Aaron

I 've had some questions about shifts in POV. The use of the ********* indicates a shift in POV or a change of the scene. Where I indicate a name below the stars that is a shift in POV. In this story I jump around a bit in time, thus I use this a bit more often. For those who have difficulty with shifts in POV, consider it like a change of the scene in a movie or book; it's the same thing.

It's been a while since I posted a story - writer's block had me in its evil grip. I got some interesting suggestions to work through it. The most innovative one was to write a story from the family dog point of view. People have been having sex in front of their pets for a long time. Thanks for that one - you know who you are.

I hope you enjoy the story.

**********

"WAKE UP! WAKE UP!"

"Come on! Get up!"

What the...

"Get up! There's an emergency! The Sergeant is having a heart attack!"

I could feel someone violently shaking me. Where the hell was I? What the fuck...?

"Quick, get up!"

There were hands dragging me from whatever it was I was on. I think it's a bed; not sure. How did I get there?

"Take it easy, I'm getting up...what...what's the problem?"

"They told me that you're a doctor. The Sergeant is having a heart attack. You've got to come quick."

I sat up and discovered that I didn't have any shoes on. No matter, the hands were dragging me out of the tiny room that I was in, and we went down a hall to an office. When I got there, I saw that a woman in a police uniform, was bent over, trying to do CPR on a large man, also in a uniform. Oh shit!

I finally realized where I was, the police station.

"Get out of the way." I got on my knees and reached over to see if he had a pulse and was breathing. He had neither. Jesus!

"Do you have a defibrillator?" I asked looking at the woman who had been trying to do CPR.

"I think we do; I'll get it." She scurried away. I started chest compressions. I did five and then did my best to get air in the man. I was still under the influence of many pints of Guinness from the night before in the pub; but I was shaking them off fast.

As I was doing the second round of chest compressions she returned with an AED, an Automated External Defibrillator. They're pretty common now and found in many public places. I just hoped that it had been checked recently and that the battery was still reasonably charged.

"Get the pads out and turn it on." I was still doing chest compressions.

She handed me the pads and I quickly ripped his shirt open and pulled up his undershirt. I stuck the two pads to his chest and then activated the AED to administer a charge. Thankfully, the thing was working, and its voice told me to stand away when it was going to zap him.

I hit the button and ZAP! His whole body moved. Nothing. The first one didn't work. Shit!

I activated it again. ZAP! Nothing. It didn't get his heart started to normal rhythm. Shit!

Third time was charmed. ZAP! 'Beep, 'normal Sinus Rhythm...' the machine proudly announced. Thank fuck! I exhaled.

I sat on the floor and put my hand on his chest to verify a heartbeat. I could feel it. It was faint but there. I shouted at the woman police officer, "did you call for an ambulance?"

She mumbled something that I couldn't make out. "Do it now!" I shouted. She fumbled to find her cell phone.

As I sat on the floor monitoring the man's heart rate and breathing, I looked around and realized that I was in a police station. How the fuck did I get here? Slowly I recalled that I got piss-drunk in the pub in the town the night before. I looked out the window and saw that it was morning. I looked at my watch; it was just after 8AM. I had sobered-up in record time.

A few moments later the woman police officer scrambled back and told me that the ambulance would be another half-hour; it was coming from a town called Tralee. Apparently, there was a hospital there.

Quick tutorial regarding heart attacks:

Defibrillation is effective only for certain heart rhythms, namely ventricular fibrillation or pulseless ventricular tachycardia, rather than asystole or pulseless electrical activity, which usually require the treatment of underlying conditions to restore cardiac function.

My own heart was beating fast. I suppose a combination of the panic and whole lot of the alcohol that I drank last night. My armpits were wet, and I needed to piss bad. I beckoned to the woman police officer, "Come over here, sit here and put your hand on his chest."

She sat on the floor next to the unconscious Sergeant and gingerly put her hand on his chest "I can feel his heart,"

"Good, stay there, while I go to the washroom. Where is it?"

She pointed around the corner.

I slowly made my way to the toilet and pumped out a gallon of used Guinness. When I came out to the hallway there were a few more observers present. I looked at an incredibly young Constable and asked him, "where the fuck am I?"

