Rebirth

Wendigo War - Part I, Chapter 12 “Whole villages are dying from diseases caused by the pollution,” the woman concluded.

Ba-Ba-Boom-Boom-Ba-Ba-Boom.  Thunder from the drum. Outside, the storm raged. Inside, another roared through the crowd. John clutched at his chest, his eyes bulged in terror, and he collapsed.

“Christ, he’s having a heart attack!” Paul shouted.

The hearing stopped, and stunned commotion spread through the crowd as two nurses rushed forward. A young nurse named Amanda Myers carried an AED defibrillator from the Health Center. Two years ago, she and Missy Waaban convinced the council to purchase it because the village didn’t have a resident physician. Amanda prepped the AED while Missy tried to wake John. When he didn’t respond, she tore open his shirt and began compressions. 

Albert Ningaabii, an herbal medicine man, shouted to Paul and Clark, “You two, move the table back and give them room.” They did as he said. Bill distanced himself from the unfolding drama. Albert scanned the shifting faces in the crowd until his eyes settled on a fifteen-year-old boy named David. He waved at the boy to get his attention and motioned him toward the aisle. “David, run to Francis Bizheu’s place. Tell him there’s a sick man here, and he should bring his bundle. After that, run to my place. Do you know wintercress, about two feet tall, yellow flower clusters and round-lobed leaves?” The boy nodded. “Good, there’s a bundle drying in the back room. Grab it and come back. We need to make medicine to stop him from having any more heart attacks. Go!” David ran into the raging storm.

Amanda placed the first pad on John’s upper right chest below the collarbone and the second on his left side below the heart. She pressed the analyze button, and the AED advised a shock. “Clear!” she shouted, pushing a red button decorated with a white lightning bolt. Three thousand volts passed over his heart, causing his body to jump. The AED ordered more CPR. The shock failed. Rose Ningaabii took over compressions. The crowd remained rooted in place. Many prayed, their lips miming hopeful words. Others stood in silence. The AED recommended a second shock. Amanda pressed the button, and John convulsed, coughed and moaned. He registered a strong and steady pulse.

The crowd cleared a path for Francis Bizheu, a thin and leathery man in his eighties, who came forward and knelt beside the sick man. Missy tried to speak, but he motioned her to be quiet. He took a rattle from his bundle and shook it over John’s chest. A frown crossed his face, and he said, “You did well, but there’s poison making him sick. It’ll kill him if I don’t draw it out.” From a leather pouch, he drew a tiny hollow bone. Kneeling, he placed one end over John’s heart. Leaning in close, he sucked hard through the bone. Clark stood closest and later swore the old man sucked gunk, black as tar, into the hollow bone. Francis then placed the bone in his mouth and swallowed. The council and those sitting near the front waited in expectation as Francis began retching in violent spasms. Clark and Paul exchanged horror-stricken glances as the old man vomited hundreds of black mosquitos, which twitched and died in an obscene pile on the floor. Francis hacked and coughed. One or two more flew a short distance from his mouth and fell dead.

Those in the front cried out, “Ho-wah!” Paul tried to speak, but words escaped him. Clark stared in muted awe. Bill sat at the table with his head in his hands.

The dying mosquitos stilled as Francis regained his composure. He reached down and retrieved the hollow bone. Placing his right hand on John’s chest, he held it steady momentarily and nodded his approval. Standing, keeping the bone in his left hand, Francis picked up his bundle and walked out.

13.

John awoke, frightened. Disjointed images flashed across his mind. Thunder, lightning, and death. Where am I? A hospital? Something squeezed his upper right arm, accompanied by a slow whirring. A blood pressure cuff. Pressure on his index finger. A pulse oximeter. Beside him stood an IV pole with a tube running into his left arm, through which fluid worked its way into his body. A tube ran into his nose—an oxygen line. Nearby, a young woman wearing scrubs read by a small table lamp. A nurse? What the hell happened to me?

It came back to him. He stood on the lake, thunder booming from the sky and the drum. Dead fish stretched to the horizon, floating on the rust-colored water beneath a poison dome. He drew the uraninite from the water and healed the earth. Then, the symbol from Rachel’s painting unfolded on the horizon.

He tried to call out to the nurse but coughed in spasms, his chest exploding with pain. “Easy, Mr. Watimer,” the nurse said, “Don’t shout.” An older man entered the room and stood beside the nurse.

“What happened? Where am I?”

“You’re at the Health Center at Nawadjiwon. You suffered a heart attack. Doctor Taylor will be here first thing in the morning. In the meantime, my name is Amanda Myers. I’m a registered nurse.” She put her hand on the man's shoulder and said, “This is Albert Ningaabii.”

“A heart attack…when?”

