Today: emergency room visit number two this week. (nothing serious).
(Forgot my book. All I can do is listen).
Lying on a hospital bed, surrounded by thin, pale blue curtains, all I can hear are voices. Next to me is an elderly couple, only as real to me as their hospital-curtain-hushed voices, chatting with the nurse about the husband's newly inserted catheter. The couple's banter makes me want to name them something like Jim and Bev. (There's something about single-syllable names, isn't there?). The two of them seem to recall things like bread boxes and matching plates, words like "crockery" and "slacks."
Jim says, "It's kind of uncomfortable when I sit down, but I've got cushions now, you know? At the dining room table."
The nurse says, "Oh, well aren't you getting all luxurious. Cushions on your chairs!"
And Bev laughs a little nervously.
A few minutes later, the couple, left to their own devices, discusses how best to attach the catheter. Bev then helps Jim dress himself.
"Well, where are your undies?"
"I stowed them under the pillow! You don't just leave your - delicates laying about!"
"Oh, I don't think they care about that sort of thing here."
When they are finally ready to leave, they walk past my bed and through the gap in the curtains I see them both turn, momentarily, to see who was next door. Me, of course, and I can't help but think I see slight embarrassment creep up in Jim's face. I try my best to stare at the ceiling.
Then there's the Doctor, Doctor Evans, the only one on duty today. He strolls about the emergency room - hardly living up to its name - and says things like "Well, all I can tell you" and "Well, just think!" in a loud, booming voice.
To my right, a woman comes in with a foot problem. (Apparently I'm not the only one). She has a lump. Doctor Evans tells her that he just doesn't think he should go about freezing it and cutting into it. Wouldn't do any good. He just doesn't have the ultra-sonic graphic confidence that it would be the right thing to do.
When Doctor Evans finally gets to me, he pats me on the head like I'm nine. He and his intern, James, take a few minutes to show off their antibiotic know-how, prod my foot a little, send me off to get an x-ray with a woman who tries to guess my heritage, and then send me on my way.
You know, I was actually a little sad I didn't get to hear the end of the banter from the lady to the left - eighty-three, an ex air force secretary who declares to the nurse, "You're friendly!" and laughs as the nurse undresses her.
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