His mouth was open and his eyes a tad bugged out, but he managed to say "the Garda station."

"Sorry, but I might have had a bit too much to drink last night. What town is this and how did I get here?"

"You're in Castleroy. Me and Tommy, from round the pub, carried you here last night when you passed out. Tommy said you were after havin' a grand old time, right until you went down." He was smiling.

Crap.

"You told everyone that you were escaping away from a whore."

Fuck!

The young Constable was now grinning at me. I could hear the sound of the ambulance in the distance.

"The lads told me that you're from the United States. Is that true."

I grimaced, "Sadly, yes."

"They said that you're doctor." He said it more as a question than a comment.

I nodded, "Yes."

The ambulance crew came through the door, on the run, and were taken to the office where the Sergeant was laid out on the floor. The paramedics did the normal routine checking of his heart and breathing. My work here was done.

I watched as they loaded him on the stretcher and got him moved out to the ambulance. When they left, supposedly to take him to the hospital in Tralee, I went looking for my shoes and jacket. I found them on the floor next to the bunk in the tiny room that I had occupied to sleep off my prior evenings' celebrations.

I found the woman police officer, another Constable, and asked her if I could leave. She looked at me and without speaking, nodded. I sat on the bunk and put on my boots and pulled the sleeves of my jacket right-side out; it was in a ball. My wallet and cellphone were in the pockets.

I went back out to the main office and looked around. Everyone, all four of them, two were standing and two were sitting, were all staring at me; not a word being spoken.

I figured that any misdemeanors that I may have committed at the pub were forgiven. I was starting to feel a bit light-headed. "Say, does anyone know where I was staying?"

All four heads turned in the same direction, as if you could see through the two-foot-thick stone walls of the police station. Turns out I was staying at a B&B only a couple of hundred yards from the police station. As I slowly made my way there, I inhaled and exhaled to get some fresh air into my lungs. I needed more sleep, a long hot shower, some coffee and some food, all pretty much in that order. I started with getting a large bottle of water at a shop on the way and drank the whole thing in one long gulp.

When I went into the B&B I was greeted by the lovely lady that ran the place. "I see that you're back from your evening of fun round the pub. Would you like some breakfast? I've some good fry-up ready to go."

"I would really love some coffee, if you have it. I may have overdone-it a tad last night."

"Oh, I heard. When you didn't come back after the pub closed, I called round the Garda and asked after you. They said that you'd had a bit much and was tucked safely into one of their beds. I left it at that and went to bed myself."

She smiled at me and went off to get the food cooking. I could smell it and I was immediately hungry. Her husband came in and was smiling at me. "You've had a busy day for a Sunday."

I looked at him, "Huh?"

He smiled. "The lads at the station called and told me what you did for Sergeant O'Boyle. You saved his life! Mary, come out here. We've a hero staying with us."

She hollered, "What are you saying, Bill?"

She ran out, Bill continued, "I'm after saying that our guest saved Gerry's life. He had a heart attack sitting in his office and this young man saved him from a certain death. He's a doctor from the United States."

I looked at them, tried to hold up my hand, "really it was nothing."

"Nothing, me arse." Bill looked at his wife. "He saved the man's life. Mind you, Gerry was a heart attack waiting to happen." He looked at his wife and continued, "He did CPR and used that electronic thing to get Gerry's heart started again."

They both looked at me as if I was going to retell the whole event. I just wanted coffee and breakfast. "I could really use some coffee now, if you have it." She nodded and went back to the kitchen and soon reappeared with the pot and a cup.

I sat and downed most of the pot of coffee along with a large plate of food: eggs, ham, fried tomatoes, beans and toast. It was delicious. I was thinking that the Sergeant had eaten way too many of these Irish breakfasts over the years and thus was, as Bill said, a heart attack waiting to happen.

After I had eaten, I went to my room, took a long hot shower and went to bed to put my world into some semblance of order. Sleep, wonderful sleep.

**********

You want to know a bit about me don't you. My name is Aaron Brown. I'm 33 years old, I'm 5 foot 11 inches tall, and I weigh-in at 170 pounds. I have black hair and blue eyes. I'm an orthopedic surgeon in Albany. I finished up my surgical residency two years ago and now I work, or worked, at the university hospital.

