Suture Self

by Mary Daheim

  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.

  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.

  “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 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 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 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 life-sized 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 for eleven minutes nonstop. Nobody came. I think I’ll set fire to the bed.”

  “Coz—” Judith began to plead, but was interrupted by a tall, handsome nun in an exceptionally well-tailored modified habit.

  “Mrs. Jones? Mrs. Flynn?” the nun said, standing on the threshold. “Which of you has been requesting help?”

  If not embarrassed, Renie at least had the grace to look slightly abashed. “Yes…that would be me.” She offered the nun a toothy smile. “I’m having quite a bit of pain.”

  You’re being quite a pain, Judith thought, but kept silent.

  The nun glanced at the IV. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said in her crisp, no-nonsense voice. “By the way, I’m Sister Jacqueline, the hospital administrator. I should point out that our staff is extremely busy this week. The surgery floor is full, and as usual, we’re a bit shorthanded. The economics of medicine aren’t what they used to be.” She gave the cousins a tight little smile.

  “I understand,” Judith said. “It’s a terrible problem that nobody seems able to solve.”

  “It’s those damned insurance companies,” Renie asserted, lifting her head a few inches from the pillow. “Let’s not even talk about the greedy jackasses who run the pharmaceutical industry. What about the patient? I’m lying here in misery and half starved while a bunch of bumbling morons in Washington, D.C., try to figure out whether their pants get pulled up over their fat butts or go down over their empty heads. Or maybe they aren’t wearing any pants at all. Furthermore, if anybody had an ounce of—”

  Sister Jacqueline cleared her throat rather loudly. “Mrs. Jones. Ranting will do you no good. I suggest that you exercise the virtue of patience instead.”

  “I am the freaking patient!” Renie cried. “And I’m not a patient patient.”

  “I gather not,” Sister Jacqueline said mildly, then turned to Judith and spoke almost in a whisper. “If someone is discharged tomorrow, we might be able to move you to a different room.”

  Judith tried to smile. “It’s fine, Sister. Honestly. I’m used to her. She’s my cousin.”

  The nun drew back as if Judith had poked her. “Really!” She glanced from Judith to Renie and back again. “Then patience must be one of your outstanding virtues.”

  Judith looked sheepish. “Well…Many things in life have taught me patience. In fact, my cousin really doesn’t—”

  A tall, thin middle-aged man who looked vaguely familiar tapped diffidently on the open door. “Sister?” he said in an uncertain voice.

  The nun stepped away from Judith’s bed. “Yes?”

  “I’m worried,” the man said, removing his thick glasses and putting them back on in a nervous manner. “My brother isn’t getting any rest. There are way too many visitors and deliveries and I don’t know what all. I thought since Margie volunteers at the hospital, she’d keep things under control.”

  “I haven’t seen Mrs. Randall since Mr. Randall was in the recovery room,” Sister Jacqueline replied. “Even though the post-op news was very good, she seemed downcast. Perhaps she went home to rest.”

  “I hope not.” The man who appeared to be Bob Randall’s brother gave a shake of his head. “There’s supposed to be a big snowstorm moving in. She might get stuck at the house.” He uttered a heavy sigh. “Poor Margie. She’s always downcast. I guess it’s just her nature.”

  The nun turned back to Judith, but avoided looking at Renie, who wore a mutinous expression. “Excuse me, I must get things straightened out. Keep drinking those liquids, both of you. Come along, Mr. Randall. Jim, is it?” She put a firm hand on Jim Randall’s elbow and steered him out into the hall. “I agree, too much excitement isn’t good for…”

  Her voice faded as they moved down the hall. Renie picked up a tiny digital clock from her nightstand. “It’s going on five. I haven’t eaten since last night. When do they serve around here?”

  “I thought you hurt so much,” Judith remarked, plucking listlessly at the white linen sheet. “Good Cheer Hospital” had been stitched in blue on the hem, but the letters had worn away to leave only “Goo . .h.er Ho.p…”

  “I do,” Renie said, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t be hungry.”

  Before Judith could respond, Dr. Alfonso reappeared, now dressed in blue jeans, a denim shirt, and a black leather jacket. “You’re looking a bit brighter, Mrs. Flynn,” he said, though his own voice was weary. “Let’s take a peek at that dressing.”

  “When do we eat?” Renie asked in a petulant tone.

