The Children's Ward

by Patricia Wallace

  “I don’t know…” her frown deepened, “it might make it worse.”

  “Well, you know your stomach better than I do. But try to eat some lunch later. You can get sick from not eating, too.”

  “That doesn’t feel like this . . . like someone is squeezing and twisting my stomach.” She rubbed her abdomen. “It feels terrible.”

  “I know it does.” He patted her hand.

  Tessi blinked and brought her hand up to her face, shielding her eyes. “It hurts now,” she said. “It hurts.”

  Joshua sat at the desk in the nurse’s station, finishing the admitting orders. The nurse was stocking the medication cabinet, talking quietly with the pharmacy clerk as they went over the drug list.

  Quinn stood at the doors, looking into the ward through the observation window. Abigail was sitting upright, facing the other children.

  It looked almost as if she were keeping watch.

  Nine

  Abigail did not mind being taken out of the ward for the EEG. Visiting hours only reminded her that she had no one coming to visit her and she did not want anyone feeling sorry for her.

  Even at the hospital in Baltimore, less than twenty minutes away from her home, she was always the child with the fewest visitors. One time her second grade teacher came and brought a construction paper card signed by her classmates. She knew that it was all the teacher’s idea and that none of the kids really cared if she was in the hospital, although if she died they might feel differently.

  The teacher had only stayed for ten minutes. Abigail did not blame her for leaving so soon, but after she left it was somehow harder than usual to wait out the remaining time until visiting hours were over. She did not much like the sense of expectancy that the visit evoked in her; for weeks afterward she waited, in vain, for the teacher to come back.

  Her grandmother came when she was feeling well enough. She would pull a chair up to the side of the bed and settle herself in to listen to the other visitors’ conversations. She said little to Abigail.

  After a while Abigail began to request that the curtain be pulled around her bed when the visitors began to arrive. She could still hear them, but she did not have to see their faces or endure their pitying looks.

  Tessi’s parents arrived just as she was being helped into a wheelchair. They stood on opposite sides of the bed, each holding one of Tessi’s hands. Tessi’s father smiled at her as she was wheeled past the bed.

  Russell was still asleep. A man stood at the foot of the bed watching him sleep. He looked like Russell, she thought.

  She was relieved when they were through the double doors and on their way. With luck, the EEG would take until after visiting hours. She crossed her fingers.

  It was breezy outside but not too cool and she breathed in the fresh air. It was snowing back home, another thing she did not miss at all. Everyone was always making such a fuss about the seasons, how the west coast missed out on nature’s illustration of time passing.

  She did not agree. Winter was something to be gotten through back home. This was another world entirely.

  She was very still as the EEG technician applied the electrodes to her head. It was a familiar procedure by now; attach the electrodes, snap in the leads, and the command to close her eyes and relax. Later they would ask her to breathe rapidly until her fingers tingled— hyperventilation, they called it—and then they would flash the bright lights in her eyes.

  For now she rested.

  It was after three when they started back to the ward. She hoped the afternoon nurse was strict about enforcement of the visiting hours which ended at three. Some nurses were very lax about it, feeling perhaps that as long as the family of a patient remained, that patient would make few demands on the nurse’s time.

  The inconsistency of making rules and not enforcing them bothered Abigail.

  Breakers of the rules were often not penalized or punished, but even worse, in her mind, was that those who followed the rules were even more often not recognized as being keepers of the rules. No one acknowledged their obedience.

  It made her wonder whether any of the things she did right mattered to anyone but herself.

  Ten

  It was late afternoon by the time they finished the grand tour of the hospital grounds and headed back toward the main building. The lobby was full of people and Joshua was stopped three times before they made it back to his office.

  “So…what do you think of Valley Memorial?” he asked, shutting the office door and looking at her expectantly.

  “I think I’ll get lost the first time I go anywhere by myself.”

  “I still get lost on occasion,” he said, laughing. “But they always find me.”

  “I’m impressed; I had no idea the hospital was so well-equipped diagnostically.”

  “We receive a great deal of private funding which allows us to acquire the technology as soon as it receives government approval.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a couple of patients to see up on medical, so why don’t you take a break and then meet me back here at five?”

  “I’d be glad to assist you with the patients,” Quinn said.

  “Not necessary. These are private patients I’m checking for another doctor. Besides, we might have to wait for Courtney. Go have an early dinner…take a break.”

  Her new apartment was two miles from the hospital and she decided that a quick shower and a change of clothes would do her more good than a cafeteria dinner. The refrigerator was empty— it hadn’t even been turned on—but she wasn’t hungry anyway.

  She moved the suitcases into the bedroom and then had to search for the box with the towels. The movers had stacked all of the boxes in a corner of the living room and the one she wanted was, naturally, near the bottom of the pile.

  By the time she was showered and dressed it was four-thirty. She looked reluctantly at the bed—a nap would have been nice—and then locked up, leaving a light on so that the apartment would not seem quite so empty when she came home.

