by Mary Daheim
The nurse handed several forms to Joe and Bill.
“Have your wives fill these out over in the reception
area. We’ll call their names when the doctors are
ready.”
“What are these?” Renie asked, despite the glower
from Bill.
“Medical information,” the nurse responded. “Consent forms. Releases.”
“Release from what?” Renie inquired, resisting
Bill’s efforts to propel her away from the desk.
“Consent to the procedure,” the nurse said, looking
impatient. “Releasing the hospital from responsibility
in case you expire.”
“Expire?” Renie blanched. “As in . . . croak?”
“Let’s go,” Bill muttered, his jaw set.
Joe had already wheeled Judith into the waiting
area. “Did Renie say ‘croak’?” she asked her husband.
“It sounded like ‘croak,’ ” Joe answered in his
breeziest manner. “Of course, it might have been ‘joke’
or ‘Coke’ or ‘cloak.’ ”
Judith looked down at the forms that Joe had put in
her lap. “She said ‘croak.’ If I croak, it’s not their fault.
20
Mary Daheim
I wonder how Joaquin Somosa and Joan Fremont feel
about that? I mean, I wonder how their families feel?”
“Glum,” Joe replied. “Just fill the damned things out
and let’s get on with it.”
“Aren’t you and Bill being a bit callous?” Judith demanded.
“No,” Joe asserted. “Those were flukes. Didn’t the
newspaper hint that Joan Fremont had been doing
some drugs? She was an actress, Somosa was an athlete. I once worked in Vice. I know how that goes. It’s
all show biz, and a lot of those people get involved in
drugs, both legal and otherwise.”
Judith wasn’t reassured, but she stopped arguing.
Renie had also gone silent, laboriously trying to sign the
forms with her crippled right arm. The cousins had just
finished when they were joined by a tall, handsome,
middle-aged man and a wispy blonde woman about the
same age. The man looked vaguely familiar to Judith.
Bill, who had an excellent memory for faces, caught
her curious glance. “Bob Randall,” he said in a low
voice. “Former Sea Auk quarterback.”
“Ramblin’ Randall,” Joe murmured, with an admiring glance for the three-time all-pro. “I’ll be damned.
Maybe I’ll shake his—”
“Judith Flynn?” a plump young nurse called out.
“Here,” Judith responded. “I think.”
“We’re ready for you.” The nurse smiled, then nodded at Joe. “Is this Mr. Flynn? He can come along, if
he likes.”
“He does,” Judith said firmly.
Joe lingered. “Can I catch up with you in a minute?
I’d like to introduce myself to—”
“Joe!” Judith cried as the nurse began wheeling her
away. “I really need you!”
SUTURE SELF
21
Reluctantly, Joe trudged after his wife. Judith arrived at a large room with several curtained partitions.
It looked like a busy day at Good Cheer. At least four
other patients were already being prepared for surgery.
Directly across the way from Judith’s cubicle, an elderly woman was making her confession to an equally
elderly priest. Judith’s spirits plunged.
“I should have had Father Hoyle anoint me or something,” she murmured. “Is it too late?”
“You mean before that old duffer keels over?” Joe
responded with a nod in the priest’s direction. “I don’t
know. He could go at any minute.”
Judith scowled at Joe. “I’m serious. Go ask him to
come here when he’s done with that woman’s confession.”
The nurse began to take Judith’s vital signs. Another
nurse arrived to draw her blood. A third nurse showed
up with a hospital gown, a paper hat, and a pair of
socks with treads on the bottom. The first nurse asked
Judith if she had voided.
“Voided?” Judith echoed in alarm. “Voided what?”
“Have you gone to the bathroom recently?” the
nurse inquired with a gentle smile.
“Oh. Yes, just before I left home.”
Judith tried to relax, but it wasn’t easy with all the
poking and probing. She had just put on the gown, the
hat, and the socks when the anesthesiologist arrived.
“I’m Dr. Bunn,” said the young man, who looked
too young to be on his own without his mother.
“Here’s what we’re going to do . . .”
The curtains had been opened again after Judith
changed. She could see Joe strolling casually up and
down the floor, still waiting for the elderly woman to
finish her confession. Judith wondered if the old girl
22
Mary Daheim
was recounting every sin since childhood. Finally the
priest appeared to be giving absolution. Judith sighed
with relief.
At that moment, Bob Randall entered, supporting
the wispy woman with his famous right arm. His wife,
Judith thought vaguely. The poor woman looked as if
she were about to meet the Grim Reaper. Maybe she
was. Judith said a quick prayer for Mrs. Randall.
Dr. Bunn had finished his explanation, which Judith
had only half heard. The priest was standing up. Well,
Judith noted, at least he was trying to stand up. The
poor man looked very unsteady.
Judith turned to see if Joe had noticed. He was
nowhere in sight. Then, on the other side of the curtain,
she heard her husband’s voice.