“At the hearing,” Albert said. “Amanda charged the shock paddles while Missy Waaban and my wife did CPR.”

“Jesus…”

“Yeah, he may have had something to do with it too…I sent for Francis Bizheu. He’s a healer. After the nurses brought you back, Francis healed you.”

“Brought me back?” John repeated. His eyes fixed in a sixty-yard stare. “How long…?”

“Six minutes. We shocked you twice.”

Six minutes.

We gave you aspirin, and Albert made tea.”

“Tea?”

“Wintercress,” Albert said. “It prevents heart attacks, but Francis is the one who saved your life. He got the poison out with the hollow bone.”

“Poison? What are you talking about?”

“You need to rest, Mr. Watimer,” Amanda said.

“She’s right,” Albert said.

“But, I need answers…”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Amanda said.

Exhaustion washed over John like a rogue wave, and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

14.

When John awoke again, his eyes focused on a tall man dressed in blue jeans and a button-up chamois shirt. “Good morning,” he said. “I’m Doctor Taylor. I’m the physician serving Baswenaazhi and Nawadjiwon.”

“Hi,” John said. Dogs barked somewhere nearby, and children’s voices carried into the Health Center.

Doctor Taylor held John’s EKG readout and wrote something on a clipboard. “Amanda tells me you awoke around midnight and again at three, and you appeared confused. It’s a normal reaction after a cardiac episode.”

“When did you get here, Doc?”

“They called Baswenaazhi last night, but the storm prevented me from coming. Since they had you stabilized, I gave orders for IV heparin to prevent further clotting and flew in this morning. Amanda’s done a great job. She hooked up your IV and oxygen, and we’ve been monitoring your heart function. How are you feeling now?”

“Like shit, to tell you the truth. If you flew over this morning, did the guys from my company…?”

“They left this morning. I met them at the dock and told them you’d be fine. We’re going to transport you to Thunder Bay on a Medivac helicopter. It’s inbound as we speak.”

“How bad is this, Doc?”

“The EKG shows no ST-segment elevation, a pattern indicating a complete coronary artery blockage. It appears you suffered a non-ST-segment elevation myocardial infarction –an NSTEMI heart attack. It means a blockage is partial or temporary. When they do blood work in Thunder Bay, you’ll test positive for troponin, a protein released from the muscle when the heart is damaged. They’ll perform a cardiac catheterization, including an angiogram, to determine damage and identify blockages. Depending on their findings, treatment options range from medication to angioplasty – placing stents to open the blocked arteries – and, if necessary, bypass graft surgery. The Cardiology Director at Thunder Bay is Dr. Robert McClellan. You’ll be in good hands.”

“I need to call my wife.”

“They’ll notify her. Right now, we need to ensure you’re stable for transport.”

“You’re going to kill me for saying so, Doc, but I’m dying for a cigarette.”

Doctor Taylor didn’t yell but spoke intensely, “Well, let me be blunt, John. The nurses saved your life. Your heart stopped, and you died. They shocked you twice. Smoking cigarettes put you on that floor, and you’re going to be taking at least four medications for the rest of your life to make sure you don’t have another one. I’m not going to kill you for smoking a cigarette because the cigarettes will do the job for me.”

“Four meds….what are they?”

“We put you on a heparin infusion to prevent clots from forming. When you arrive at Thunder Bay, they’ll put you on a beta-blocker, which lowers blood pressure and stabilizes the heart’s action. ACE inhibitors widen your blood vessels and lower your blood pressure. Statins reduce the cholesterol in your liver, which develops atheromas inside your blood vessels, leading to future cardiac episodes. You need to lower your cholesterol, and you need to stop smoking. You’ll hear all this again at the hospital.”

A distant Thwup-Thwup-Thwup heralded his ride. In Rachel’s absence, he sunk into deep despair. He missed his children, yes, but he needed his wife. The helicopter landed in the field behind the Health Center. Two men wearing flight suits entered with a gurney. One stopped to talk to the doctor while the other said, “Good morning, Mr. Watimer. My name is Stan Cummings. I’m a flight paramedic. We’re going to transport you to Thunder Bay.”

“My attaché…I need it.”

The paramedic turned to see what in the blue hell Mr. Cardiac yammered about, his eyes settling on the leather bag sitting on the table. He said, “Okay, sir, no problem, but it’s all we have room for.” The other paramedic never introduced himself but said, “We’re refueling, and we’ll be airborne in a few minutes.” Outside, a crowd gathered. Intense loneliness seized John. Other emotions came as they wheeled him to the helicopter: embarrassment, anger, and sadness. The crew collapsed the gurney’s legs and lifted him through the side doors. For the first time in forever, he closed his eyes and prayed.