Something Stable
by Allisa Foley
I love tracing the lines in the palm of my hand. It’s been a habit of mine since I was a young girl. Whenever I’m stressed, excited, or just plain thinking, I methodically trace these lines. I think it’s because they’re consistent—something stable in an unstable existence. And now, as I slowly trace the longest line in the palm of my left hand, I wonder how my hands got to be so…old. I could swear they weren’t this old the last time I was tracing them.
I look up and face a depressing waiting room in a busy hospital. Wait a minute…when did I get here? Why am I at the hospital? I don’t recognize anybody here. I look at the big mural painted on the wall opposite me. It says “George Washington Memorial Hospital” and in smaller print below that, “Chicago, IL.” This can’t be good. I shouldn’t be in a hospital.
I’m very uncomfortable …I’m leaving. I slowly stand up and collect myself. I see my daughter, Lisa, walking towards me.
“Lisa! Thank God! What are we doing here?”
She rolls her eyes at me and looks annoyed. I hate when she does that…such a bratty teenager.
“Ugh, Mom, I don’t have time to put up with one of your little spells. They just transferred Dad to the IC unit.”
My heart skips a beat.
“Your father? In Intensive Care?! My Lord, what happened?”
Her eyes roll again.
“Mom! Seriously, I don’t have time to explain this entire situation to you again. Danny is on his way. He’ll be here in a few minutes; it’s his turn to tend to you.”
I laugh at this almost instantly. David and the kids must be playing a trick on me. They think they’re so sneaky.
“Oh really…” I say skeptically, “and how in the world is Danny getting here?”
“He’s driving,” she sarcastically answers.
“Honey,” I laugh, “Danny is only nine-years-old! How is he possibly driving here, huh? Now, come on, this joke is just silly. Where is your father for real? And why on earth are we here?”
“Jesus Christ…” she says under her breath, but I can still hear her.
There’s a gap in our conversation. That means she is angry with me. I don’t know what is going on…and I suddenly have the urge to cry. Why is David in the hospital? He’s healthy…he’s always been healthy and strong. That’s part of the reason I fell in love with him—his will to survive even through hard times.
I should just yell at her to stop this charade, but I’m scared she’ll get angry.
“Look, Mom…maybe you should go get something to eat.”
“I already ate.”
“No! No you didn’t! You ate yesterday! You always forget when you last ate and now you’re losing too much weight.”
“I haven’t lost a pound in over ten years! I still have the pregnancy weight from Danny.”
“Danny is 39 years old, Mom! And I’m not a teenager! I’m 45 years old! Can’t you see that?” She motions to her body and face.
I look down at the floor. I don’t like when people yell at me…especially when it’s my own daughter. A lump forms in my throat and I swallow hard, trying desperately not to blink out the tears built up in my eyes.
“I-I’m sorry.”
Her tone softens, “Look…Mom…I’m sorry. But it’s just frustrating doing these circles with you when Dad is in such bad shape.”
What circles? I’m the one who’s confused here. Ten minutes ago I was at a nice July barbeque with my husband, 15-year-old daughter, and nine-year-old son. Now I’m in a hospital where my husband is being treated and its 30 years in the future. I don’t like this game anymore. I hate feeling stupid. David and the kids know that. I don’t know why they’re trying to belittle me.
I slowly scan the hospital. Lisa has disappeared again. I hate when she does that. She’s too young to be wandering off alone. I’d better go find her.
The lady sitting behind the reception desk looks nice; she is a young, black woman with a huge smile. She’s bobbing her head and singing along with the Christmas Carolers. I’ll try and talk to her—maybe she saw where Lisa went.
“Hi,” I smile at her.
“Hello, dear, what can I help you with?”
“I was wondering—” I lost my train of thought—those carolers are distracting.
“Wondering what?” she inquires.
“Why are there Christmas carolers here in July?” I ask with serious curiosity. It’s the oddest thing I’ve seen in my life.
She gives me a queer look. Did I say something wrong?
“Baby doll, it’s not July.”
“It’s not?” I wrinkle my brow at her.
“No…” She motions at the desk calendar with a big 24 on it, “It’s Christmas Eve.”
Everybody around the desk looks at me with peculiar expressions on their faces. I lower my shoulders and slowly drop my head in embarrassment.
The young, black girl looks at her watch, “Actually! It’s past midnight.” She reaches over and rips the 24 off the calendar to reveal an even bigger 25.