“Bob,” said Joe, sounding unusually hearty, “excuse
me, but I want to thank you for all the years of pleasure and excitement you gave us when you quarterbacked the . . .”
The priest was tottering away. Judith heard Bob
Randall’s booming voice in reply: “Flynn, eh? Great
to meet you. After fifteen years out of the league, you
sometimes think nobody remembers . . .”
Dr. Bunn had stepped aside as one of the nurses
began an IV in Judith’s left hand. “Doctor,” Judith said
in a plaintive voice, “could you get my husband from
the next cubicle?”
“Hold on there,” Dr. Bunn said in a soothing voice.
“He’ll be right along. At the moment, he’d be in the
way.”
“But I wanted to . . .” Judith began, then heard Joe
bidding Bob Randall good-bye.
“Good luck with the knee,” Joe said, and suddenly
appeared from the other side of the curtain. “Hey,
SUTURE SELF
23
Jude-girl, Bob Randall’s having knee surgery this
morning. You know how it is with quarterbacks. The
knees always seem to give out. He’s a really great guy.”
Judith felt for Joe’s hand. “I thought his wife was the
one who . . .” Judith felt drowsy. “Joe, can you find
that . . .”
Judith felt nothing.
She awoke nearly seven hours later in the recovery
room, staring at Renie. “Coz,” Judith said thickly.
“Hi.”
“Unh,” Renie replied and blinked twice.
“We�
��re . . . alive,” Judith said, her voice sounding
very strange.
“So far,” Renie replied, also unlike herself.
Judith’s eyes came into focus. Her gaze traveled to
the end of the bed. Joe was standing there, along with
a nurse Judith didn’t recognize.
“Hi,” Joe said. He sounded different, too, almost
shy. Judith concentrated harder on his face. He looked
pale. She looked in Renie’s direction. Bill was by her
bed, also looking pale. Both Joe and Bill had ruddy
complexions. Could they actually have been worried
about their wives?
“How do you feel, Mrs. Flynn?” the gray-haired
nurse inquired.
“Okay,” Judith replied, despite the fact that she was
too woozy to know. “Hi, Joe.”
With a quick glance at the nurse, Joe came around to
the side of the bed, almost bumping into Bill. “You’re
going to be fine,” he said, taking her hand. “I’ve already seen Dr. Alfonso.”
“Good,” Judith sighed, wishing she could feel relieved, but not feeling much of anything.
24
Mary Daheim
Across the aisle, Dr. Ming was hovering over Renie.
Judith tried to hear what he was saying, but couldn’t. A
moment later, Renie was being rolled out of the recovery
room, with Bill trailing an orderly, a nurse, and Dr. Ming.
“Where’s she gone?” Judith asked in alarm.
“To her room,” Joe replied. “Renie’s surgery was
only three and a half hours. Yours was almost six, plus
it was after nine before they actually started.”
“Ohmigod!” Judith shut her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Does it matter?” Joe smiled. “It’s going on four
o’clock. Here.” He proffered a plastic cup. “Drink some
water.”
Judith had trouble getting her lips around the straw.
“It’s hard,” she moaned.
Dr. Alfonso, looking as exhausted as Judith, approached the bed. Or was it a gurney? Judith couldn’t
tell; didn’t care.
“You’ll be up and dancing soon,” he said with the
hint of a twinkle in his dark eyes.
“Hunh,” said Judith.
“I’ve talked to your husband and given him all the
details,” Dr. Alfonso went on, pushing a swatch of silver hair under the shower-cap-like hat he still wore.
His blue scrubs were spattered with blood; Judith involuntarily shuddered when she realized the stains
probably came from her. “I’m taking a lunch break
now,” the doctor said, “but I’ll be in to see you before
I go off duty.” Dr. Alfonso jabbed at the plastic cup.
“Keep drinking as much as you can. You need plenty
of fluids to keep from becoming dehydrated.”
Dr. Alfonso had no sooner padded away than Judith
began to feel pain. She tried to crane her head to look
at the IV source, but her head wouldn’t move, her neck
wouldn’t swivel.
SUTURE SELF
25
“Joe, get a nurse,” Judith said, wincing slightly. “I
think I’m running out of pain medication.”
“The anesthesia’s probably wearing off,” Joe said.
“Hang on, I’ll find the nurse who was here a few minutes ago.”
The next half hour was taken up with the nurse’s attempts to make Judith more comfortable, with Joe
pressing fluids upon her, and with Judith thinking that
maybe she would be better off dead. At last the pain
began to ease a bit as a result of the increased morphine dosage. Judith felt more aware, but less content.
“We’re going to move you to your room now,” the
nurse said smiling. “Once we get you in bed, you’ll
feel better.”
“No, I won’t,” Judith muttered. “I feel like bird
poop.”
“You can sleep,” the nurse said. “It’ll be quieter
there.”
Judith had been vaguely aware of the comings and
goings in the recovery area. The surgeons must have
been busy that day, since at least a half-dozen patients
had been wheeled in or out while she emerged from
her anesthetic cocoon. The noise hadn’t really bothered her, but she’d be glad for some peace and privacy.
