LOM Chapter 20. Hospitality

Peynbachs never showed on Friday, and the other doctors couldn’t tell me why. Instead, they decided to keep me in the hospital and give me IV antibiotics. I was pretty zonked from being up all night and feverish, so I dozed and slept the rest of the day.

Later that day I did a CT scan, which meant I had to drink a liter of contrast solution; it tasted like pineapple, with strong undertones of rubbing alcohol and rubber comb. It was a lot better than the bowel prep regimen, but still unpleasant. When I had that down, they waited for about an hour for it to move through my system, then wheeled me into a room with a large box in the center. I lay on a bed that protruded from the box, and the technician hooked up my IV to a tube that spiraled down from a bag of fluid.

“This is iodine contrast,” she told me. “When it goes in, you’ll feel warm all of a sudden. Don’t freak out. Can you roll over on your side?”

I did as I was told.

“I have to put in an enema of contrast, to make sure the rectum resolves on the scan.” She did so, and I felt the liquid squirt into me. It was cool and heavy – barium again, and I wanted it out. She told me I had to hold it until we finished the procedure.

The bed slid into the machine and it whirred and clicked as they took pictures of my insides. I had to hold my breath when a man’s voice in a cartoon face told me too, and after a round or two of this they injected the iodine.

For a moment I thought I had pissed myself, but then realized the warmth was spreading from the needle in my arm. I felt it rush into my heart, then out to all my body. I tasted burnt metal. In the chill of the hospital air, the iodine felt hot and alive inside my veins—like fever, if fever felt good. It only lasted moments.

When the tech was done she let me scurry to the bathroom, where I voided the contrast enema and then some. I waited for a few minutes for the transport guy to wheel me back to my room, where I fell asleep for a few minutes before waking and bee-lining again for the bathroom. The contrast had gone through me like quicksilver and I spent the rest of night back and forth from bed to toilet.

I finally fell asleep early Saturday morning. At 7 AM, the nurse woke me up. “Good morning, Mr. Peary!” she greeted me. She was a stocky woman with short blond hair and doughy skin.

“Who are you?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. My three hours or less of sleep had been far less than I needed or wanted. I was cranky.

“I’m Aileen—your nurse.” She pointed to her name, which she had written on the white board in my room along with the date and my doctor’s name.

“You’re like the third nurse I’ve had since I got here,” I said. “What happened to the others?”

“I’m the day shift nurse today,” she said. “I’ll be here until seven this evening.”

I sat up in the bed. “Is Dr. Peynbachs here?”

“No, not yet,” she said. “I’m just here to check your vitals.” She fastened the pneumatic cuff around my arm and put her thermometer to my ear. “Your fever is down quite a bit—it’s just over one hundred.”

“Can I go home?” I asked.

“Not until Dr. Peynbachs signs your discharge order.”

“When will he get here?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Aileen answered. She moved to the patient in the other bed, concealed behind the curtain across the room. “Good morning!” she said, but I didn’t hear a reply.

I sighed in frustration, and flopped down onto my pillow. My legs ached already from being stuck in bed, and the needle in my arm was driving me crazy. Every time I moved the arm, the adhesive tore at my skin and hair. After fidgeting for a bit, I fell asleep again.

I had been asleep maybe twenty minutes when someone else came into the room. “Good morning, Mr. Peary!” This time it was a short muscular white man wearing a lab coat.

“What the hell!” I gasped. “Can’t you people leave me alone?” I pulled the pillow over my head.

“Sorry, Mr. Peary,” said the man. “I’m Doctor Jonathan. I’m the resident today. I’m just doing morning rounds.”

“Couldn’t you do them somewhere else?” I asked.

“No, sorry,” he said. “I just have to check in—then you can go back to sleep.”

“Can I go home?” I asked.

“Not until Dr. Peynbachs has seen you,” said Jonathan.

“When will that be?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” said Dr. Jonathan. “I see your fever has come down—that’s good. We’ll keep you on the antibiotics for the time being.”

“Can’t I just leave?” I asked.

“No—that would be bad. If you leave without discharge orders, you’re considered ‘AMA’—against medical advice. Your insurance won’t pay for your visit if do that. You’re better off here—trust me.”

He left, and before I could fall asleep again the nutrition service brought in my breakfast—still clear liquids. I drank the salty chicken broth while it was still warm and the apple juice while it was still cold, but left the coffee and jello for later.

My dad showed up around 8:30. “Hey, Wesley, you’re up early. How do you feel?” I frowned and told him about my morning.

I was dead tired but the possibility that Peynbachs might show up kept me awake. Dad and I watched television most of the morning—fishing shows, since it was Saturday and nothing else was on. I had more clear liquids for lunch, and dad went home for his. Mom stayed with me for several hours in the afternoon, and Vicky stopped by for a few minutes. Aileen came in occasionally to check my vitals and refresh my antiobiotic drip, but otherwise made herself scarce. Dr. Cortland came again in the evening, but still didn’t know when Dr. Peynbachs might be coming. Soon it was late, and Aileen left. I had more clear liquids for dinner, and a black woman named Gladys took over for the night shift. Gladys took my vitals around 8 PM, then ordered a dose of diphenhydramine to put me to sleep. She woke me again around midnight for more vitals, and then Aileen woke me at 7 the next morning. I had more clear liquids for breakfast and watched news programs with dad. The liquids were still going right through me.

Mom came in after church and sat for a while, but I fell asleep again. Not long after I fell asleep, somebody knocked at the door. Mom got up to see who it was, and then showed them into the room. It was someone I had never met in my life. He was well-dressed and a bit older than my parents.

“Hi, Wesley,” he said. “I’m Chet from the deacons.”

“Who?”

He repeated himself, only louder. “Chet, from the deacons. Your mom passed along that you were ill, and I wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. I brought you some flowers and a card from the deacons.”

I had been in the hospital for more than two days, and not shaved or showered, except for a cowboy bath with washcloths and the no-rinse soap they gave me. I looked like hell, felt like death, and stank like poop – and I was in no mood to receive strange visitors.

“Welcome,” I said, none too convincingly.

Chet from the deacons set a coffee can holding a flower bouquet on the nightstand, and placed the card next to it.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like –” I almost said ‘shit’ – “like, uh, pretty bad.”

“Well, the whole congregation prayed for you today, so you’ll be feeling better in no time.”

“The whole congregation?” I asked.

“Yup,” said Chet, “your mom requested that we put your name in the ‘prayers of the people’. There’s almost three thousand people who’ve asked for your healing.”

I looked at mom.

“What?” she asked.

“Do almost all three thousand know that I have the squirts?”

Chet from the deacons flushed a little, and mom creased her brow. “Wesley! That was uncalled for.”

“Sorry,” I said, “I’m just not comfortable with the entire world knowing that I’m sick.”

“Why not?” Chet asked.

“I don’t know – it’s embarrassing,” I said.

“It’s the church; it’s our job to take care of one another, and do it without judging. So don’t worry about it, and let us know if there’s anything we can do.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Before we go, do you mind if we join in prayer?” he asked.

I couldn’t say no, not with my mom there. She stood on one side of the bed and Chet stood on the other, and each put a hand on my shoulder. Chet’s hand was heavy, and it felt like he was trying to press me into my mattress. He began his prayer with thanks for all of God’s wonderful gifts and praise for his glory, and I assume at some point my name was mentioned but I can’t say for sure because I fell asleep again.

Later that day Dr. Winesap showed up to tell me that they were going to do the colonoscopy the next morning, and then see about letting me go home. I was too tired to care.

League of Mortals by Duncan Cross is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.