  With any luck, it would be a busy evening and she wouldn’t have time to think about anything but work.

  Eleven

  “Mr. Delano, I understand you wanted to speak to me,” Joshua said, extending his hand.

  Frank Delano stood, his face lined with worry.

  “I want to get it clear in my mind what is going to happen to my boy.”

  “We’re going to try and help him…”

  “You told me before, there’s nothing to be done.”

  “I said surgery wouldn’t help him, Mr. Delano, but there are other alternatives.”

  “To make him walk again?”

  “I can’t promise anything at this point…”

  “I don’t want him put through any more pain.” The big man’s face was drawn tight. “He’s just a kid, he shouldn’t have to be hurt like that.”

  “At this point, we’re not planning anything invasive. After we complete the work-up, we might try some new forms of therapy.”

  “But will it hurt him?” The muscles in Delano’s throat worked as he sought to maintain control. “I don’t want him hurt.” He looked away, watching people pass through the lobby, and took a deep breath.

  “Neither do I. But,” Joshua repeated, “I think I can help him.”

  Delano nodded, his eyes still searching other faces for some indefinable sign that this was right. Finally, he looked at Joshua.

  “Russell is all I have,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

  “I know.”

  “If you can help him…”

  “I may be able to at least ease his pain,” Joshua said, “and we’re learning more about spinal cord injuries every day. I’ll do everything I can…for both of you.”

  “No, I…I’ll handle what I have to…Russell is what matters.”

  “Russell may be stronger than you think. A lot of these kids do better than adults in the same situation.”

  “My boy’s a fighter,” Delano said, smiling grimly. />
  “He’s that and more. I have a great deal of respect for your son, Mr. Delano, and I want to give him every possible chance.”

  Delano ran a callused hand through his short-cropped hair. “I’d appreciate,” he said, voice breaking, “anything you can do.”

  Joshua watched Delano cross the lobby, back straight and walking with obvious determination. Russell came by his perseverance honestly, Joshua thought.

  There would be no pain inflicted upon Russell Delano in the name of medical progress. He wasn’t sure how much the program would help the boy, but he would not allow it to harm him.

  Twelve

  “Oh, look at you, your dress is all wrinkled,” Tiffany White said, brushing at Courtney’s skirt.

  “I told you not to lie down like that.”

  “Come on,” David White said, standing to the side of the car and watching as his wife attempted to hand-smooth the material. “We’re late.”

  “She can’t go in looking like this.” Tiffany straightened up and turned to her husband. “Get her suitcase out of the trunk and let me see if I can find something less wrinkled.”

  “Tiff, if we’re not out of here in an hour, we can forget about cocktails…”

  Courtney stood silently, looking across the parking lot toward the hospital building.

  “I want her to look nice,” Tiffany said, absently stroking her daughter’s blond curls. Her own hair was the same color but it took two hours at the hairdresser every three weeks to keep it that way.

  “She’s being admitted to a hospital,” David said, “not dressing for a debutante ball.” He tapped the face of his watch with his index finger. “And we are going to be very late.”

  “All right, but if we run into anyone we know and she looks like this…”

  “Everyone who is anyone is already at the party,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  The admitting clerk fastened the hospital ID bracelet around Courtney’s wrist hurriedly. It was a quarter after five—five o’clock was the end of her shift—and she was anxious to leave.

  The paperwork was done, consent for admission signed, and wristband attached. All that remained was the entry of Courtney White’s name, patient number, and diagnosis into the computer. About five more minutes of work, she calculated.

  It didn’t help that the child’s father refused to sit down, pacing, instead, in the narrow confines of the admitting cubicle. Or that every other minute he made a point of looking at his watch.

  She knew what time it was; she was on overtime.

  The little girl, in contrast, sat quietly in her chair, hands in her lap. She had not said anything during the entire procedure.

  She entered the data, double-checking the patient number, and reached for the phone to call the volunteer desk. With any luck, someone would be available to take the little girl over to the ward.

  Listening to the phone ring, she watched as the mother pulled at the material of the little girl’s dress, stretching the fabric across the bias, attempting, apparently, to remove a series of wrinkles which encircled the skirt.

  “What a lovely child,” the volunteer said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and peering at the little girl.

  Twin smiles appeared momentarily on the parents’ faces.

  “You could do us an enormous favor,” Dave White said, “and take her to her room. We have an urgent engagement that we’re already late for…”

  “Well,” the volunteer said brightly, “that’s what I’m here for.”

  “Courtney,” Tiffany said, “we’ll see you tomorrow after you’re all settled in.”

  “Bye, baby,” her father said, mussing her hair.

  She watched them leave, her face expressionless.

  Thirteen

  Quinn ran her finger along the x-rayed image of Russell’s spine, narrowing her eyes in concentration.

  “That’s the first film,” Joshua said, “taken in emergency. You can see the degree of soft tissue swelling.”

  “Where was the point of impact?”

