…in abeyance

By Kevin Byrne

Christopher Baxter is a man recognized for his accomplishments: West Point graduate, medical doctor, combat veteran. Chris is also a condemned man-a man who struggles with the familiarity of circumstances he has carried his entire life.

Nothing else changes; no mystical stories or tales of fantasy. What would you do if humanity stopped dying? As the world struggles to come to grips with dormancy, is one man-Chris Baxter-just another unwilling participant, the curse, or their salvation?

• Language: English
• Publisher: NEVER STOP NEVER QUIT
• Release date: Aug 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9781733968621

Kevin Byrne

Kevin was born and raised in the Bronx, New York. He was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis (MS) in 1999 while commanding a US Army Air Cavalry Troop overseas. Now medically retired, Kevin lives in Portland, Oregon, with his daughter, Rogue, devoting much of his time and energy towards overcoming the challenges of his own MS so that he may fight for others. Writing and blogging for the Department of Veterans Affairs, the National MS Society, and NEVER STOP NEVER QUIT expand his fundraising and advocacy in this fight.  “…fantastic stories, where I’m limited only by my imagination, not by the confines of this stupid disease.” NMSS Leadership Conference, Denver, CO, November 2016

Book preview

...in abeyance

by Kevin Byrne

NEVER STOP NEVER QUIT

Portland, Oregon

NeverStopNeverQuit.com

Dedication

This book is dedicated to us, our loved ones, and our supporters. Thank you for the motivation every day.

This story is published by NEVER STOP NEVER QUIT, a charitable organization whose mission is to raise funds, support treatment, and promote awareness in the fight against multiple sclerosis. One hundred percent of the profits from this book will go toward that fight.

Because it is a fight.

For approximately 2.8 million people

with MS worldwide, the fight is not over and it

won’t be over until a cure is found.

It will never stop...nor will we

It will never quit...nor will we

This is why we fight!

Never Stop... Never Quit...®

Please visit NeverStopNeverQuit.com for more information about our organization, how we are giving back, and ways you can support our fight

Thank you, Ellie – My Little Love.

Table of Contents

...in abeyance

I – Friday, March 28, 2014

II – Saturday, March 29, 2014

III – Sunday, March 30, 2014

IV – Monday, March 31, 2014

V – Tuesday, April 1, 2014

VI – Wednesday, April 2, 2014

VII – Thursday, April 3, 2014

VIII – Friday, April 4, 2014

IX – Saturday, April 5, 2014

X – Thursday, April 7, 2016

Epilogue

Sources

About the Author

Copyright

...in abeyance

I – Friday, March 28, 2014

PORTLAND, OREGON

Almost Midnight

It’s standard fare in a hospital’s emergency room—fiery, passionate scenes play out between the most peculiar of couples, suddenly bonded close though they met just minutes before. These scenes often pass unnoticed. For some, however, such bonds change everything.

Christopher Baxter, MD, portrayed the image of a doctor in control. Even in the most desperate situations, he remained poised and focused on what he needed to do to save lives. His reputation for being so calm and collected was the reason Dr. Baxter’s outburst startled his ER team so.

Come on, you son of a bitch! Chris pleaded as he continued beating into the lifeless body below with his bare fist.

Three pale-white walls monotonously outlined the room not quite large enough to agreeably hold its four occupants, further interrupted by random carts full of medical supplies. The fourth wall, an impersonal vinyl modesty curtain, was thrown back in a harried effort to make way for additional supplies or equipment. Chris’s irritation with the helpless form increased; for the two nurses, the pale-white walls, so calming earlier in the day, seemed to darken and close in tighter. Both were too startled by his behavior to interrupt. Instead, they focused on the job at hand, anxiously following procedure and the direction of the on-call doctor.

Chris hated when they flatlined on his watch. Even in a room where death was so commonplace, he felt contempt when someone’s heart just stopped. To him, it was such an uncivilized finale, souring everything that makes up who a person was, the dreams they probably had, and the life they probably led. When a patient like this came in—a man of similar athletic build, appearing quite a bit younger than Chris—heart failure hit home harder than other, more age-appropriate causes of death, even here in this insensitive room. Chris sighed, It’s going to be one of those weekends.

Early is on time, on time is late.

John Doe was Chris’s first patient to walk through the doors that night. Twenty minutes before his thirty-six-hour shift officially started, this man, this random face, walked in through the main door of the emergency room and collapsed. No request for help or other warning preceded his sudden drop. If he had walked through the doors, strolled the entire waiting area, and left, most likely no one would have even noticed him. Instead, his collapse kicked the staff into action on this otherwise quiet night. The man arrived alone, no family or friends. Not even a wallet to identify him.

