Stephen Dixon - 14 Stories

Come on now. Breathe deep. Breathe deep. Take a deep breath. I said deep breath. Deeper. More. More. That a boy. You’re all right. He’s okay. Only a little scare.

It’s the anesthesia. He’ll be less groggy tonight. What we’ll have to check daily is how his diabetes affects the thigh’s healing. The Parkinson’s pills we’ve taken him off till he’s well on the road to recovery. Closest I can pinpoint for you for a discharge date is a month or so, most likely more. One thing I never like doing is sending my patients home with dressings or packings or where they still must use drugs, drains or pills.

You think he looks bad now? You should have seen him when he was wheeled in. I was the only person in the room. Your mother was having a cigarette in the lounge. Dotty was down in the cafeteria getting coffees and teas for us all. His face was greener than your shirt. We thought for certain it was going to turn blue. The man who wheeled him in didn’t know what to do. I rang for the nurse. The orderly came in and slapped his face around and called for the doctors and oxygen tank. His color’s about back to normal now, but for a few minutes we thought your father was gone.

Dear? Jay darling. What a morning we had. I’m so glad you slept through it all. Last night I couldn’t get a single wink’s sleep. Right now I’m so exhausted I could pass out on my feet. But I won’t leave. Not at least till the night nurse comes. She called in saying she’d be an hour late. Something about her car stuck in the garage. But isn’t it all so grand? You’ll be home by the end of the month, maybe less. More than likely less. The doctor says it was a complete success. But sleep then. Close your eyes if you can. Tomorrow they’ll try and give you real food.

They’re all excited, Jay. With flying colors you passed the test I tell them whenever anyone asks. I reported in sick for the day. Though if they want to know the truth and dock me, then I was right here. I see all the candy’s gone. What kind of vultures you got for guests? And I don’t see the plant and Mrs. Jay says none was delivered. Since Betty said they said it was sent a day ago, maybe I should call her to check.

Now that you’re well on your way to health I’ll be leaving. I’m sure the person I left my fishes and animals with has glutted them, to death. And my boss is beginning to ask what’s up with me. And the kids are screaming daddy, daddy, and my ex-wife Sondra is writing oh, some terrific father you make. Next time I fly in it’ll be good seeing you sitting up again. So goodbye and best wishes and I’ll be phoning mom periodically to hear how you are.

Lil Bird from number ten. I would only drop by when I knew you were feeling well. Now that I know you are, I came over. The whole building misses not seeing you in front, as on the sunnier days. You were a pretty good watchdog against people who shouldn’t be coming around for things that aren’t theirs. Whether you knew that or not, and my husband sends his hellos also. I don’t mean watchdog in the dog sense but as a watching human protector. Seeing someone there might be just what a thief needs to make the wrong person turn around. My husband likes hospitals worse than I do but thought it was our duty. I was undecided at first but happy I did and if you want anything, or the lights turned off, you tell me to tell your wife and I will.

I was your aide on the fifth when you had your prostectomy. I always like to keep posted on my old patients if they’re still around here, my little boys and girls. It’s fabulous what one higher floor can do, so much extra light making the room so much more brighter. And your chart reads fine and your aides tell me you’ve been good as gold. I’m a bit rushed today but if there’s anything you ever think I can do for you, just holler. Ask for Mrs. Lake from floor five, floor five, and goodnight.

You don’t know me. I’m a patient across the hall. Only some polyps removed. Now that I’m here they’re giving me the round of tests. I only wanted to pop in when nobody was around to wish all the good luck to you. And also to say you got one raw deal and have every right to sue. Not that you’ll collect a cent from suing hospitals. Though you will get the satisfaction knowing they might think twice about being as careless with the leg of someone else.

This must seem so very silly to you. My writing a letter like this almost a week to the day after I wrote a similar letter about almost the exact same thing. What’s different this time is that instead of using a pen I’m typing on my machine. The portable I treated myself to ten or so years ago and which has almost never been touched, which accounts for it being so stuck, though it’s probably also in need of a cleaning. Somehow the dirt must have seeped into it through the portable case. I’m typing to you because I have to. I can’t read and writing by pen is too slow and games like solitaire and needlework and talking to strangers here just won’t help. I suppose I’m making a lot of noise. Not noise like complaints but typewriter noise. Sitting here in the visitor’s lounge on Jay’s floor, I’m sure it must only be my mind where I think they can hear me in the patients’ rooms and hallways and at the nurses’ station, though the nurses have assured me they can’t. And there are closed doors to this room and the walls are padded with soundproof squares and the typewriter is supposedly a silent. I haven’t checked with any of the other patients, though Jay I know can’t hear me as last time I looked he was fast asleep with enough drugs to keep him that way for a while. The only visitors in here I’ve asked said go ahead, type all you want. As you know from your experiences with Abe in hospitals, people here are much more tolerant and kind. The typewriter is on my lap. It doesn’t weigh more than six pounds. The way I’ve balanced it I can type without discomfort and with ease. The children, thinking the worst had come and gone with their father, had gone back to their individual homes. Jay has done it again. This is the story. He tried killing himself again. He’s recovering now. I caught him as I had the last time. This time lying on the floor instead of in the bed, tubes winding every which way around his arms and legs, and a needle from one in his hand with which he just managed to give himself a pinprick. I had got this strange feeling about him as I had before. I called his floor. The nurse said she couldn’t check since she was the only one on duty, but when she looked during her rounds the hour before he was doing fine. I begged her to check again. She said all right, maybe she would. Everything is still fine, she reported back to me, he’s sleeping well. But like the last time I couldn’t take her even rechecking him as a suitable enough answer, and certainly not since that last time, and I took a cab over. It was around 4 A.M. The woman at the hospital reception desk asked what did I want? I said I only wanted to wait in the waiting room on the first floor till the regular permitted visitor’s time, which is 10 A.M. She said do as you like as long as you don’t go upstairs before. I waited for about five minutes. She couldn’t see anything that was happening behind her except through a small mirror. Then when she wasn’t looking I climbed the five flights. A nurse followed me down Jay’s floor asking what did I think I was doing going to his room? There he was. She knew now what I had come for. Saved again. He looked at me crossly. If he could have spoken I’m sure he would have insulted me and scorned. Not for long though, as they soon gave him sedatives to sleep. The nurse and I lifted him onto the bed. The tubes and needle were easy for her to replace and stick back in and the hand wound just took a band-aid. The doctors were called, but it wasn’t that necessary. All they did was strap his wrists to the bedrails with bandages and assign an orderly to his room as a guard. Jay at first refused all sedatives by mouth, so they had to give it in his veins. He had done it by taking down the bed rail and rolling off the mattress onto the floor. I can understand how he feels. But the doctors told him what about your wife if you try it again or were even successful at it one of the last two times? I think he understands now. He promised to everyone he’ll never try it again. But who can say? What’s a promise worth these days? But once he’s medically released from here I’ve been told to institutionalize him for life. In a nursing home or a good asylum if there’s one. The government will pay the whole cost or close to it I’ve been told. Doctors, nurses, my friends and his few old friends and even his own children have urged me to do it. They’ve said mom, you can’t handle that man. It’ll be too much for you and ruin your own health. He has to be watched all the time. And you have the authority now, everybody tells me, as his past two attempts gave you that. But I could never be that cruel.