I'm married to Madeline McDonald Brown and we do not have any children. At least I don't. Maddy is an elementary school teacher. She is 32 years old, is also from the Albany area. Born, and brought up there. Her family is all pretty much still in the area. My family, not so much.

My mother and father live in a beach community in North Carolina. They retired there last year to live in weather warmer than central New York provides; that and play golf. My mother has a bit of arthritis and my father, although in good health, dislikes winter. So, they went someplace warm and they enjoy it there.

I have a sister that lives in Connecticut with her husband and two kids. She's two years older than me. Karen and Dave, and their boys Ryan and Ben. My parents spoil their grandkids and the boys love the beach when they go visit.

So, how did I end up in Ireland?

That's what you really want to know. Fair question.

**********

It seems that I had vented my anger and talked way too much about my problems in the pub last night so probably by now most of the town was well aware of my problem. Yes, I had (past tense) a problem.

My problems name was that same Madeline McDonald Brown. I and just about everyone else, called her Maddy.

I said some things in the pub that I probably shouldn't have said; that's what too much Guinness does to you. It's like truth serum. After a few pints of the stuff, you spill your guts and inner secrets to complete strangers.

I had left Albany when my marriage went up in smoke. It was kind of sudden. That was about a month ago. I've been in Ireland for the last three weeks, give-or-take a couple of days; I've lost track. I'm touring around the island on a motorcycle that I bought used from a dealer in Dublin. It's a Honda CRF 250. Basically, a dirt bike with headlights, turn signals and a speedometer.

The bike was in good shape, and I bought some side panniers to strap on to it, to carry the few things that I brought with me. It wasn't much, I can tell you that. Most of my things, back in Albany, either went to the Salvation Army donation box or I threw it in the garbage. I kept only those few things that I absolutely needed; stuff I could pack in my car. The rest I just walked away from.

I had talked with a friend about hitting the road and he made a few excellent recommendations that I followed. He walked away from an unfaithful wife a couple of years ago.

I was doing the same.

**********

A month before

Maddy's from a fairly large family. She has a sister and two brothers. Her sister Lana is a housewife with one child, one of her brothers, Rob, is an aircraft mechanic. Her other brother, Barry, is a contractor. He builds houses for a living and is doing well.

Maddy's mother and father still live in Albany and they're both retired. Her mother was also a teacher and her father was a banker with a national bank. They are both living well with good pensions and investments and like to travel in their Georgetown RV.

Back to me; doctors lead a different life. Yes, we are very well paid, but we work very long hours and early in our careers don't have a lot of time off for a personal life. That was undoubtedly a major factor in my 'situation.'

My colleague and friend, Dave Walters, had suffered from the same thing that I'm now faced with. He moved on from his marriage. He left his cheating wife behind and found a new wife. Why is it that there is such a high percentage of the spouses of doctors that seem to be predisposed to infidelity? I mean, this seems to be an all-too-common thing for doctors. Their spouses all seem to have this need to fuck around.

Dave came out of it good. He has a new wife; a wonderful woman from Germany, and they have two kids now. He met her in Africa; I think. He landed on his feet. I talked to him, and he told me that it was by pure chance that he met her, but it was the luckiest and greatest day of his life; especially considering the way that his marriage collapsed.

I was understanding exactly what he was saying.

Like I said earlier, I don't have any children. Maddy has one child. A girl. She was born just a few weeks ago.

Yes, you got that right. Her baby is not mine, even though we've been married four years. The baby is the product of her affair with another man.

I was broadsided completely when the baby was born. You see, I'm white, Maddy is white, and her child is clearly biracial. So, you can do the math on that one. Before you all tar me as a racist, the child was merely the messenger.

The great reveal of Maddy's affair was in the delivery room. I was sitting on a stool beside my wife, holding her hand, and coaching her in breathing as the baby started to make her entry into the world. The Doc asked me to cut the cord and so when the baby made her appearance into the world I was ready and waiting with scissors in one hand and Maddy's hand in my other. What a fucking surprise that was.

