Just Jane

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at my place tonight? There’s plenty of room.”

Night came early to Maine in mid-January. At 4:30 full darkness had already descended, hurried along by the lowering clouds of an impending storm. Jane Mitchell and Belle Rioux stood under a security light in the the parking lot at St. Francis Hospital. Both women were students at the Mid-Maine College of Nursing and had just finished up a clinical training shift. It was Thursday night and with no classes now scheduled until Monday courtesy of the anticipated storm they were anxious to get a jump on the bonus three day weekend.

“Thanks, Belle, but it’s OK. I’ve driven in much worse than this.” she said, holding out a deerskin mittened hand displaying the first few gentle flakes. “Heck, I’ve been driving longer than you’ve been alive!”

Jane was what was known in education parlance as a “non-traditional” student. After marrying the love of her life and building a home she decided it was time to pursue that last big life goal: her nursing degree. She would be forty-seven when she got her diploma in May and had never doubted for a second she had made the right choice.

“No, it’s not bad now,” Belle continued, still imploring “but it’s a couple of hours back to where you live and …”

Fishing keys from her back-pack Jane opened the door to her Subaru Outback, sat in the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. “Thanks so much Belle. Really, I do appreciate the offer but I’ll be fine. See you on Monday. And don’t forget the Emergency Med Case Study. It’s ten percent of our clinical grade this semester!” Shutting the car door Jane backed out of her parking space and with a final wave took a left turn onto Center Street and the road home.

-0-

Most small, rural towns in Maine have a place like it. The unofficial/official town meeting spot where people congregate to share not only a meal but lament the Red Sox, brag up the grand kids and swear at politicians. For the 2,300 residents of Grandwood Lake that place was the Scarlet Raven Cafe.

Karen and Ben St. Pierre had opened “the Raven”, as it was known by the locals, some 20 years before following Ben’s retirement as a Navy cook. Karen, with her trademark pink bandana corralling a tangle of now silver-grey hair, became the face of the business while Ben’s pot roast special kept ‘em coming back for more.

Jane’s husband, Liam, sat at a booth near the front window, scanning Lake Street, the town’s main thoroughfare. Traffic was moving, if slower now as daylight had disappeared and the snow and wind picked up. Pulling his cell phone from his jacket he reread Jane’s last text:

“Just passed the Circle K in Rumford. Roads aren’t too bad. Meet you at the Raven around 6:30. Save me some pot roast! Love you, J.”

That had been over an hour before. The convenience store would have been her last reliable spot for cell service. On a normal day she’d have been here by now. Jane had run late before, but the storm was getting worse.

“How ya doin’, hon?” Kaaren said as she walked to Liam’s table. “Ready to order? Or, are you waiting for Jane?”

“Yeah, thanks, Karen.” Liam said. “Think I’ll give her just a little more time. Got a text about an hour ago saying she’d just left Rumford. Should be here any minute.”

“OK, dear. I’ll come back.” Karen answered. “And don’t worry too much. Jane’s been diving these roads for years. She’ll be fine.”

Liam nodded, smiling at Karen as she left before turning his attention back out the window at the still falling snow.

-0-

Rene Bouchard really didn’t want to be driving his loaded pulp truck down Maine Route 17 past the Grandwood Lake Overview tonight. He’d been on the road often enough to know that just beyond the soft shoulder and guard rail to his right the ground gave way, dropping steeply some hundred feet to an abandoned railroad bed. Normally he’d have waited, made the run in the daylight, but the mill in Livermore was paying a premium. The catch was he had to be there by midnight. His wife, Trina, had been sick and he really needed the extra money. Eyes glued to the fifty feet of unplowed highway he could see through the blowing snow his left foot reached out, depressing the clutch as he shifted the aging International pulper down another gear, steering as smoothly as he could around the sharp, downhill turn.

It might have been a frost heave, pot hole or patch of ice hidden by the snow, whatever it was Rene felt the big truck start to spin, back end sliding around, cab getting dangerously close to the edge of the roadbed. Fighting the wheel he briefly thought he had the vehicle back under control until the one thing he couldn’t control happened; his fifty-thousand pound load of Eastern White Pine shifted, flipping the truck, slamming it hard onto its left side, snapping the tie down chains and strewing tree-length pieces of wood three feet around across the highway like so many discarded toothpicks.

-0-

Windshield wipers flailing, defrosters roaring, Jane continued through the night. There were two ways to get to Grandwood Lake, either route four or seventeen. Route four was less mountainous and usually had more traffic, but was known as “the long way around” taking at least an hour extra even in good weather. She had chosen route seventeen tonight, shorter, but much more isolated.

“Thank God for four-wheel drive” she thought every time the car threatened to break loose, only to come back in control. It had been over two hours since Jane had left St. Francis and the way things were going she estimated another hour on the road. “Liam will be going nuts!”