  “Here, in the thoracic spine.” He pointed. “Between T-11 and T-12.”

  “How long was this after he fell?”

  “Maybe thirty minutes.”

  “I don’t see a fracture.” She removed the first film from the lighted screen and hung another. Again she ran her finger down the spine. “He’s still hyperesthetic?”

  Joshua nodded. “Extraordinarily so. But…”

  “Yes?”

  He shook his head. “I keep thinking it must be something I’ve missed. I’ve looked at these films hundreds of times, trying to find an answer…why his symptoms don’t match his injury.”

  She turned off the viewing screen and put the films into their manila jackets. “Sometimes they just don’t match, particularly with children.”

  “I know you’re right…” His pager began to beep and he went to the phone while Quinn looked through the hard copy images of Russell’s spine CT exams.

  “Courtney’s here finally,” Joshua announced, hanging up the phone. “Let’s do the admitting exam and that’ll be it for today.”

  “I was worried about you,” Joshua said, taking the thermometer from Courtney’s mouth.

  Courtney, who had remained silent during the examination, looked up. “Why?”

  “I know what it’s like to be sick when you’re away from home.” When she did not respond, he continued: “When I was a kid, we had a family tradition; we’d wait all year for vacation and then I’d get sick the second day. I got the measles in Florida, chicken pox at the Grand Canyon, and the year we went to Hawaii, I developed appendicitis. My mother always said that’s why I became a doctor, because I equate hospitals with vacation.”

  Courtney regarded him seriously, her dark green eyes giving nothing away. After a moment she turned onto her side, away from him, and pulled the covers up to her neck.

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” she said, “just leave me alone.”

  It was already dark outside when they left the ward and Quinn shivered in a sudden gust of wind. The faintest of sounds, like glass breaking, floated in the air.

  Fourteen

  Her stepmother answered the phone in the same emotionless voice that she’d used since Julie died, and Quinn, for a moment, was tempted to hang up without speaking.

  Then in the background she heard her father’s voice, and heard the hope in his voice as he asked who it was.

  “Carol, it’s Quinn,” she said clearly.

  “Quinn.” A hesitation. “How are you?”

  “Fine…getting settled in.” She could hear a chair scrape in the background and pictured her father, rising from the kitchen table to come to the phone. “How are you and Dad?”

  Again, that hesitation. “As well as can be expected. Your father is painting the back bedroom.”

  Julie’s bedroom. Why didn’t she just say it?

  “Is Dad there?”

  No answer, just suddenly her father was on the phone.

  “Quinn honey,” he said, and her heart ached at the sound of loneliness in his voice.

  “Dad.” She swallowed hard and took a breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier…”

  “Don’t worry about it. I know you’re busy.”

  Never too busy for you, she thought, but lately that hadn’t been true.

  “Anyway, I’m here now, and as soon as I get everything into some kind of routine, I’ll be able to come home for a weekend every once in a while.”

  “Good, good. And Christmas? You haven’t been home for Christmas since…” his voice faded.

  “I might have to work this Christmas.”

  “Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

  “Me too.” She felt dangerously near tears.

  The silence lengthened between them but it was somehow not empty. Quinn closed her eyes and listened intently, hearing love and acceptance. Minutes passed.

  “Dad, I’d better go now, I’ve got an early
start in the morning.”

  “Take care of yourself,” he said.

  “I love you, Dad.”

  She hung up the phone and sat in the darkened room, waiting for the tightness in her throat to subside.

  She thought of everything she should have said to her father. But what could she say to heal her family’s wounds? How could she confront her stepmother’s masked anger? Her own feeling of guilt?

  Despite her work with troubled children, she had not been able to help Julie. She had not heeded the cry for help. She had done…nothing. And Julie was dead.

  Fifteen

  Abigail awoke. The ward was dark and silent, and for a moment she was unsure of why she had woken up.

  Then she felt the tingling in her hands. She raised her right arm, bringing her hand to her face and resting her fingertips on her temple.

  The feeling persisted. The vibration matched her pulse and it began to spread, moving up her arm to the shoulder before spreading across her back and chest. It radiated through her until her entire body was suffused.

  She was not frightened. She had imagined many times how it must be to die and her curiosity was stronger than her fear. If this was dying, it was not unpleasant at all.

  Her grandmother had told her some things about dying, about her mother, who chose not to live.

  It had frightened her then, the thought of closing her eyes and never opening them again. Of the space left vacant…the finality of it all. Where would her thoughts go, when she died?

  Little by little, when the mood struck her, her grandmother would tell her about how it had been. Usually the mood struck her when she’d had some wine with dinner, and some after.

  Death, invited, had taken her mother in a frenzy of blood and pain. She had cut her wrists…sawed at them. The room had been splattered with blood, her grandmother said. They thought that she had grown tired of waiting, frustrated by her wounds which the doctor later said would not have proved fatal. Somehow, she’d found the desperation to plunge the knife into her body.