She smiles at me. “Merry Christmas.”
“Yeah…” I say softly “Merry Christmas…”
I slowly walk back towards the waiting room. My throat is dry and has a big lump in it. My hands are shaking. I don’t know where I am or why I’m here. Where’s David? And the kids? Did I get them Christmas presents? I try to stop myself but I can’t—the tears rhythmically run down my face. I wish somebody would just take me home. I can’t control it anymore. I begin to cry harder. Now, I’m sobbing. I walk back into the waiting room and muffle out, “L-Lisa?”
I look at the nearest man, “H-Have you s-seen L-Lisa? She’s my d-daughter. S-She was just here.”
“Are you okay, ma’am?” I stop the sobbing but the tears continue to fall. I can’t find the words, so I just shake my head ‘no.’ He stands up to put his hand on my shoulder, but I turn and sit down in the nearest empty seat. He sits back down in his seat.
I look around. Nobody is familiar. I look at my hands. I turn the left one over and slowly trace the lines. The tears slow…and finally stop.
My hands sooth me and my erratic breathing becomes calm again. I love tracing the lines in my palm. The lines are consistent—something stable in an unstable existence.
My hands look old today…I don’t know why.
I look up. Wait a minute…where am I?
*****
Waiting
by Kalli Wilson
I check my watch again, trying to figure out if I am hoping the minutes will pass faster or slower. John was supposed to meet me on my break at midnight, but never showed. It’s almost 1:30, and I’m beginning to get worried. I know that it could be nothing…maybe he can’t get the car started or thinks the weather is too bad for driving, I mean, it is snowing outside. I’m trying to appear calm for my job’s sake, especially since it’s Christmas Eve and I know I’m not the only one that doesn’t want to be here tonight. I check off the last patient and head towards the break room.
I look out the window; the snow is beautiful. I picture myself sitting by the fireplace with John, wrapped up in a blanket. The hospital is always chilly, but tonight it feels extra cold. I throw on a sweater and sit down at one of the tables in the break room. I turn on the T.V. but all I can find are Christmas movies. All they do is upset me that I’m here, so I turn it off. I sit in the silence for a minute before hearing footsteps coming fast and loud down the hall. I wish people could understand that if it doesn’t stay quiet around here at night, the patients wake up, and I’m the one that has to deal with them. I get up and look out the door to see who it is, and I see Amy running towards me. She stops at the door and looks at me for a minute before she says anything.
“Jana, they need you downstairs in the emergency room.”
“I can’t go down there. I don’t have anybody to cover me up here. Isn’t there anyone else that can do it?
Amy doesn’t say anything, and I start to think that something is wrong.
“Jana, just go downstairs. Dr. Johnson will be there to meet you. I’ll cover your position.”
I turn around and head towards the elevator. I don’t understand what is going on, and tonight more than ever it is getting on my nerves. Not only am I leaving my unit, I never work in the emergency room, so there is no reason for me to be down there. I sigh and close my eyes as the elevator doors close in front of me.
As expected, the emergency room is less busy than usual… it always fascinates me how people are more apt to prevent injury during the holidays. I see Dr. Johnson standing behind the check-in counter with a clipboard in his hand talking to another nurse. He starts coming towards me as soon as he sees me.
“Jana, can I talk to you privately for a minute?” Everyone is really starting to confuse me. If I am needed so badly down here, then why is it taking so long for everyone to tell me what’s going on?
“Sure,” I reply as we walk into one of the small offices down the hall. Dr. Johnson shuts the door behind him and takes a deep breath before he starts to talk.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Jana, but your fiancée is in critical condition right now. We wanted to tell you sooner, but we didn’t have a chance until now.” I stand up. How could this be happening? I start to cry instantly… I can’t believe this is happening.
“Where is he at? How is he doing? Why didn’t anyone tell me this?” I scream as I run out of the office. I look at the chart posted on the wall and find John’s room number. I turn to go towards his room and I’m stopped by two of the nurses.
“Jana, please, you don’t want to go in there right now. He doesn’t look good, ” one of them yells as I push past them. John is only a couple rooms down and I need to see him.
I push open the door and see him lying on the bed, motionless. I pick up the chart and look at the times— John has been here since a little past 12:15, and no one told me. I can’t believe it. I look at John; his face is covered with scratches and his forehead has a line of stitches on it. One of his arms and both of his legs are in casts and propped up. He is breathing through a respirator. He looks terrible.