Giving the car just a little more gas she started her climb up the last big hill before the Overlook which signified the end of the worst part of the drive. From there it would be rough and slow, but the roads would be relatively level. Tucked in along the ledge that bordered her side of the highway Jane was letting herself feel a little relief. “Just…get…around… this… corner…”

In her years living in Grandwood Lake Jane had seen enough pulp trucks to know what she saw coming at her were the orange marker lights on the BACK of the truck! The driver had lost control and pinwheeling down the hill, he was going to crush her into the ledge! With only one chance she floored the gas peddle, holding the wheel as steady as she could.

The car’s tires spun briefly, then caught, her speed picking up. The truck cleared her door by only a few inches, but it was enough and the pulper continued its downhill slide. A few moments later, hands shaking, stomach roiling from the adrenaline, Jane pulled as far as she dared into the Overlook parking lot. Looking back over her shoulder couldn’t see the truck, or anything else for that matter, as the rear window wiper fought a losing battle with the accumulating snow.

“I’ve got to check on the trucker.” she said while searching the car for things she might need. A final try at her cell phone proved futile, but she stuffed it in her coat pocket anyway,“Bound to need a flashlight” she reasoned. Unzipping her backpack she stuffed in an extra wool hat and scarf she found on the back seat along with Liam’s Super Jumbo roll of duct tape from the glove compartment. Leaving the car running, heat on full blast, she opened the door, pulling up her parka’s hood. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could make out the dim glow of headlights reflecting off the falling snow. Slinging the backpack over her right shoulder, Jane set off into the storm.

-0-

After ten minutes of slogging through snow that was now over the tops of her La Crosse winter boots Jane got to the truck. She quickly realized how lucky she had been as the back of the pulper had come to rest not more than foot from the face of the ledge. Squeezing by Jane got around to the down hill side of the vehicle, taking her first look at the logs littering the roadway.

“Nobody’s coming up that way with an ambulance tonight” she thought.

Pounding on the truck’s spiderweb-cracked windshield she yelled to be heard over the wind, “Hello! Is anybody in there? Hello! Can you hear me!” Repeating the process twice more she finally heard a faint tap in reply. “Are you hurt?” Jane hollered. If there was a response she couldn’t hear it. She had to get inside.

Heading back to the load bed she used the brackets and cabling to help climb up to the passengers side of the cab. Carefully getting on all fours she crawled a few feet forward, grabbing the door handle and pulling it up. It worked! The door popped open! Sliding gingerly a little further she opened it all the way. It was dark in the cab, the dome light broken. Digging the cell phone out of her pocket she shined the flashlight into the cab getting her first look at the blood-spattered face of Rene Bouchard.

-0-

“Hello! Sir! Hello! I’ll be right there…Stay with me!.” Jane called to Rene from the open door, snow now swirling into the cab. “It’ll just be a minute.” There was a faint reply and a weak wave of his hand before the trucker fell silent.

Jane’s thoughts were racing as she lowered herself into the truck, trying to find a spot that wouldn’t end up with her standing on Rene:

“He hit his head. I could see blood. Does he have a concussion? Spinal cord injury? Ruptured spleen? Lacerated liver? Punctured lung? Shattered ribs? Cardiac tamponade? Internal bleeding? Broken femur…”

Perching now in the gap between the two seats Jane bent forward, cell phone illuminating the cramped space. Rene reached toward her, grasping the fur ruff of her hood. His eyes were slightly glassy as he swiveled his head towards her, a raspy voice croaking, “Mon ange. Mon ange.”

A life spent this close to the Canadian border meant most people picked up at least a smattering of French. Jane knew he was saying “My angel”. Taking his hand in hers she said, “Not an angel, sir, my name is Jane. Just Jane. What’s yours?”

Focusing a little more clearly now the man replied, “Rene. Rene Bouchard.”

“Great” Jane thought, “at least he knows who he is.” “OK, Rene, can you tell me what hurts?”

“Just about everything on my left side” he replied “My arm and leg worst of all, I think they’re broken”

The fact that he could move his head was another encouraging sign, Jane thought, as was that, at least for now, he was speaking fairly coherently. His color was pale, however, he looked sweaty, even in the cold, and when she checked his pulse it was north of 140. Shock was setting in. He couldn’t wait until morning, when the plows might get though. She had to get him out of here, tonight.

There was no way Jane could lift Rene straight up through the passenger’s door then get him back to the ground, but when she had been pounding on the windshield she noticed the edge had popped free with the force of the crash.

“If I can get it the rest of the way out I can pull him through the hole” she thought.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Rene, but I’ve got to get the windshield out of the way first.” Turning around, her back now toward the front of the truck Jane kicked as hard as she ever had. The first couple of blows didn’t seem to do much and then she heard Rene say,

“Keep kicking, Just Jane! Keep kicking!”

