Room for Waiting



We have a fairly small hospital, so there’s only two waiting rooms. One at admissions and one for surgery, maternity, emergency and all the recovery rooms.

We all crowded in there. Chrissy, me, Chip’s whole family.

We didn’t talk, much. They barely acknowledged Chrissy, and never looked at me. Not even a thank you for the call.

We were not included in the conversations when the doctor came out to talk to the family.

Lucky for us, sylph hearing was more than a match for a whispered conversation thirty feet away.

She crawled up my shirt to whisper in my ear that the cuts were superficial, a mild concussion had knocked him out, and something internal might have been bruised.

I nodded and put an arm over Chrissy’s shoulder so Electra could whisper in her ear.

Sunday night was long. Monday morning, most of the Obriens had to go move cattle. Something about their herd being in a rented pasture and they absolutely had to be out today.

So all the men went in and told him to obey the doctors and nurses and get better soon, then went off. Mrs. Obrien stayed.

My and Chrissy’s moms showed up with breakfast from McDonalds. They brought plenty, assuming that some of Chip’s other friends would be there.

They had called the school to tell them where we’d all be and Mr. Bower promised to make an announcement.

Mom turned out to know Mrs. Obrien, and gave some of the breakfast to her. They found out she had no car and offered her a ride home for a change of clothes.

I suddenly became very aware of how grungy my clothes felt.

Mom told me that there were two changes of clothes for me and for Chrissy in my car. And then handed four sylph-leotards to Electra.

Chip was off limits to everyone but immediate family Monday night. His dad and brothers came back after dark. They’d moved half the herd and got a visit in. They went back home for an early start on Tuesday. We still waited.

The night nurse was Mrs. Poncetti. We’d babysat for her a dozen times or more. So she wasn’t TOO angry when she woke me up at midnight to hand me my sylph and say, “Visiting hours are over, even for teensy visitors.”

Electra looked properly ashamed while we were dressed down. Once the nurse left, though, she smiled. “She saw me an hour ago, but didn’t do anything until the end of her shift!”

“How is he?” Chrissy asked.

“Bruised all to Hell,” Electra said. “But confident he’ll be walking out of here by Friday.”

“Men,” Mrs. Obrien muttered. I hadn’t known she was awake. But if I had to judge, that was a pretty proud smile she was sporting.

Tuesday, Chip’s mom came out and walked up to me. “He wants to know if one of his friends will come in and… help him.”

“That would be you,” I told Chrissy.

“He wants help peeing!” Electra shouted.

Oh. That would not be Chrissy.

I went in. Chip was trying to get out of bed, and trying to keep his hospital gown on. They were mutually antagonistic goals.

I stopped at the foot of his bed. “You know, the nurses want to see your pee. To see how much fluid you’re passing, and to see if it’s bloody.”

“How do you- Conrad?” He looked at the door. “Are… Are the guys here?”

“There’s me, there’s Chrissy, and there’s a sylph that can hear this conversation, like she heard the nurses.”

“Hi, Electra,” he said. “And hi, Chrissy.” Yeah, it was a given that Electra would pass that along.

“No guys?” he asked, then.

“No, but that’s understandable. Jocks fear hospitals.” He smiled, gave a half-laugh, and grabbed his side.

“You don’t?” he asked after a moment.

“I do, but I’m more afraid of Electra.” He laughed, gasping in pain. “Look, I know you don’t want to pee in your bed, but you have to use the urinal. If I help you to the toilet, will you sit there and pee in the plastic pee pitcher? Then we get you back to bed, THEN ring for the nurse, she holds it up to the light, everyone’s happy.”

“Okay,” he said, “if it’ll shut you up.” He held up his arm.

“That probably gave Electra some déjà vu.” I stood under his armpit and tried to find an unbruised spot to hold. “If you lift your gown before I close the door, I’m going to leave you there on the toilet,” I warned him. I counted to three. “Yes, Electra, sorry.”



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Index

43. Smitten By THe Kitten

45. Recuperation and Reconciliation