  “After a bit,” the surgeon replied without taking his eyes off the loose bandage. “We’ll get the nurse to change that. How’s the pain?”

  “Awful,” Renie broke in. “Whatever happened to Demerol?”

  “It’s bearable,” Judith responded bravely. “Though it hurts quite a bit to make even the slightest move.”

  “We’ll take care of that, too,” Dr. Alfonso said with a tired smile. “Now let’s talk about your rehab—”

  “How can a person rehab,” Renie demanded, “when his or her arm feels like it fell off? In fact, I think it did. Do you want to check the floor for me?”

  “We’ll have you try to sit up tomorrow,” the doctor said to Judith. “Maybe later in the day, we’ll see if you can take a few steps.”

  “That sounds next to impossible right now,” Judith said, though her weak smile tried to convey courage. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’ll do my worst if somebody doesn’t put something besides corn syrup in this IV,” Renie snarled.

  With shoulders slumped, Dr. Alfonso started to turn away from Judith. “I’ll be by in the morning to—”

  His words were cut short by screams and a large thud from nearby. Judith stiffened in the narrow bed and Renie’s expression went from grumpy to curious. Dr. Alfonso picked up his step, but was met by a petite Asian nurse in a fresh white uniform and cap.

  “Come, please, Doctor,” the nurse urged in an anxious voice. “Something’s happened to Mr. Randall.”

  “Randall?” Dr. Alfonso echoed, following the nurse out into the hall. “Dr. Garnett’s patient?”

  Judith’s jaw dropped. Surely not another local celebrity had succumbed at Good Cheer Hospital. She pricked up her ears, trying to catch the nurse’s fading reply.

  “Not Bob Randall,” she said. “It’s his brother, Jim. He suddenly collapsed and is unconscious.”

  Renie made an airy gesture of dismissal with her left hand. “Maybe he’s dead. Can anybody around here tell the difference?”

  Judith stared incredulously at her cousin. “That’s not funny.”

  Renie’s face fell as she realized the enormity of what she had just said. “No,” she agreed, a hand to her head. “It’s not.”

  THREE

  IT WAS ALMOST a quarter of an hour before the cousins learned what had happened to Jim Randall. A simple faint, it seemed, according to the Asian nurse, whose name tag identified her as “Chinn, Heather, R.N.”

&nb
sp; “He’s so different from his brother, the football player,” Heather Chinn said as she adjusted Renie’s IV. “They look alike, sort of, but they don’t act like brothers, let alone twins.”

  “Twins?” Judith said, comparing the gaunt, pale Jim Randall with the robust, suntanned Bob. “As in identical?”

  Heather shrugged and smiled. She had matching dimples in a perfect heart-shaped face. “I don’t know about that. Their mannerisms are really at opposite ends, too. Mr. Jim is so shy and doesn’t seem to have much self-esteem. Mr. Bob is full of life and confidence. He’ll be out of here in no time.”

  “What made Mr. Jim pass out?” Judith inquired as the nurse added more painkiller to her IV.

  Heather shrugged again. “Stress, maybe. Worrying about his brother. Though I don’t think Mr. Jim is very well. He’s had several tests to determine what’s wrong, but…” She finished with the IV and grimaced. “I shouldn’t gossip like that. It’s unprofessional, and I’m merely speculating.”

  The pain was beginning to ebb. Judith moved in the bed, her gaze following Heather Chinn as she tried to make Renie more comfortable.

  “You’d have more room,” Heather said in a pleasant, reasonable voice, “if you’d put some of these…items in the drawers of your nightstand.” Her slim fingers pointed to the paperback book, two magazines, pack of gum, roll of breath mints, several spring fashion catalogues, and a small grinning doll with an equally small suitcase.

  “Don’t touch Archie,” Renie warned as Heather started to move the doll. “He stays with me. My husband got him as a good luck charm. Archie loves hospitals.” Renie grasped Archie’s tiny hand. “Don’t you, Archie? See how cheerful he is? Archie always looks cheerful.”

  While Judith was accustomed to Renie and Bill’s proclivity for talking to inanimate objects, including their car, Heather Chinn wasn’t. The nurse looked askance.

  Judith decided to intervene before Heather recommended committing Renie to the mental health wing. “I don’t suppose,” Judith said in a manner that only suggested a question, “you had either Joan Fremont or Joaquin Somosa as patients.”