Affliction

by Daniels, Dottie

  “What time is it?” I asked before the medicine made me not care.

  “It’s late. But not too late for you, Seanna,” he winked at me without a smile, tossed the empty syringe in the trash, turned around and both of the men walked out of the room. Damn him and his coded speech. The truth was I felt that I was probably no better off here than on my own apart from receiving this wonderful blessing of pain medication, which I could also more than likely get on my own. Who was he to say he could help me? He was no more than a few years older than me and seemingly farther down the chain of command than a janitor at a Fortune 500 company according to his “I told you, I’m not the one in charge” speech.

  As I lay there about to drift off again, I promised myself I would stay on track and do whatever I could to find out about this virus and the whereabouts of my boyfriend. It wasn’t fair for them to keep me against my will without allowing for at least some communication with Graham. If I were in jail, I’d get a phone call. If I heard him correctly, he mentioned he could help me get to my family too. I realized then, just how did he know about my family or if I even had any family left? I don’t remember speaking of them and the only person I came in with was Graham. I tried to sit up at the realization but the whole head disconnection thing took over and it felt like I was glued to the bed. The dim lighting in the room was no help as the dark blurred into the light that was only closest around the bed and the monitors. The machines beeped back to normal as their sound echoed like I was in a cave.

  Who is this doctor? Where in the state of New Jersey am I? Time now set itself to fast-forward.

  • • •

  I wish I could say I woke up back in my own bed; that would be selfish though. Truth be told, I wished for a lot of things, like last month when dead people remained inanimate objects after their time was up. I woke up to the same surroundings except there was now a tray table sitting off to the side that had a covered dish alongside a pitcher and glass with the usual silverware. Finally, the hospitality arrived. My whole body from head to toe was aching and sore beyond belief. I could only liken it to the way your leg hurts after a Charlie horse, only it was everywhere. I instinctively ran my fingers through my hair noticing first how they got stuck in a tangle no more than a few inches from my head. My light brown hair was well past my shoulders and took more of my mother’s African-American thickness versus my father’s thinner English strands. It took me only a half second to realize my newly granted freedom in the absence of the restraints. I couldn’t see myself but I know my eyes lit up before the feeling of soreness brought me back to reality. I still had the IV in my arm but I sat straight up in the bed. I carefully lifted my right arm bending it to reach around to my back left shoulder, checking for the bullet wound, which was still there and noticeable by the bandage but not too painful considering how I felt everywhere else.

  I was only a few seconds into my discovery when the door opened again and Dr. Chavan walked in. Does this guy ever rest?

  “I see you’re up, good morning,” he said in the most pleasant tone I’d heard from him yet.

  “Yes, I am. The restraints are off––thank you,” I replied.

  I wanted to be sure he understood my gratitude because the only thing that’s worse than being bedridden is to be bedridden by force. Being a paramedic, even I saw the difference in the behavior of people who found themselves restrained for whatever reason. Restraints often make people want to resist, plain and simple. I would be no different.

  The doctor walked alongside the bed and took a good look at me, then glanced at the monitors, seemingly satisfied with what he saw. I told him how sore I was and he performed a quick neurological exam saying it was necessary in order for me to be able to move around and also to be sure the spasms were the cause of the soreness and not something else. He also told me that they would be doing another MRI later on today, though I didn’t remember the first one. I did remember the promise I made to myself to be as inquisitive as possible because aside from whatever goals they had for me, I had goals of my own. Dr. Chavan along with everyone else here were no dummies so I know I’d have to be genuine, otherwise I’d get nowhere. I decided I’d ask some indirect questions before getting to the root of my concerns.

  “So, can I ask you, Doctor, how did the restraints end up coming off?”

  I could tell he was thinking carefully about his every word. “The other man who was here with me is one of many people here working on, your acquired illness. He came in with me to observe you a little and after many tests in the lab and our meeting this morning it was decided that you are not high risk.”

  “High risk for what?” I asked.

  “Well, there are several factors that must be considered, Seanna. What we can see from you, since you are confirmed infected. Behaviorally, you are not where others in the population with the disease are. Unlike most others, you’re responsive and otherwise normal with no degenerative symptoms. Physiologically, your vitals are only slightly elevated, and even those are slowly returning to acceptable ranges. The lab results, which are always last to confirm, are significant because on a cellular level your blood samples are suggesting to us that others may not be at risk should they become exposed to your blood.” He took a minute to let it all sink in but all I could think about was that extra blood sample he took but never gave up to be tested.

  “So, you’re saying, I have the virus, but I don’t… act like it?” I know by now I was looking as confused as the question implied.

  “Yes and no,” he replied. I could already see the thoughtful answer coming from within him.

  “What I’m saying is, under the current regiment of large doses of antivirals and antibiotics your infection could possibly be controlled, though not cured. Right now, it doesn’t look as if it will be lethal to you.” He didn’t sound enthusiastic at all for what seemed like very good news to me.

