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writegirl@altavista.com
Leg Wrestling
R.A.Barrington
I’m going too fast and I know it. The first speed bump rockets my car with a thud. You would think the beautiful oak tree-lined curvy lane would soothe out a person’s soul. Or perhaps the elegant pond would do the trick, although the fountain isn’t running this time of year.
I pull right up to the rotating door and walk my friend into the outpatient wing. I fog out. Rich people in for repair. They try extra hard not to let you die here. It would be bad publicity.
He asked me to be with him and I answered “Yes, but I’m not good at it.”
“It would make me feel better.” he answered.
One of those women from Beloit registers him in and tells me that I will need to be available to speak to the doctor for aftercare instructions. I am feeling like a wife. “Okay.” I tell her after twice missing some slaphappy joke she is trying to tell me. She hands me a pager. “About 3 hours. Please stay on the grounds.”
I swung the Buick over to a lookout spot a quarter mile away from the door. I don’t really want to be here. Too bad.
I came prepared.
One of those seafood Subway sandwiches all plump and decorated with lettuce, honey mustard, and lots of black olives is tucked inside my insulated hiking lunch bag, along with bottled water and a Coke. I picked up a Boston decaf at White Hen too, seems like I can’t figure out what to drink.
There is a sunlit glade heavy with massive oaks and bits of dappled sun straining to break through, noonlight. Nature designed this, although it does have a Frederick Law Olmstead feel. The branches crack under my Nike’s; little acorn caps litter the ground. And although from inside the car it looked wonderful, sunny and bright and welcoming, I only do about a quarter mile before my teeth start chattering in the piercing north wind.
Back inside the car I chose the coffee and half of the sandwich.
Ha! I see a pack of dogs coming over the far ridge, five of them. Wait! Not dogs. Cattle. No. No. Deer! The largest one, the doe, the mother is in the center. The front one is her spunky kid that simply plows forward. The two in the rear are hesitant. They stop and look over at me, the hospital parking lot abuzz with people and cars. The mother stops and looks back. She must be giving them a secret message because they start to follow along once again. Funny, I have never seen deer come in on a stubbled cornfield, in a line. I just see them run across the highways and come down to the river for a drink. They lope exactly like a dog.
One, two, three, four, five. They bounce over the little rusted wire fence, white tails flashing in the sun. They are in the glade and are heading directly out to the highway.
I am doing drawings today. I brought along an old dictionary. My idea is to randomly open the book, chose a word, meditate on it briefly and do a drawing...lissome, whitecap, removal, unsupervised…
There is a knock at my car door. A very tall blonde man in scrubs says, “He is ready.”
I am surprised. Three hours gone? How did he find me? The pager never went off, never vibrated. He instructs me to drive to the entrance. He is smiling. I am guessing that means my friend isn’t dead or anything.
He is holding the side door open for me. “You picked my meditation spot.” he says. “Not too many people go over there.”
I am thinking he would make a very good nurse for psychiatric patients. He has a soothing melody radiating from his soul. “The doctor is waiting to talk to you.”
We move through the sunlit atrium into a maze of hallways. I am not doing well. Hospitals are strange morgues in my mind. Suddenly my body won’t move. “I can’t go any farther.” I whisper to him. “That’s okay.” he says, “ I wouldn’t be in here either if I didn’t work here. Wait in the atrium. The nurse will bring him out. The doctor won’t come to you. It’s a doctor rule.” I know at least five of the doctors at this hospital. I am wondering if I should call them. Then I think maybe I should leave it alone.
A very very long time later, at least forty-five minutes, my pal rounds the corner in a nurse-driven wheelchair. “You okay?” I smiled. “Yep.” he answered into my face. I could tell he wasn’t really back from some drug-induced land of nod. He was pale, but looked like all of his parts were still in place.
The nurse read a bunch of stuff off a printed sheet while I looked over her shoulder. I am distracted by her bright orange, crinkly, waist-length, Rocky Horror Picture Show hair and those very long fake red nails. She gave me two meds. “He will be in pain. He can have as much of these as he needs.”
“As much as he needs, right?”
“Yes.”
I took him to my home and I medicated him every time he called out in pain. He grew pale. He said he was very cold. I piled more blankets on him. Around five the doctor called and asked me how his patient was doing. I explained about the cold, the paleness, the pain.
“How much medication did you give him?”
“Three of each.”
“No.No.No.” he said. “Only one of the darvon. You are ODing him.”
“Oh my God!”
“Don’t give him anymore medication until tomorrow. Didn’t the nurse explain how to use the meds?”
“Yes.” I told him she said to give him as much as needed.
“If he has trouble breathing, call me and take him to emergency.”
It was the worse night of my life.
My friend survived me. Don’t call me if you need a nurse. I’ll medicate you to death.