’t have to work for three days and then it would be the noon to midnight shift.

I would be in the way while they worked on the girl so I went down for coffee. As I reached for change in my pocket, I found the letter. I went ahead with the coffee and sat down to take a look at what it said.

As I started reading it, tears came to my eyes. When the nurse came down later to give me an update, the letter was folded tightly in my hands and tears were running down my face, dripping slowly onto the table. She put her hand on my shoulder, gently, and said the doctor wanted to see me.

The attending physician was waiting for me by the nurse’s station, a sad look on her face.

“If you had found her a half hour later ... well, it’s good you found her when you did. I think she’s going to lose the two outside toes on her left foot, and possibly the small finger on her left hand – it’s too early to tell on that. Otherwise, I think she will be okay – I don’t see any long-term problems.