  “Great! That’s good news then, right?” I was elated. That was the best news I’d heard in days. For some reason I didn’t know yet, the doctor sat there at the foot of the bed, motionless and looked at the floor. I knew I was about to find out why he wasn’t celebrating my miracle with me. My smile faded before he spoke again.

  “Seanna, for reasons right or wrong the authorities have decided the best course of action for dealing with infected people is to…” He wouldn’t say it.

  I would though. “Kill them.”

  “Right, the military and law enforcement have been given orders to shoot on sight anyone they believe to be infected under the Rule of Two,” he stopped knowing I wouldn’t know what he was talking about.

  “All they need is for two people to agree that a person is infected before it is considered justified. Most of these officers and soldiers are trained to move quickly in small teams––there is not much debate,” he explained.

  “So?” I replied.

  “With your medications, on the outside you look normal, but what do you think will happen when you miss a dose or worse, it becomes a known fact that you are infected? Or better yet, say they are able to kill or contain every infected person, do you think they will risk another outbreak by letting you walk around and return to a normal life?”

  Despite the admission he was kind enough to let it sink in for a minute. There was silence between us as I sat there stupefied. I tried to put on a brave face but there was not a whole lot of reason to be brave right now; it felt like the world I was a part of was crashing down on my soul. I was being told my life no longer had value in the sense that I had what every live person wanted eradicated off the planet. Because it was a part of me now I might as well be gone with it as well. I sat there pitifully for a moment longer, with my gown partially slumped off of one shoulder; I spoke up though I didn’t know what I would say.

  “What can I do?” I said. That was the best I could come up with.

  “Fortunately, someone you know likes you enough to invest a lot of effort into keeping you secret and out of harm’s way. You’ll be ta
lking to him directly in a little while. In the meantime, procedurally, now that you are conscious we will have you sign consent forms for the treatment and care that you are receiving. We’re working with a small number of people to see if perhaps, through you, a vaccine can be made,” he revealed in a tone that could’ve sounded more reassuring.

  “What would you suggest that I do?”

  “I would strongly suggest that you sign all of the forms.”

  “If it isn’t too soon, may I take a shower? I think I’d feel much better,” I asked

  He stood up and said he would send someone in here to help me, and that he’d be back in a few hours. I had no choice but to sit there as the machines did their monitoring and Dr. Chavan left without another word. I focused on the tray table not wanting anything on it but using it as a focal point. It took only a few seconds longer before the tears welled up and started to run down my cheeks. I missed so many people and so many things at the same moment they all came to me in a blur of memories. I leaned over from the bed to grab the box of tissues from the nightstand when the door opened and a woman walked in. The nurse I presumed, was taller than me, of medium build with long straight hair that was a mixture of gray and blond. She also wore purple scrubs with gym shoes of a similar color and looked as if she’d been in the nursing field since I’ve been alive. She saw my mood and gave me a half-crooked little smile, the kind meant purely for pity.

  “My name is Laura. I’m here to help you shower and eat,” she said in a rehearsed tone.

  I don’t know what she heard about me or if she drew the short straw but she definitely was cautious. Laura paused and then walked over to the bed with some waterproof bandages in her hand. She started disconnecting the IV and turned the machines off as they responded to the interruption. She worked quickly as she wrapped my IV ports and wounds with the bandage then reached in the drawer and grabbed a pair of footies and handed them to me. I put them on as best as I could as she laid down the rules.

  “I have some of the antiviral with me just in case. The showers are close to your room but I was instructed that you shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes off of your dosing regimen. I can stand in there with you, if you need me to, but I cannot leave you completely alone. You have to agree that you will let me know immediately if you feel like something’s wrong, or you’re in pain again. Do you understand?” she asked.

  I nodded my head in agreement as I slowly stood up with my knees feeling sore, weak and wobbly. For a quick second it felt like they were going to give out and Laura reached to help but quickly looked as if she regretted doing so. Not caring about how much my gown was open in the back I began to walk toward the door with Laura at my side.

  I didn’t know what was on the other side of the door––if there were going to be many people there or if there was a big open space with windows or if it was enclosed amongst many hallways and doors. I was going to be observant and try and see if there was anything that would be helpful in getting to Graham––even if this was only a trip to the bathroom.

  Laura took a few quick steps and opened the door for me. The area outside of the room was brighter than what I was used to so my eyes had to adjust. The immediate space looked more like an office building with plenty of off-white colored walls and an occasional framed picture of various woodland scenes that were evenly spaced every fifteen feet or so in between doors.

