My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
67
Chip and Jaime met with me in my cabin this morning and reviewed
our options regarding Dr. Bunyan.
“Look, Will,” I said, “Operation Sneaky Spy isn’t ethical at all,
so what difference would learning about Lee’s time with Bunyan be?"
“I took an oath to retain patient confidentiality, so did Bunyan.
You can’t ask me to break that oath, surely.”
“What if it affected Lee’s ability to do his duty?” Chip chided.
“Apparently it didn’t, since there’s no mention of a Dr. Bunyan in any of Lee's
medical records,” Will said.
“Unless they were classified,” Chip said. “You’ve gotten such
records released before.”
“Then ask the Navy, ONI, or Lee himself! I won’t be a part of this,”
Will said, rising, heading to the door.
“Wait,” I pleaded, “instead of us asking what happened to Lee, at
least can you find out anything about this Dr. Bunyan? His history? Specialty? Time
in the service? That would be in the
public domain, surely.”
“You can do that yourselves. Go online...check the AMA’s
registry.”
“What good will that do, Admiral?” Chip asked. “We want info on what
happened to Lee, not on the sawbones.”
“I’m hoping it might tell us what kind of doctor he is, what kind
of treatment he may have given Lee.”
“I’m out of here,” Will said. “You’re both paranoid. And ‘that’, I
assure you, will go in ‘your’ medical records!”
With that he left, slamming the door behind him.
“Well,” Chip sighed, “that went well...hey, Joe’s powered up.”
In seconds we witnessed not Joe, but Lee at the keyboard, hair
tousled, and in his PJ’s.
“Anything?” Joe asked, emerging from the head, shaved, and
dressed.
“She hasn’t arrived yet, but base security has the dry dock ready
to receive her,” Lee said wistfully.
“You can still opt out of the rest of the tour...Mrs. P. will
understand...”
“I made a promise, Joe.”
“Okay, okay. Thank God it’s only two more countries.”
Just then there was a knock at the door, which Joe opened.
“Dr. Bunyan?”
“You’re looking better, Commander. Mind if have a few minutes
with Lee in private?”
“Sure, Doc. I’ll be back to report on what's for breakfast, Lee.”
Lee turned from the laptop as Joe departed.
“How are you feeling?” Bunyan asked as he sat on Lee’s unmade
berth.
“Still queasy, but not like yesterday.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Chip and I held our breaths. Perhaps now we’d learn what had
occurred?
“Not now, James.”
“Don’t evade the question, Lee. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Lee said, but without his usual irritation. (Will
wonders never cease?) “Why bring up the past now?”
“I may not have been your attending physician all those years ago,
but I saw and heard enough. And now, with this latest trauma....”
“Let’s just keep the past in the past. And I can see just fine now.
But since you’re here, I don’t suppose you can tell me when I can finally get
rid of some of these stitches?”
“Get cleaned up and report to sickbay at 1000. I’ll be done with
rounds by then. And make sure you have some breakfast if you feel up to it.”
“Thanks...and Jimmy? Thanks for caring.”
“Any time. We bubbleheads have to stick together.”
“How did you get over it,” Lee asked, “the seasickness? It’s
weird. It really is. Sailboats don’t affect me at all. But ships like this? I’m
down for the count.”
“Well, you’re feeling somewhat better now, aren’t you? Just a
matter of acclimating. Like we did in the Navy. Don’t tell the captain,
but I still get sick the first day out if I’ve been ashore any length of time,”
Bunyan laughed and left.
Lee returned his attention to the monitor, furrowing his brows.
“C’mon, c’mon, somebody wake up over there...”
“All clear?” Joe asked as he entered.
“Yeah. Anything interesting to eat?”
“Nothing too special...fruit, eggs, sausage, coffee, among other dishes. Mrs. P. says we
really should try the Black Pudding. It wasn’t out yet. I guess it must be
chocolate.”
“Pudding for breakfast? Sounds good to me,” Lee said as he typed
something in, then frowned. “I take it back...listen to this. ’Black Pudding is
a sausage made from pig’s blood, meat, fat, oatmeal and bread fillers!’ ”
“Eeeyooohhh!” both boys groaned.
“There’s more,” Lee said, “ ‘White Pudding is the same as Black
Pudding minus the blood, and uses bacon from the pig’s back instead of the
belly....the puddings are typical for an Irish breakfast’....”
“But why call it pudding? It ain’t Jell-O.”
“Who knows? Look, let’s watch the others, see who tries it and gauge their reactions. We may want to settle for Cheerios
or....”
“You’ve got mail,” a metallic voice from the laptop interrupted.
“About time,” Lee muttered, “looks like the engineers at Clyde
have researched some similar cases to Seaview’s. Chalked them up to ‘unexplained’.
I sure hope they can help discover what happened. I’d hate to think Seaview was
simply having a tantrum to woo me back...”
“I’d think you’d be flattered if she did, besides, no matter what they find,
your crew’s still going to think she did it on purpose.”
“And how do you know what the crew thinks?”
“Talked to Ames. Seems O’Brien’s been keeping him abreast of
things. C’mon,
go get yourself presentable. I’m starving,” Joe said and
turned off the laptop.
“I’m heading to the Wardroom for a bite,” Chip said, “before I
have Sparks track down the AMA records. Thank goodness we won’t have to put up
with Black Pudding.”
“Well, you never know,” I replied, joining him, “might actually be
good...but I doubt it.”