I will never forget the expression on the face of the doctor when she delivered the baby. Her eyes got very wide and her head snapped around to look at me. I stood there stunned as a rock and the doc quietly took the scissors from me and cut the umbilical cord.

The doc handed the baby off to the waiting hands of the delivery nurse and the child was whisked off to get airways suctioned out, eye drops, weighed and measured and then wrapped up in a heated blanket.

The delivery nurses were talking amongst themselves and glancing at Maddy and I. The doc looked at me and then told the nurse to bring the child over to her mother.

I looked at Maddy holding the baby. "Maddy, Maddy, ah...how the...oh shit!" It was the same as if I'd been punched in the gut by Mike Tyson. I couldn't breathe. I blinked a hundred times thinking my eyes were deceiving me. No, they work okay.

I sat down in the chair next to Maddy's bed and looked at the floor. The doc and the nurses were hovering at the side of the delivery room waiting to see what was going to happen.

I waited until I could breathe again. I looked at Maddy and she was looking at her baby. She never said a word and I never said a word. I left the room.

I never spoke to Maddy again.

**********

Over the next day Maddy's parents called me several times to talk to me. Her mother left several voicemail messages on my cell phone. I did speak to her once. I asked if she had seen the baby. When she told me that she had, she asked if I could forgive Maddy for her mistake and be a father to the child. My answer was, 'could you?' I didn't get a reply. I ended the call. I haven't spoken to either of her parents again.

A 'mistake'; getting pregnant by some other man isn't something that can be explained by 'oops, sorry Dear, I made a mistake and his dick just wound-up in my vagina' and carry on as if everything is just hunky-dory. Nope.

I made sure when I was on my way out of the hospital that the birth certificate information got filled out and indicated that the name of the father was 'Unknown.' I signed the form, then I left.

When I got home to our house, I packed everything that I wanted and left. My old Subaru Outback was hardly full. I took some clothes, my iPad, a few things from medical school and that was it. It took me only a few hours to sort out my shit and get it loaded in my car.

I left my wedding ring on the kitchen table and walked away.

My home that night was a hotel room. I checked in to a place not far from the hospital that I worked at. It was a different one from the one that Maddy had her baby in.

I was numb.

**********

Back to Present Day

The day after my ignominious introduction to the town of Castleroy, my night in the pub getting drunk and shooting my mouth off about my problems, I was visited by a succession of people from the town.

First, Mrs. O'Boyle came by the B&B to see me. She thanked me profusely for saving the life of her useless husband, as she described him; but that was another story. Nevertheless, she offered to do anything that she could for me in return for the life of Gerry. I thanked her and said that I would drop by and see the Sergeant at the hospital when he was allowed visitors; probably in a day or two.

Next was the Mayor of the Castleroy. She was a lovely lady and brought with her a couple of local officials who were curious to meet the American doctor staying in their town and who saved Sergeant O'Boyle from certain death. The mayor, a woman that I figured was in her mid-fifties and quite matronly in appearance, was playing the politician. Photos of her and I were taken for some unknown official record, along with a group photo of the mayor, her entourage, the owners of the B&B and me.

The mayor quietly enquired regarding what had brought me to this quiet corner of Ireland. I mentioned that my family had emigrated from Ireland to the U.S. during the potato famine in the 1800's. I told her how my great-grandfather had made his way to New York, settling in Albany. He initially went to Boston when he got the U.S., but later decided that there was more opportunity for him as a carpenter in Albany. I wanted to visit Ireland; I had never been to the country before. What I had seen of it told me that I would not be finished with Ireland for a while.

The mayor inquired if I was planning to stay in the area for much longer. I mentioned that I planned on riding my motor cycle around the Ring of Kerry and then to Killarney. She laughed and nodded to the other two town officials with her.

She looked me squarely in the eyes and started. "Doctor Brown, I'm wanting to know, if I can, a bit more about your practice in the United States. What sort of doctor are you?"

"Well, I'm an orthopedic surgeon. I do a lot of repairs to bones, joints, the skeleton, that kind of thing." I was using my hands to point at myself. "I also do general surgery, when other surgeons are not available. I don't normally do thoracic, er... heart, or neuro...brain; that's very specialized stuff."