“John, it’s me, Jana. I love you.” I know he can hear me, even if he can’t respond right now. Tears fall from my eyes as I kneel down by his side and gently touch his hand. I look outside the window and watch the snow fall again— the same snow that I watched just minutes before my world came crashing down.
“Miracles happen, John. It’s Christmas. Please don’t leave me yet,” I whisper in his ear as I lay my head down on his shoulder.
*****
Get Well Soon
by Steven Kunkel
“How are you today, Mrs. Chambers?” the nurse assigned to me asks more politely than anyone normally should. Her name is Jenny, and she is the type of person who always wears a smile on her face. Everything about her screams happy, from her yellow scrubs to her overly bright shoes.
I respond, “Fine…” because that seems to be the only acceptable response to any question about one’s health in this place. Any other response and a doctor is called in to investigate something more. And I don’t need doctors coming in to poke and prod every single bruise I have.
“All right,” she cheerfully replies, “just tell me if you need somethin’. We’re pretty busy today, but I can be at your side in a second if you need to tell me anything.”
She exits my awfully decorated room. There are flowers everywhere! I hate flowers, but I put up with them because of the intent behind them. My parents’ tulips sit closest to the beige wall. Their note is riddled with more love yous than I’ve probably heard in my life time. Friends’ cards and hopes of well wishes straddle my window sill. It’d be a nice view if I wasn’t in a hospital. The snow-covered ground on Christmas Eve is a nice touch. My husband’s roses have just arrived, and they sit on the stand right next to my bed; a note lying in the leafy mass.
He must feel bad about what happened, I think to myself. If only I could tell him that I don’t blame him for anything, but he hasn’t shown up to see how I’m doing yet. I think he blames himself too much, but it was only an accident.
The doctor knocks on my door and quickly steps in. Every time I see him, he reminds me of how bad of shape I’m in. Partially, this is because of the amount of pain he puts me through. He’s good at small talk, which helps alleviate some of the pain, but he’s always feeling me. Feeling bruise after bruise, saying I’m “coming along nicely,” then leaving me feeling worse than when he came in.
“Your husband called asking when visiting hours are, Ms. Chambers. He said he’d have to show up late, if that’s O.K.?”
“Rich called? Oh, yeah, that’s fine! Why wouldn’t that be OK?” He gives me a long, uncomfortable look, “I wish I could spend Christmas Eve with my family. Why can’t I go home?”
“Because there are some tests we need to run yet…to make sure there are no ill effects or internal bleeding. You have some pretty severe bodily injuries, Ms. Chambers. Are you sure there isn’t anything you need to tell us?”
I say no, and I hope to God he goes away. He’s really starting to get on my nerves.
“So the report your husband filed is the truth, your husband, Richard, is it?”
I nod.
“Hit you with a fire poker several times because he thought you were a burglar?”
“Listen, it was dark! My husband is a good man! He wouldn’t hit me on purpose! It’s not like we live in the best of neighborhoods you know. He has a right to expect someone is robbing us! Besides, he brought me here didn’t he! Why would a bad man bring me to the hospital?”
“All right.” He places the chart back in its holder, “It’s our job to question. Just call for me if you need to talk about anything.” He leaves the room and carolers begin singing outside of my room. They sound awful and all I want to do is close my door, but I’m worried about how it’ll look, so I smile and say ‘thank you’ when they’re finally finished.
Once alone, I begin thinking about the night I found myself here. My agonizing screams are the last thing I remember before waking up at George Washington Memorial Hospital. Rich’s flowers and card still sit next to my bed. I reach over and grab the card. It reads:
Get Well Soon
Rich
It’s a nice thought. He was never really good with words, and to write anything is impressive for him. Personally, I think this proves he loves me. If only I could show the doctor how compassionate he is. It was just an accident.
The hospital has been sending a psychiatrist to see me. Something about post tramatic…something. They say they don’t necessarily trust my husband. They see too many wives coming in hurt. They want to get my story. I trust my husband.
A knock sounds at my door. Rich enters dressed in the blue suit I bought him for his birthday several years back, a grin on his tired face. He looks different, maybe because I’m a little more afraid of him now, I didn’t know what he was capable of, but that’ll pass. It was only an accident.
“Hey, babe, I only have a couple minutes to talk but I wanted to see you so bad. It’s Christmas Eve after all. I would have brought the kids, but they wanted to go to sleep early for Santa.” He moves closer to my bed.