“I saw Bob Randall after his knee surgery,” Joe said
as Judith was being trundled down the hall. “He
seemed in pretty good spirits. But then he always was
a warrior.”
“I . . . didn’t . . . know . . . you . . . were . . . such . . .
a . . . fan,” Judith gasped as every buckle and bump in
the hallway floor seemed to set her teeth on edge.
“Randall played fourteen years for the Auks,” Joe
said, hurrying to keep up. “Those were the years I was
married to Herself. Watching Randall pass for a first
26
Mary Daheim
down on third and eight was a lot more fun than watching Vivian pass out over an empty fifth.”
“Yes.” It was all Judith could manage to say as they
turned a corner on what felt like two wheels. The lingering odor of food and antiseptic seemed to chase
her down the hall like a stale wind.
A sort of shrieking reached Judith’s ears as the gurney slowed. Judith frowned but couldn’t quite manage
to lift her head. “What’s that?” she asked as the noise
grew louder.
The nurse and the orderly didn’t reply but kept moving closer to the source.
“Joe?” Judith asked as a series of obscenities assailed her ears.
The gurney was steered through a doorway. The obscenities grew in volume and ferocity. “Joe?” Judith
repeated.
They had arrived in a two-bed room on the third
floor. The curses emanated from the other side of a
pale blue curtain. Joe didn’t respond. He didn’t have
to. Judith recognized the voice.
“Hi, Renie,” he finally said as Judith was flipped and
flopped onto an ancient hospital bed with a black iron
bedstead. “How’re you doing?”
Renie’s answer was unprintable.
Judith and Renie had requested sharing a room, but
the staff had made no promises. Good Cheer wasn’t a
hotel or a summer camp—it was a hospital.
“May I?” Joe asked in an unusually meek voice as
he gave the blue curtain a twitch.
“Why not?” Renie snapped. “You can set fire to the
whole damned place as far as I’m concerned.”
Judith moved just enough to see Renie, propped up
SUTURE SELF
27
on pillows with her right arm in a blue sling and her
shoulder sporting a bloody dressing.
“Hi, coz,” Renie said in a more normal tone. “How
are you?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but let out a
bloodcurdling scream.
“What’s wrong?” Judith asked in alarm.
“It’s the only way to get attention around here,”
Renie said, then screamed again.
“Stop that!” Judith exclaimed. “It makes my head
throb!”
“I throb everywhere,” Renie shot back. “They
dumped me in here almost an hour ago, and I haven’t
seen anybody since.” She slapped with her left hand at
what appeared to be a buzzer button extending from a
>
thick rubber cord. “I’ve poked this stupid thing so
often I think I burned the light out over the damned
door. Now I’m getting hoarse from yelling.”
“Where’s Bill?” Joe inquired.
“He left,” Renie replied after taking a deep sip of
water. “He had to run some errands and then have dinner. He’ll be back this evening.”
Judith looked at Joe. “You ought to go, too. It’s been
a long day.”
Joe seemed torn. “Shouldn’t I wait until Dr. Alfonso
comes in?”
Judith gave a faint shake of her head. “You’ve already talked to him. You have to tell Mother I’m okay
and let Mike know I survived. Frankly, you look beat.
I’ll be fine, as long as Screaming Mimi over there shuts
up. I might be able to sleep a bit.”
“Well . . .” Joe’s green-eyed gaze roamed around the
room. “I suppose I should head home.”
“Of course you should,” Judith said, also taking in
her surroundings. The walls were painted a dreary
28
Mary Daheim
beige that hadn’t been freshened in years. A crucifix
hung over each of the beds and the only other furnishings were a pair of visitors’ chairs, a commode, and the
nightstands. A TV was mounted high on the far wall,
flanked by a small statue of Jesus revealing the Sacred
Heart and, on the other side, Mary holding the infant
Jesus. Two old-fashioned sash windows on Renie’s
side of the room looked out over one of the city’s residential areas. The roofs were gray, the houses were
gray, the skies were gray. Even the trees looked gray
on this late-January afternoon.
With a reluctant sigh, Joe leaned down to kiss Judith’s forehead. “Okay, I’ll check in at the B&B to
make sure that Carl and Arlene are getting along all
right. I’ll see you this evening.”
Despite her brave words, Judith kept her dark eyes
on Joe until he was out of the room. Indeed, he was
practically run over by a disheveled young man carrying a balloon bouquet in one hand and an almost lifesized cutout of a football player in the other.
“For Bob Randall,” Judith remarked, daring to gaze
at Renie.
“The ex-quarterback?” Renie snorted. “I swear, the
only time I ever watched him play, he always threw an
interception or got sacked.” She paused, then made a
futile attempt to snap the fingers of her left hand.
“That’s it! Ramblin’ Randall is getting all the attention
while we suffer and starve. I timed myself. I screamed