*
*
*
*
At least the air was clear and crisp here. Though Peter was about to ask
himself where here was, the EKG machine next to his bed, as well as the wires
attached to his chest answered that question for him. Even the slight breathing
of the patient on the bed next to him told him that he was in a hospital. Sweeping
his arm at the bedside table, Peter felt for anything he could reach. His hand
closed around a napkin, which he clutched to examine. Philadelphia County
Medical Center.
Apparently no one had wasted any effort or money sending him a more expensive place
of care. If he had expected a doctor to approach him in the first few minutes,
he was soon disappointed. In fact, the next time he got medical attention was
during his next seizure. As the doctor walked over, Peter gasped for breath,
shaking uncontrollably, unable to make his body listen to his mind. A sly grin
came over the doctor’s face, and he injected a sedative into Peter’s arm. He
was completely unaware of the lasers shooting from Peter’s eyes. The trembling
stopped, along with the shortness of breath, but the fear that overcame Peter
did not leave, not even after he faded into tortured dreams.
Next to the bed stood Dr. Jenson. He had been assigned to Peter after his
latest episode of convulsions, and was shaking his head at the physician who
had eventually noticed Peter. “Are you quite sure Dr. Jenson?” said the
physician. “You’re quite sure he’s…”
“Yes, terminal, Doctor. That is the term they use for it around here, isn’t
it?” replied Dr. Jenson, annoyed.
“How long, Doctor?”
“No more than a few months, I’m afraid. Now where’s the next patient? I don’t
get paid by the hour, you know.”
The physician shrugged, pointed down the hallway, and headed off to file the
paperwork necessary to move Peter McCowley to hospice care.
Howling screams were like music to his ear: the more, the better. That was
simply because it seemed that the more his patients suffered, the more James
Halpert would be paid. That was the beauty of the psychology job at a hospice
ward he had transferred into recently. All the same, at the end of a long day
ignoring work, he was just as tired as the rest of the world. But unlike the
rest of the world, he couldn’t surf the internet while pretending to work. The
days seemed to drag on forever, but the pay was good, so why complain? In
reality, he did very little of anything at all. Things had gotten to the point
where he had merely stopped responding to each patient’s situation differently.
He could hardly be reported for incompetence by the patients themselves. As
much as he continued to blather on about how much the families’ of the dying
patients cared about them, he knew they never came to visit until the very end.
He certainly knew they didn’t talk about the quality of the mental health
services provided at the hospital when that came around. Or if a dying man
would complain, he knew they would write it off as the insane ranting of a
doomed man, filled with pain and anguish at the cruelty of fate.
James headed home to his modest condo after work that day, happy be able not to
pretend to be doing anything productive with his life. The car ride was helpful
in reducing some of the stress. His favorite radio station blasted out the
window forcibly entertaining anyone he passed.
I wonder what’s on the TV, he thought to himself as he parked. Hopefully
some basketball. Don’t think I can take another few days of this Olympics crap.
Ignoring the inert doorman, he climbed three flights of stairs to his floor.
Juggling to hold all of his things as he tried to find the right key, James
entered his apartment and began the usual ritual. He grabbed his laptop
computer before sitting down. It took a few minutes to find it in his cluttered
apartment, but in the end he located its distinct grey sheen under a pile of
colorful magazines. So with his rear firmly placed on the couch, a day-old beer
next to him, and the television showing another game of curling, he opened up
his laptop. As soon as AOL Instant Messenger was fully loaded, he realized
Carrie was online and began typing.
Jackboy63
(7:32:39) said:
Hey
Carriebird12557
(7:32:45) said:
hi, its been a
while
Jackboy63
(7:32:56) said:
yeah how are you, hun
Carriebird12557
(7:33:04)
said:
great you
Jackboy63
(7:33:12)
said:
i’m good. school really sucks. middle school was way easier compared to this
Carriebird12557
(7:33:15)
said:
yeah you’re totally right
Jackboy63
(7:33:19) said:
i miss you, lets hang out
Carriebird12557(7:33:22)
said:
when?
Jackboy63
(7:33:28) said:
soon. I have to go my dad is coming. I don’t want him to catch me online with a
girl again. =\
Jackboy63
(7:33:31) said:
I promise well talk soon
Jackboy63
(7:33:34)
said:
I’ll prob email you. its safer
Carriebird12557
(7:33:45) said:
ok bye. I can’t wait to see you!
James smiled and turned his attention back to the Olympics.
Later that night, after he had just finished his takeout dinner, he
contemplated how the rest of his evening would go. He eyed what was left of the
Chinese, thinking, he always managed to order too much. He never could get just
the right amount. Deciding that ordering more food was too much effort, he started
in on the leftovers of his Chinese.
In the morning, the alarm woke him, startling him into falling off the couch.
After he picked himself off the pile of rubbish and leftovers scattered in his
immediate area, Dr. Halpert headed off for work once more.
To
Be Continued...
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