  I discovered the room I came out of was toward the end of the hallway with a realistic looking nurses’ station nearby that had all of the similar monitors I had in my room. I figured they must be linked because the screens were dark just like the ones in the room were now. There were two people, a man and a woman, sitting behind the counter and at the desk. When the woman saw me, she whispered quickly to the man, whose back was turned to me, and he immediately turned around to look. Could they be any more conspicuous? I gave them an undeserved crooked smile before looking down the long hallway trying to guess which door could possibly be the bathroom. The nurse Laura told the two gawkers that we’d be back shortly, to get someone up to change the sheets and that she would call with the lunch orders for everyone when she got back. She looked at me for a brief moment before she spat out a quick, “Do you have any food allergies?” I shook my head and she proceeded to walk a few steps in front of me until we were three doors down where she stopped. She reached into her pocket, got out keys for the door and unlocked it. I felt uneasy as I could sense the two sets of eyes on my back all the way from the station.

  “I can’t wait until they get the electronic card readers on this floor. This is annoying carrying keys around everywhere,” she complained as she jiggled the fussy knob and opened the door for me. She looked down at her watch and informed me, “You have fifteen minutes, try not to get those bandages too soaked, there’s shampoo and soap on the counter there by the towels. Those folded clothes over there should fit you; if not, we can find you some in another size.”

  “Got it,” I replied.

  “I’ll grab a chair and be right outside the door.”

  “Okay,” I answered again before I walked in and shut the door behind me. I hoped for a lock on the inside but was disappointed to find nothing but a blank metal panel that was where the lock should’ve been. The beige bathroom was sectioned off into three areas: a sink with a large counter and mirror, the toilet area and the shower, which I went to first to turn the water on so it could be as hot as possible. The space looked newly remodeled so it didn’t seem as if it would take long at all before it was at a good temperature. After relieving myself I was eager to find a comb and all the things Laura pointed out to me. By then, I figured I now had less than ten minutes to wash my hair and body.

  As the water from the shower made a loud splashing sound hitting the dark blue tile floor, I worked quickly and as delicately as possible combing my hair until it was smooth and without tangles. Regrettably, my left arm was of no use because it hurt too much to lift more than a few inches away from my side. I realized I must’ve taken a few minutes so I slipped off my gown, stepped into the shower stream and let the hot water run through my hair and shoulders. I was busy enough trying to create a lather with the shampoo and clean as much of my body as possible because I wasn’t sure if Laura had the go-ahead to drag me out of the bathroom if I took longer than permitted. The soap and water felt good and was the first bit of comfort I’d felt in a while. I focused on the hot steam and the sound of the water because it was just like home. After I washed all of the important parts I focused on my hair again and closed my eyes letting the shampoo and soap wash away completely.

  “Alright, it’s almost time to go back,” Laura opened the door and said it with authority.

  “Okay, I’m finished,” I said, though now I suddenly felt like I was in jail. Having to return back to a room where I spend my time without the choice of coming and going seemed like nothing but incarceration. Laura closed the door again and the cool air from the hallway brushed in causing a slight shiver. I turned the water off, bent over to twist my hair dry to the best of my ability and grabbed a towel to wrap it in because I doubted I would be given extra time for vanity reasons. I used another towel to dry off with, quickly as I could with one good hand, getting just barely dry enough for the cotton underwear and dark blue pants that looked like a thicker version of hospital scrubs. There was a short-sleeved, button-up white shirt folded there, that I took my time getting into because my back was still a little wet. Laura opened the door again but I was ready enough that I wouldn’t have to hear her complain about taking too long. While she came back in and collected my old gown I picked up the other toiletries lying on the counter because I would definitely not skimp on those necessities. She gave me a frustrated look and I said, “I know, I’m coming,” before she could say another word.

  As we walked back down the hallway there was a cleaning cart outside my room- they work fast around here. The two gawkers from earlier were standing at a fax machine and copier chatting about something
but I couldn’t hear what they were talking about. When they saw us the woman put a stack of papers inside a manila folder, got Laura’s attention and handed it to her. When I stepped inside of the room I saw the sheets had been changed and two extra pillows had been added. I hadn’t a clue as to whom it belonged but there was a handmade quilt, folded so that it covered the lower half of the bed. I was thankful that someone attempted to make me feel at home though I was sure that everyone in the building could use a little something that reminded them of better times. I didn’t know for sure which loved ones I’d lost but I knew that these people were here working to help save the lives of those they could, even though they’d probably lost family and friends too.

  Off to the side I could see the person responsible for my tidied room. It was a middle-aged short African-American man. He was thin but active with slightly graying thick hair and he wore glasses. I could tell he was very pleasant because when he emptied the trash he turned around, saw me and said, “Well, there she is!” in a friendly tone, as if we were already friends. Now that he was facing me, I could see his name sewn on the patch on the upper left side of his work shirt. The name Ruben was written in traditional white cursive and he walked right up to me, smiling, paused and then went on with what he was doing but not before exchanging more pleasantries.

  “So you’re the one they have in this room with no furnishings, no entertainment, no nothing,” he joked as he tossed the small bag of trash past us and into the hallway by his cart. I didn’t know what to say especially since I didn’t know that furniture was an option.