Douglas Kennedy - A Special Relationship

There was a problem, however - I wasn't responding to her questions. Something she picked up rather quickly.

'Now Sally' she finally said after getting nowhere on the answer front, 'I am well aware that you can hear me and that you recognize your surroundings, your situation, and the effect you are having on others. Which means that your refusal to talk must be regarded as psychosomatic in nature'.

A tight smile.

'However, if you do feel that you simply cannot talk at the moment, so be it. Do understand, though, that in order for me to render a proper diagnosis - and prescribe an appropriate course of treatment - you will have to answer my questions. So, shall we start over again?'

I said nothing. She reiterated her checklists of questions. Halfway through her list, I shifted position in the bed and turned away from her, showing her my back. I kept my back to her. She stood up and brought her chair around to the other side of the bed.

'There now, we can see each other again'.

I flipped over and showed her my back again. Dr Rodale exhaled a long, weary breath.

'All you are doing, Ms Goodchild, is impeding the speed of your recovery - and increasing the amount of time you will be spending with us. However, once again, I cannot force you to answer my simple medical questions. The choice is yours. For the moment, anyway. Just as you can decide whether or not to eat. But, as you well know, you cannot live without food. So if you continue to refuse food, that choice may well be taken care of for you.

'However, I do see from your notes that your GP prescribed a mild sedative to help you sleep. I am going to ask the nurse to administer the same dose to you this evening. And when I return to see you again tomorrow, I do hope we will be able to make better progress than today. Good afternoon'.

Around five minutes after she left, the doors swung open and I met my roommate. Actually I didn't meet her - as she was in a state of postoperative coma. Or, at least, I presumed she was suffering from postoperative something - as she was brought in on a gurney, and had a large bandage wrapped around her skull. Though I was still lying prone on my bed, I could see that she was a black woman around my age. Nurse Patterson helped the orderlies get the gurney into position. Once they left, she read her chart, checked her pulse, and rearranged her bedclothes. Then, seeing me staring at her, she said, 'Her name's Agnes. Her little boy, Charlie, is in the ward with your guy. You'll probably have a bit to talk about when she comes 'round - because she's been through what you're going through. In fact, she's still going through it - which is a real shame, but there you are. There's no rhyme or reason to the dance you're dancing. It's just a matter of bringing it under control before it dances you right into serious physical trouble - which is what happened with poor Agnes here. But hey, let her tell you all about it. Very bright woman, our Agnes - a senior civil servant. But hey, that's the thing about illness - it doesn't give a hoot who you are, right?'

She came over and sat down on my bed again. I so wished she wouldn't do that.

'And while we're on the subject of bad things happening to good people - don't you love that expression? - I'm going to let you in on a little secret: you did not make the best impression with the Doc. And she is definitely the sort of doctor with whom you want to cooperate, if you take my meaning. Very old school. Very into the old chain of command, and knowing what's best for you - which, I hate to say it, she probably does. Because whatever about her manner - which does get up a lot of people's noses - she does know exactly how to snap girls like you out of this mess. Only - take it from me - the road out of here is about five times shorter and easier if you help us to help you... and, yeah, sorry for the dumb cliché. So, come on, let's try a little food again'.

Hey, don't you think I want to help you out here? The problem is what the problem is, which is the fact that there is a problem which presents a problem when it comes to addressing said problem because the problem is...

She pulled over the table, and cut off a bit of sandwich for me and brought it to the vicinity of my mouth.

'Just a couple of fast bites, nothing to it...'

Listen, I know you mean well, but... no, I'm not going to get into it again.

'Apple? Glass of milk? Couple of our best choice bikkies? Nothing take your fancy?'

Just silence.

'Well, how about we get you out of the bed and take you in to see Jack. He's probably due a feed by now...'

This really made me react, as I suddenly clutched the pillow to myself and buried my face in it.

'Looks like I just put my big foot in it', Nurse Patterson said. 'But hey, the baby needs to eat too, right?'

Her bleeper went off. She glanced at it.

'That's me accounted for. Catch you later. And if you need anything, just buzz'.

I needed nothing - and certainly not the arrival, an hour later, of Tony. He was bearing a copy of that day's Chronicle and a festive bag of Liquorice All-Sorts. As he leaned down to kiss me, I saw his watch: 5.12 pm. Guilt must have egged him on to visit so early - a good three hours before he put his pages to bed.

'How's it going?' he asked me.

I said nothing.

'Brought you...'

He placed his gifts on the bedside locker, then looked for a chair, wondering whether to sit down or not. He decided to stand. He also decided to focus his attention slightly away from me - since my sickly, catatonic state so obviously disturbed him.

'I've just been in to see Jack. Good news - he's awake again, and from what the nurse told me, he gobbled down two bottles he was so damn hungry. Which, she said, is a good sign that he's completely back to normal'.

Because he's out of my tender loving care.

'Anyway, the nurse also said that you can visit him...'

Stop it, stop it, stop it. I don't want your kindness. I don't deserve it.

I pulled the pillow over my head.

'She also said you'd been doing a bit of this too'.

I pulled the pillow around my ears.

'If you want me to leave, I will'.

I didn't move. Finally he said, 'I hope you're better'.

I heard him leave. I removed the pillow. And then I heard a voice opposite me.

'Who are you?'

It was my roommate, Agnes. She was sitting up in bed, looking unfocused and fogged-in. But hey, I wasn't exactly one to brag about my lucidity right now.

'You here yesterday? Don't remember... You were here, right? But maybe...'

She broke off, looking confused - as if she couldn't hold on to this jangled train of thought.

'Agnes - that's me. You always put a pillow over your head like that? Agnes... you got that?'

Yeah - and I'm glad to see I'm not the only resident of Planet Weird.

'Agnes. As in Agnes. A-G-N-E...'

Nurse Patterson came in here.

'She's a woman of few words, our Sally', she said.

'Sally?' Agnes asked.

'That's what I said. S-A-L-L-Y. And she's not really talking much today. But we'd all like it if you kept trying' -cause sooner or later, we've got to hear that American accent of hers'.

Agnes blinked several times, trying to filter this information.

'Why's she American?' she asked.

'Why?' Nurse Patterson asked with a laugh. 'Because I imagine she was born there, that's why. And she's got a little baby boy, just like you'.

'He's called Charlie?' Agnes asked.

'No - your son's called Charlie...'

'I know, I know. I just thought...'

She interrupted herself again, sounding lost.

'Jack', Nurse Patterson said. 'He's called Jack'.

'And I'm... I'm...'

'A little scrambled, that's all', Nurse Patterson said. 'Just like last time. But, I promise you, by tomorrow morning you'll be all-clear again. Now what do you want for tea?'