It only took a few more well placed thumps with the sole of her boot before the windshield gave way. The storm continued to rage, now unimpeded into the cab, and Jane was left with how to get Rene back to what she hoped was the warmth and safety of her car.

“He can’t walk, and I sure as hell can’t carry him” she thought. Puzzling for a moment she remembered the ski patrol coming into the ER with patient still strapped into the toboggan they used to take them off the slopes. Jane didn’t have a toboggan, but there was something she hoped was almost as good!

She’d seen a snow scoop strapped to the back of he truck’s cab. Jane knew it was about four feet too short, but if she could somehow get Rene onto it she might be able to haul him!

Retrieving the scoop Jane brought it to windshield opening. “OK, Rene. It’s time to go, but you need to help me as much as you can. I know it’ll hurt, but together we can do this.Together we can!”

Rene’s voice, weaker now, responded, “Let’s do it.”

The hardest part was getting Rene upright enough to slide past the steering wheel. Once moved to a relatively open area Jane pulled his left arm across his chest, securing it with the scarf as a makeshift sling before wrestling his jacket around him, right arm through the sleeve so he could use it to help her and the left arm zipped inside to provide more stability. She only had a snow brush and duct tape to fashion a splint for his left leg. She hoped it would be enough.

“Alright, partner, here we go” Jane said tugging on his jacket as Rene pulled on the sheet metal where the windshield had been with his free right arm. Eventually all of Rene’s upper body and hips that would fit were in the scoop, legs trailing out the back. Securing him with the straps that had held the scoop Jane edged around the front of the truck. Duct taping her cellphone flashlight against her forehead and then around the hood of her parka, Rene in tow, Jane began her climb.

-0-

The ten minutes it had taken her to get to the truck turned into almost an hour on the return but finally Jane came up on the red glow of her car’s tail lights. Opening the rear hatch she folded down the back seat and with every bit of strength the two of them had left to give, got Rene inside.

It was warm in car, deliciously so, as Jane sat in the driver’s seat. She desperately wanted to lay back on the head rest and sleep, just for a few minutes, but knew she had to get going. Rene was looking worse now, paler, less talkative. Rubbing her eyes she put the car in drive and edged out onto the unplowed blacktop.

She’d only been on the road about fifteen minute not daring to go more than ten miles an hour in the inky blackness when she glanced at her fuel gauge and saw it was hovering just below a quarter tank.

“You can’t be serious!” she fumed, pounding her steering wheel “I go through all this..all this… just to RUN OUT OF GAS!”

Returning her gaze to the windshield she saw what at first seemed like some sort of strange reflection, but then there were two, then three, then more! Lights! Snowmobile lights! All heading toward her! Slowing to a halt she watched as the lead sled pulled up. Powering down her window she watched the driver flip up the visor on his helmet before hearing Liam say, “Good Evening, Ma’am. Caratunk Cruisers Snowmobile Club at your service.”

-0-

“Oh, boy” Liam said as he pushed the cell phone across the table, “you’re going to LOVE this one.”

Focusing on the screen Jane saw the front page headline of the Bangor Daily News web feed blaring:

“ANGEL OF THE SNOWS!”

Forty-six year old nursing student, “Just Jane” Mitchell saves trucker during blizzard!

Rescued man calls her: ‘Mon Ange’’

“Oh, God” she said, face flushing. “This is worse than the last one!”

“Sorry, hon” Liam replied, smiling, “but you’re a hero! Enjoy it! Good news is they say Rene got choppered to Maine Med from Franklin yesterday. He’ll be OK.”

Two days had passed since Jane, accompanied by her procession of snowmobiles, finally made it to Lakeview Street, where the Sno-Truck from Pine Grove ski area idled. The massive, four-tracked machine with its heated back cabin usually spent its time grooming the trails, but that night it served as an ambulance transporting Rene, along with a couple of EMTs from the volunteer fire department the thirty-five miles to Franklin Regional Hospital.

“Got a couple of more people want to buy your meal, Jane.” Karen St. Pierre said arriving at their table, pulling a pen from her pink bandana and order pad from her apron.

Waving at the couple Karen had indicated Jane said, “Thank them for me, Karen, please. I really appreciate it, but we can’t take their money.”

Just then the cell phone vibrated again. Liam picked it up saying, jokingly, “Hmmm, wonder if this is the Vatican about your sainthood?”

Giving him a well deserved punch in the shoulder Jane took the phone and saw a text from Nora Ellis, her primary instructor at Mid-Maine:

“Jane” the message read, “Everyone here at Mid-Maine is thrilled beyond words that you’re OK and we all can’t wait to see you tomorrow! Take care, see you then. Nora.

PS You can skip the Emergency Medicine Case Study. I think I’ll have your classmates study you.”