The trucker and the young doctor both made it their business to help others. The their lives crosses in a miraculous convergence.
Dusk had descended quickly, and Sherry Apple knew she felt numb on the steering wheel of her silver sports car, and fatigue was clouding her eyes. Doctors are trained to fight exhaustion, but Sherry, a 34-year old general surgery intern, had pushed her body too far. She searched in vain for a rest area along a winding ribbon of highway between Atlanta and Louisville.
Sherry had been on call at Georgia Baptist Medical Centre in Atlanta-with only few hours’sleep- for more than two days. Now Sherry was zooming to an interview at the University of Louisville School of Medicine for a residency position in neuro –surgery.
She tried singing aloud, but her throat was too dry. When she snapped on her Citizen’s Band Radio(CB) to listen for the friendly banter of truckers, the airwaves were silent. She rolled down the car window, hoping that the brisk autumn air would keep her awake. Soon the hum of the tyres on the road became an eerie lullaby, and Sherry was blinking back drowsiness. Her car started to weave.
A LANKY, 41-year old trucker named Woody Key was fidgeting in the cab of his 18-wheeler. He peered at the empty road, wishing he’d spot a car with kids in the back seat. He liked to wave at the children, and if their car sported a CB antenna, he’d quack into the microphone, pretending to be Donald Duck. But tonight there was nothing to break the monotony.
Then his headlights picked up a silver sports car ahead. As he watched, it began drifting out of its lane.
Woody approached the car, honking his horn and yelling into his CB microphone, “ Four wheeler,are you all right ? “ His lights outlined a blonde in the driver’s seat. Her head seemed to be bent forward, and panic began to boil in his stomach. Can’t she hear me ? he thought. “ Wake up ! “
SHERRY APPLE snapped to attention, her heart pounding. She peered into rear view mirror but couldn’t clearly see the face of the man who had probably just saved her life. “ Sorry to starle at you, “ his voice boomed over the CB, “ but I thought your car was weaving. I figured you were very tired.”
Sherry swallowed, picking up the CB mike with a shaky hand. “I’m exhausted, and I’m lucky I’m still alive driving this tired. Thanks ! “
“ Call me Woodpecker, my CB call name, “ the trucker said. “I’m goin’ to Kentucky. And you ?”
“Kentucky.”
“well, good! I’ll travel behind and help keep you awake. What’s your name ?”
“ Dr Froot Loops,” she told him. When he laughed out loud, she explained that was what the kids on the pediatric ward had called her. They enjoyed silly names. As the long kilometers unfolded, Froot Loops told Woodpecker that she was anxious about her upcoming interview . this trip to Kentucky was one of the final steps in a long journey that began when she was hospitalized as a child; she’s decided then to become a doctor. It had taken her ten years to save the money for her medical college. Now people at the end of this ride could shape her future- a scary thought.
“You’ll do fine,” Woodpecker told her. “Sounds like your patients really come first with you. Anybody would be lucky to have a doctor like you. “they swapped stories and jokes, and the time passed quickly. Woodpecker and Froot Loops parted near the Kentucky state line. She thanked him for keeping her awake and safe on the long, dark road. “Oh, that’s okay,” he said shyly. “I enjoyed the talk. “ then the big truck rumbled past her, and the kind stranger was gone.
SHERRY’s interview went well, but there wan’t much time to worry about the impession she had made on the Kentucky doctors. She was expected back at work immediately in Atlanta.
Through Sherry’s schedule was even more demanding than usual, and she was often fatigued, she still insisted on being near her patients when they awoke, groggy and frightened.
ON NOVEMBER 22,1986, an Emergency Alert blared from the hospital loudspeaker: a trauma team was needed immediately. Sherry raced down the halls, her green surgical grab flapping wildly. Sherry entered the trauma unit and found several other surgeons already bending over the bloody form of an accident victim brought in form a two-truck collision. Both arms and both legs were broken. His rib cage was crushed. His face has been smashed, and his left eye was exposed and hanging. Shards of glass protruded from his neck and shoulders. Worst of all, the man’s skull was so badly cracked that Sherry could see his brain pulsing. She put both hands on his forehead, hoping to calm the thrashing victim.
