The Bed Crank

          He could hear the nurse’s station but couldn’t see it.  His view was limited to a span no wider than the doorway of his room, which meant he could see only a small section of hallway.  If he looked at the wall towards his feet he could see the black screen of the television hanging halfway up and to his right the blinds covering the window that overlooked the parking lot.  This had become his visual life; all his viewing choices had come down to these options, so mostly he closed his eyes and just listened to the voices out at the nurse’s station.

          Over time, as I.V.’s were changed, pills handed out or bed linens changed he began to match faces to voices.  He learned who the players were in this real-life soap opera, and he knew who was good at their job, who was on the verge of being let go, and who controlled the power.  It hadn’t taken him long to figure out the codes announced over the hospital PA system.  Some, like code blue, were obvious, but a few others were tricky.  Paging Doctor Firestone to ER meant that a fire had broken out in the emergency room and all fire protection personnel were to report there immediately. 

          He was never impressed by the seemingly endless parade of doctors who would take just two or three steps in and ask how he was from across the room only to do a quick about-face, heading off to bill the next poor soul.  They were all useless in his opinion, a waste of education, time and money.  His long-time family doctor had retired some years back and with him went the only true physician he had known.

          Fortunately, however, Douglas Moore had more going for him than his visual world.  He had discovered early on that from the phone next to his bed he could directly dial any other hospital room.  There was no switchboard involved and because he wasn’t making outside calls there was no record kept.  Once the nurse had made her rounds Douglas was free to dial room numbers at random, strike up conversations about anything that popped into his head and for the most part, say anything he wanted.  The challenge was remembering what number he had dialed, just in case he came across someone he wanted to talk to a second time.

          Such was the case with number 1127.  She had a soft, calming voice with only the slightest hint of a southern accent.  The first time Douglas called her room and she spoke in that gentle way - he knew he wasn’t going to trick this one.  He wouldn’t pretend to be a doctor or some guy named Ned that he had invented from the billing department.  This time, for this one, he’d be himself and in just a matter of weeks they had formed a true relationship.  Not only had they established regular calling times, but she would sometimes call him.  On those occasions, when his phone rang, his entire demeanor changed.  He would perk-up, even smile just at the prospect of answering her call, and when they weren’t talking, he missed her.  No matter what subject they covered, no matter who was pro and who was con, it didn’t matter.  He was in love.

          One morning, as the nurses made their rounds, he asked the candy striper pushing a cart if she could get him something that showed where things were.  He wanted a floor plan of the hospital.  He was hopping to casually make his way to 1127 and finally meet this person who had lifted his spirits and caused him to laugh once again.  Failing that, he’d attempt to meet her at the cafeteria and they could perhaps enjoy lunch together.

          His request was soon answered.  The candy striper brought him a copy of the latest hospital brochure, which included a fold-out showing the proposed renovation.  There was to be a much larger emergency room with an X-Ray lab attached.  A new wing was being added with its own Physical Therapy Department.  Douglas leafed through the pages hoping to see room numbers, hoping to get a clue as to where he was in relation to 1127 but nothing in the pamphlet identified room numbers.

          It wasn’t until the following day when once again the candy striper came in with a stack of magazines and newspapers for Douglas to pick from.  He pulled the brochure from under his phone has asked the girl to show him where room 1127 would be.  She set her magazines and papers down on the visitor chair and took the pages from Douglas.  After turning the page around twice, and herself half-way around, as if getting her bearings, she pointed to a location at the far end of the last page.

          “It’s here, on the 3^rd floor.  That’s the Psych Ward.  I believe there is only one lady in the ward at present, and she’s being transferred to a state facility for the criminally insane.  But we’re not supposed to talk about it.”

       She tried to hand the brochure back to Douglas but he didn't reach out.  A spark had left him along with his smile.  He reached over and clicked on his television and with the volume still muted he watch a helicopter view of the morning freeway back-up.

       Not long after the news was over Douglas clicked off the set.  From the corner of his eye he noticed a nurse enter his room, but he didn't bother to look up and wasn't in any mood to be fussed with.  

     "Its time to check your meds, Douglas"

     Douglas didn't have to look at her.  He knew that voice, that soft, southern accent, and none of the nurses had ever called him Douglas. His heart began to race as he felt a hand take hold of his but suddenly, remembering what the candy striper had said, a panic set in and his monitor began a rapid beeping...  until it didn't. 

   Z. Corwin