“That’s nice of you. You look nice today.”
He sits down on the bed and leans over me. “Oh…yeah, thanks. I thought I’d dress up.” He looks down at his clothes and then whispers, “You know it was only an accident right? I would never do that to you again. I swear.”
“I know…”
“All right, you sure? Of course you are. I see you got my flowers. Do you like them?” I smile and he kisses me. I can’t tell him that I hate them.
“You know I love you, right? I swear I’ll never do this again.” He whispers into my ear again. “All right, I better go home. The kids might wake up.”
He leaves and I read his card again. Get Well Soon.
It was only an accident...
*****
OxyContin Bliss
by Kelly Mack
I groggily tried to open my eyes. What the hell was that light? I groaned as I tried to adjust my body and was suddenly aware of how thirsty I was. My throat was dry and scratchy and it burned beyond belief. Someone was trying to poke something in my face. I tried to bat it away, but my hands would not move. The person stuck the thing in my mouth and I instinctively sucked. Water reached my lips and my throat gratefully sucked the cup dry in seconds.
I tried opening my eyes once more. The light was not so bright this time, and the room slowly began to come into focus. I could see that I was in a hospital. The dull, beige walls were bare, and there was a chair in the corner and a small table with a lamp on it. There was probably a Bible it its drawer. Why did they always think that people would read a Bible if they were stuck in this place? I would not be one of those people. The only thing that attempted to brighten the place up was the now fading border of tulips that circled the room. Tulips, I liked tulips. They comforted me somehow, especially in my current state. My current state? What was my current state anyways? I had taken a couple of pain pills and then a sleeping pill to knock me out for the night. Why could I possibly be here? I hadn’t been in any type of accident, or at least I didn’t feel like it. And where were Jared and Jason? Was someone taking care of them?
I turned to face the nurse who had been standing there with the cup of water.
“Whe,” I tried to speak. I began to panic; I couldn’t talk.
“It’ll take you a while to get your voice back, honey. They had to pump your stomach, and you’ve been out for about a day. Probably did a number on your throat. Drink some more water and you’ll be fine in no time.”
I hurriedly finished off the rest of the water and tried again. “Where are my kids?” I managed to get out.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little self about them. You just need to worry about yourself for right now.”
“No, I want to see them right away, it’s Christmas time; I just want to be with my kids.”
“I know, I’m sorry, sweetie, but there’s nothing I can do, especially after what happened.”
I watched the nurse quickly exit the room. After what happened? Damnit! I needed my pills! The OxyContin was for Rob’s back spasms, but they calmed me down when I felt anxious like this. Shit! Like I needed to add more to my already fucked up life. I had just lost another crappy minimum wage job, so the kids and I would have to go on welfare, again. It was Christmas time and all I had was the last box of macaroni and cheese left in the cupboard. No fancy meal, no presents. Rob had just left me, just like everyone else had. God, he would love to see this, considering I was a “worthless piece of shit just occupying space,” according to his parting words. I had nothing left to live for.
I paged for the nurse to come back. This was ridiculous. I wanted out of here. When she came in she was accompanied by a short, fat, oily man who had made an attempt at looking professional but had failed miserably. He had a mustard stain on his shirt which was half covered by a tie that had to date back twenty years. His large stomach hung over the belt holding up pants that were clearly too short for him, revealing white athletic socks and scuffed penny loafers. I immediately knew that I hated him.
“I want to know what happened. I want my kids, and I want to go home.”
“I’m Michael Golden. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“I don’t know. The last thing I remember is taking a couple pain pills. Did something happen to me? Was I in some sort of accident?”
“How many is a couple?”
“Like two, I don’t know. Why won’t you answer my questions?”
I watched as his fat, sausage like fingers jotted down notes on his legal pad. Finally he looked to me and said, “You were brought in because you were found seizing in your room after you took lethal amounts of OxyContin and sleeping pills combined with alcohol.” He sat there, clicking his pen, waiting for my response.
“What? Are you saying I tried to kill myself? Because that’s impossible. Yeah, I took OxyContin but only a couple to calm down. And I only took one sleeping pill, I remember that. I just wanted to make sure I got some sleep. And yeah I had a beer, so sue me. I want to see my kids . Where are they?”
“The levels that you came in with were equivalent to taking amounts three times that Jill. You should have died. The only reason you didn’t is because your oldest found you and dialed 911. After what happened, your kids were turned over to the state. I’m sorry, I can’t let you see them.”
