Earlier this afternoon, I begrudgingly dialed the number to Dr. Chaor’s office to remind him to mail in his speaking contract. A man answered the line and startled me with a simple, “Hello.” I wasn’t expecting such a concise greeting.
“Is this Dr. Chaor’s office?” I asked, skeptical that I had reached the right number.
“No,” the tired man said, “This is a patient’s room.”
I apologized for disturbing the poor man and I hung up. Since then, I have not been able to get him off my mind.
Why is he in the hospital? What unit is he in? Was it a car crash or another accident? Does he have cancer? Is he undergoing chemotherapy? Did he have elective surgery? Are his friends there? Has his family been by? Are his nurses friendly? Is he being taken care of? Is he eating? What is he eating? What is his favorite flavor of JELL-O? How long has he been there? Is he in pain? Are there flowers in his room? Is he in a private room? Does he have stitches? Did he pull on his stitches when he reached for the phone? Are his stitches dissolvable? Was he expecting a call? Was he sad that I wasn’t calling for him? What is he watching on TV? Where is he from? How old is he? Is he married? What color hair does he have? Does he have a goatee? When was the last time he shaved? Did he know he was going to be in the hospital tonight? Is he sad? What color are the walls of his room? When was the last time he laughed? What is his greatest fear?
Or did I even speak with the patient? Maybe he was visiting and answered the phone for his wife or mother or friend.
Why is he/she in the hospital? What unit is he/she in? Was it a car crash or another accident? Does he/she have cancer...
Monday, January 16, 2006
When You Think No One Cares
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2 comments:
He's in the hospital because he slipped on his kitchen floor and fell on his head due to an unexplained spasm, a real bloody mess.
He's in the neurology unit.
No car crash, just a domestic accident.
No cancer, luckily, which means no chemo is necessary.
The surgery is mandatory, the doctors discovered a brain tumor which may cause brain damage if not treated ASAP.
His friend Tim is there, they are old little league buddies, been friends for a long time now.
His family is currently being held in captivity somewhere in Brazil, a family vacation gone ar-igh.
His nurses are very friendly, he especially likes Ashley the best.
Ashley's been monitoring him with an eagle's eye and he enjoys the extra attention he receives from her.
He's eating, but mostly soups, the solid stuff is really tying his insides into painful knots.
He loves green jello, it's the only flavor that doesn't make him gag instantly.
He's been in the hospital for weeks now, 2 or 3, it's hard for him to keep track, with all the pain and all. His head feels like a cinder block with all the wraps, bandages, and hoses attached to it.
Tim doesn't do flowers, but he does sneak in the occasional milkshake from time to time.
He has a private room, but sometimes wishes he had a roommate for when Tim and Ashley weren't around to entertain him.
He has over 70 staples on his half-shaven head, but since it's so tightly wrapped, he hasn't seen any of them yet.
He lays very still for most of the day, so the staples don't cause him much grief.
Tim had actually picked up the phone and sounded tired due to the long hours he's logged, staying at his friend's side. But he was rather impressed with the politeness of the lady on the other end of the line.
The stitches are staples and the exact opposite of dissolvable.
He wasn't expecting a phonecall from anybody, except maybe for the National Coast Guard service to report they've found his missing family.
Tim thought the lady at the other end of the line sounded drunk, but he wasn't quite sure.
His favorite show is "How I Met Your Mother" Many people tell him he looks like Ted.
He's actually from Wisconsin, the land of many fine cheeses, and many fine looking lads, him being one of them.
He's 24 years old and is nowhere neared married.
He's never had a goatee, and why should he, he's never found himself in the woods chopping down redwoods.
He usually shaves on Tuesday and Friday mornings, but since the surgery, it's become a little more sporadic.
The tumor came as a total surprise.
He was pretty bumbed about the brain surgery, but Ashley is making this whole experience a pleasant one for him.
Seriously, who thinks about the wall color of a room, of a place you just called concerning business? That's right, nobody does.
He laughs all the time, he tries to make other people laugh even when they've exhibited zero interest in his blog.
His greatest fear is that the lady on the other end of the line will never leave a comment on his blog.
(Like I said, I have a lot of free time during the old work day)
THANK YOU! I can finally sleep!
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