The irony of the scene was not lost on Chris. To him, early is on time, on time is late was not just a catchphrase. The quip was a valuable lesson he learned years ago. It was US Army logic at its finest: hurry up and wait—wait and wait if you must, just don’t be late. There was a reason this routine came to him so naturally. He believed in the logic, for it had proved itself true, time and again.

Early is on time, on time is late.

As Chris continued the seemingly futile efforts to save John Doe’s life, his mind faded back a few months earlier to another patient—little Tommy McGrath. Tommy could so easily have ended up in the same grim situation as the unfortunate Mr. Doe, but that night, Chris was early. He had arrived on time to save a life.

***

Tommy’s leg hurt. That underwhelming description was the best the eight-year-old boy was able to give his mother, and all she could relay to the doctor. Late on a Tuesday evening, after helplessly watching her child suffer for two days, Ellen decided her best option was to bring him to the hospital. Really, it was her only option, as any other meant another long, sleepless night for both of them, and they would probably end up going to the ER in the morning anyway.

***

Standing over John Doe, Chris scanned the room, searching for something to rescue him from his current dilemma. He gazed longingly at the crash cart, crowned with his long-time ally in the noble fight to preserve life, the PIC 50 defibrillator with its long, thin heart monitor leads adhered to his patient’s chest—the lamprey searching inside a host for possible signs of life. Its charging paddles remained nestled in their cradle, worthless for the time being. Even though Old Betty was now considered a dinosaur, Chris refused to part ways with her. The model was a throwback to his army days, purchased by Saint Augustus on his insistence. Old Betty quickly lived up to her reputation; in nearly three years, she had saved the lives of 135 patients.

Chris’s only offer to the paddles was one of solace. You won’t be needed today, my friends. After all these years, Baxter still found humor that there are just some things you’ll never learn from television. Yelling Clear! and bringing a body back to life by simply pressing the paddles to a chest, is one of those lessons.

Of course, that isn’t how it works. When a heart stops completely—when there are no electrical pulses surging through the body at all—a defibrillator is of no use. At this point, the only options are clearing the patient’s airway, administering high-dose epinephrine, and slamming your clenched fist onto the patient’s chest with a precordial thump. Unfortunately, these methods rarely work. The fact is, when they do flatline, even the most advanced attempts prove themselves unsuccessful.

***

Where does it hurt, Tommy? The doctor on call that night tried his best to ease the frightened boy. The timid physician wasn’t willing to say his patient was fabricating his pain, but he just couldn’t find anything wrong. He had already sent Tommy up to the fourth floor for x-rays and down to the second floor to for a full spectrum of blood tests. The boy was then brought back to the ER to wait some more. Each department double-checked their results. No test, no doctor, nothing could explain the boy’s suffering. As far as they could determine, there was nothing to find.

For such a young boy, Tommy was unusually calm throughout the evening. His mother wasn’t surprised by this; her son was used to the hospital, having been admitted countless times over his few years battling pediatric Crohn’s disease. But this time, his cries of pain told his worried mom something was different. She explained to the doctor, My boy knows about pain. He doesn’t like it and wouldn’t make something like this up.

We’re looking, Mrs. McGrath. We just don’t see anything. Your son has been through quite a bit over the years. He may be remembering the discomfort from prior visits. That’s not uncommon.

Crying wails of pain erupted from Tommy again. The doctor looked at the boy’s mother and shyly winced in preparation for what was coming next.

He’s not faking it!

***

Death had arrived. The small room continued to cramp. As the once-white scene took on a sickeningly opaque and gloomy light, both nurses checked and rechecked the leads to the monitor, hoping for a miracle. Nurse Sarah Levy moved methodically and efficiently. She stared down at the patient, searching for any signs of life—the slightest muscle twitch or movement under closed eyelids—then checked to see if the monitor had been able to find any activity. When there was nothing to note, she looked at Chris for further instructions. Without a response from him, she would continue following protocol. Something would eventually change, but what, when, and how, she didn’t know. She looked out through the open curtain to see what kind of attention they were attracting (the gaggle of spectators—staff, patients, and visitors—had grown to about seven), then at Nurse Charger to share a destitute look of What do we do next?

Penny Charger was in her own state of limbo, her own repetitive loop of procedures slightly ahead of, or possibly slightly behind, her friend’s. Neither of them spoke a word, but their expressions were the same: I have no idea. Everything was on hold as this end-of-life crisis played out around them. Something would soon change, but not because of Rachel’s or Penny’s interference.

***

He’s not faking it! Ellen McGrath insisted.

"No, not faking. It’s a recall of past trauma, Mrs. McGrath. We are going to admit him for tonight. We can treat the pain he thinks is there. In the meantime, we’ll run more tests, but there’s not much we can do without an injury, infection, or anything else to