The man was mumbling,” happened so fast… couldn’'t stop…” he tried to move his arms and howled in the pain. His blood-pressure was plummeting. One of the doctors, working feverishly to stanch the flow of blood, said to Sherry through gritted teeth, “Keep him quit ! We could lose him any minute !”
A Small World. Sherry began gently pleading with the man to bear the pain just a little longer. “It’s not your time to die!” she whispered. “You’re still young.” As she talked, Sherry hoped her words were getting through.
The man did seem to be concentrating on the sound of her voice. Then, in a choked whisper, he asked her name.
“Dr Sherry Apple,” she replied.
“No…your CB name.”
“How did you guess I have a CB?”
“Your voice….i know your voice…..”
“My name is Froot Loops.”
“Oh, God…Don’t let me die…
It’s me….Woodpecker!”
Sherry gasped. At that moment, more than anything in the world, she wanted to save the life of the man who has saved hers. Is this why we met ? she wondered. She leaned over the battered figure and whispered, “It’s not your time, Woodpecker!”
The surgical team was assembled, and Woody Key was rushed into the operating room. Sherry and a neurosurgeon worked on his head injuries while other surgeons repaired his broken body. Sweat rolled down Sherry’s face. She and the neurosurgeon performed a craniotomy- a procedure to open the skull- to stop the bleeding and relieve pressure on Woody’s brain. Her fingers seemed to move on their own. Compress to stop the bleeding. Probe for skull fragments in the brain. Suction. Sponge.
The team labored nearly 24 hours. A dull ache throbbed in Sherry’s shoulders, and her knees were rubbery. Could Woodpecker last this long? Could anyone? She had never seen such extensive injuries .
THE FIRST days out of the operating room were excruciating for Woodpecker. He was bandaged from head to toe and still in critical condition. He couldn’t move or speak. Then sepsis in a life threatening infection that puts tremendous strain on the heart and the other vital organs. He became delirious and writhed with fever.
Often Sherry would get home and find her phone ringing. Nurses, unable to calm Woodpecker and afraid that his thrashing would cause more injuries, asked Sherry to return. She always did. She talked to him, although he was crazed with pain, he would gradually relax.
The weeks went by, and Sherry became convinced that Woodpecker would live, but she worried that he might be handicapped or badly disfigured. He underwent surgery to repair facial nerves. After that, Woodpecker faced many more operations on his arms and legs.
THE BIG DAY. Then came agonizing plastic surgery to reshape his face. When the bandages finally came off, Woodpecker asked Sherry to take a look. She smiled broadly, and a wave of relief flooded over him. Despite some scars, his face looked fine.
Gradually the pain ebbed. Woodpecker learnt to feed himself, his hands trembling as he clumsily grasped a spoon and brought it to his swollen lips. About two months after his accident, he left the Medical Centre.
On the big day, Woodpecker was taken down the corridor in a wheelchair. Then he saw Sherry. He wanted desperately to walk up to her, but he couldn’t.
Sherry forced a smile and whispered, “Well, just look at you.” Her voice was filled with admiration, and she fought off tears.
“I made it,” he said shyly. He reached for her hand, lurched forward and then fell back into the wheelchair. “It needs a little more work,” he told her. “But I’ll be okay.”
Sherry looked at the man who had kept her safe on a lonely highway months ago. She touched hisarm. This time, when he reached for her hand, his grasp was steady. “I don’t think I could have made it without you,” he told her.
Sherry’s eyes filled. “And I wouldn’'t have made it without you,” she said softly.
WOODY KEY, who can no longer tolerate a trucker’s long hours, has since taken a course in architectural design at Kentucky Polytechnic Institute in Louisville. “I studied algebra and trigonometry , and did stuff I never dream I could do,” he says.
Dr Sherry Apple is now completing neurosurgery training at the University of Tennesse at Memphis.
Woodpecker and Froot Loops have kept in touch with each other.
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