I watched him write down a few more notes and then he left the room with the nurse. I had tried to kill myself. Yeah right. Obviously I couldn’t even succeed at that then. Hell, maybe I deserved die then. I mean, if you can’t kill yourself, then what can you do?
*****
Silent Night
by Paige Metzger
I have never caroled in a hospital before. There are so many more people rushing around than in a nursing home. I look at my dad and I can tell by the grin on his face that he is so excited to be caroling in our first hospital.
“Merry Christmas!” he practically yells at a nurse walking by.
“Merry Christmas,” she replies as she looks my Dad up and down and then at the rest of us in our petticoats and top hats. We look like we stepped out of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. I feel really awkward. You would think after 10 years of having to dress up in these costumes I would be used to it, but I’m not. It is embarrassing every year, but my Dad insist we wear them.
“You folks really get into it,” the nurse remarks.
“We try to do whatever it takes to get these people into the Christmas spirit!” my Dad replied, beaming.
“Okay,” the nurse said sarcastically, but my Dad didn’t pick up on it. “You folks have a good night,” and she continued down a hallway.
“All right, Carolers,” my dad said as he turned to us, “here is the game plan. I thought we could swing by a couple of doors and then come back to the waiting room and sing some carols to the nice people waiting out here. Sounds good. Okay, let’s go!”
We all started following my dad to the first room. As we were walking I turned and glanced into a room. Inside the room I saw a young woman in the bed , a nurse, and a short, fat man who had a large stomach that hung over his belt. Right as we walked by I heard the women in the bed yell at the man, “I want to see my kids. Where are they?”
How horrible. I wonder why that poor women can’t see her kids, and on Christmas Eve of all days. My dad does annoy me, but I still like to see him on the holidays. Why else would I dress up like this?
“Everyone: Joy to the World!” my Dad exclaims as we stop at the first door.
Joy to the World, the Lord is Come,
Let Earth receive her King.
Let Every Heart Prepare Him room,
And Heaven and Nature sing,
I look inside the room and see woman who looks pretty banged up. She has bruises all over her arms and she has a black eye. I don’t really think she likes us being here, but my dad continues singing and smiling like the sound of our voices can cure cancer or something. When we finish she gives a little, “Thank you” and then she asks us to shut the door when we leave.
We walk to the next door, but when we get there a nurse steps in front of the doorway and says, “Sorry, folks, but if you could pass over this room, they need a moment alone.”
“Of course, Merry Christmas,” my dad responded quietly.
As we walk by the door, I peek in. I see a nurse crying at the bedside of a man whose arms and legs are in casts and propped up, and he is breathing through a respirator. He looks terrible. The nurse looks so sad. I wonder who the man is. Is he her friend, cousin, brother, boyfriend? I can’t imagine having to spend Christmas Eve in a hospital by the bedside of a loved one not even knowing if they were going to live or die.
We sing at a couple more doors and then my dad announces, “All right, people, I think it is time for the big finale in the waiting room.”
When we arrive at the waiting room hardly anybody notices us. This is strange considering how we are dressed! This, of course, doesn’t faze my Dad as yells, “Away In a Manger.”
Be near me, Lord Jesus,
I ask Thee to stay
Close by me forever
And love me I pray
Bless all the dear children
In Thy tender care
And take us to heaven
To live with Thee there.
I look around the waiting room as we are singing and see all the different people. There is a women who is crying on the shoulder of a man who I assume is her husband. There is another who must be a new father because he is passing out cigars and giving hugs to everyone he sees. There also is an old woman who keeps tracing the lines in her hand over and over again. It is Christmas Eve and here all these people are. What a place to spend the holidays. How selfish I have been. Here I was feeling embarrassed and awkward, because my dad made me dress up and go caroling yet again. I am so fortunate to be here by choice and not because of a tragedy. As we finish the song I turn to my dad.
“Can I call off the next song, Dad?” I asked. He looked at me a little surprised.
“Why, of course, sweetie. What will it be?”
“Silent Night,” I replied
“All right, everyone, let’s finish with Silent Night!” my dad exclaimed, and then he smiled at me and put his arm around me as we sang,
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon Virgin Mother and Child
Holy Infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!
Christ, the Saviour is born
Christ, the Saviour is born
Silent night, holy night
Son of God, love's pure light
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth "