“YOU PICKED ORANGE” Chapter 41 by SSK
“The Meeting, Part One”
Or: “Welcome to Thunderdome. Two Women Enter.
One Woman Leaves."
While I was thrilled with K's new PT, in the Gym, and the OT, which worked out his finer neuro skills (hand-eye coordination, using his fingers for increasingly tiny tasks like picking up teeny little metal pegs and putting them into holes in a pallette full of little tiny holes, getting that right arm to make it higher than his own shoulder, etc), what happened with K and his NEW new roommate, on only the second day of that new roommate, made me choleric. When I heard about this... incident, it felt as if Goddess herself had come down, opened up my skull, removed the 'INCREDIBLY INFURIATED, want to rip, tear KILL' areas of my brain, and replaced them with a 'BE DEADLY, BUT BE COOL" app.
Fury on ice. That was me on day two. (Hold on a moment, my heart rate has just zinged up to about 200 and there's a chipmunk staring at me. No, really. Outside my office window, a chipmunk is hanging on the screen and peering in, as if to say “Whassa matter? You upset? Can I have a peanut? The size of a mini-van?")
Two days. Only two days after Poor Bill (who, if you missed it, was taken to a real place of healing and came back to Hellcare in about three weeks, but he was in another area of the... Asylum. We did see him, exchanged pleasantries, and I was glad to see him doing so much better) Kimit had another human-sized package delivered to his room.
This poor gentleman, “Harry”, about 75 years of age, lived alone, and had apparently forgotten to eat and drink water in a pretty damned hot summer, and had collapsed. Fortunately his son found him relatively quickly (within hours) but The Big Wigs at the hospital kept him until they'd ruled out any one of blecchy things it could have been, and so landed on dehydration and forgetting to eat.
Harry did not say one single word to anybody for the first 48 hours he was there. He rolled onto his left side and stared at the wall, but, for some reason, had the golf channel on (there's a golf channel??), constantly, MOS (midout sound, it's from the early days of film, which had a lot of Europeans and Jews, and it was their way of saying “Non-talkie” motion picture OR “Just act, we'll put in sound later”). Harry, we figured, was not long for this world.
His skin hung in thin strips; he spoke to no one. His lunch meal, delivered to his room, was inevitably eaten by his only visitor, his son (who always, conveniently, showed up at lunchtime.... ucch) but at least Harry he didn't stink.
However... being too quiet? Being NOT a nuisance? That got Harry, Harry's nurse, the day shift nursing assistant in big trouble. With a capital Trub.
Oh, and it also nearly killed my husband.
Here it is: on his second joyous day at Hellcare, Harry was brought back to the room in his wheelchair, (whence came he I do not know, sire), and parked next to his bed, at about 6 p.m. (I was already home feeding the critters.) Before the aide left, Harry asked if she could help him to the restroom. She patted his shoulder (all this detail coming from Kimit, btw, who is also a writer, remember, and... he remembers) and said someone would be in in a moment to help him, and off she went.
5 HOURS after Harry had been abandoned by that aide, and by Kimit's estimation, Harry had buzzed for the nurse at least 10 times, and the same with Kimit, Harry was still in the wheelchair, with a possibly fatally full bladder.
Finally, at eleven P.M., Kimit could no longer stand this egregious failure in patient care, and Harry's pathetic, tiny moans of pain, and got out of bed and walked, in his bare feet, his intention to go to the nursing station and scream until someone came and helped this poor man.
He was nearly killed in the attempt. See, a human bladder can be held in check for just so long, and then, sploosh, thar she blows. And in Kimit's effort to get this man help, he did not know that Harry had finally let 'er fly and now Harry, his chair, and the FLOOR were covered with urine. Kimit slipped, but managed to stay on his feet by grabbing the bureau on Harry's side of the room. He splopped out to the hallway, grabbed some towels from the linen cart, did his best to anchor that still-numb right foot on one towel (the left was easy) and shuffled down to the nurses station.
Where he found five nurses and two attendants laughing and joking and eating roast pheasant and being highly entertained at the fact that the call light board was flashing IN EVERY ROOM.
Once more, Kimit was not well pleased. He banged his not inconsiderable sized fist on the counter, which, amazingly, got them to shut the fuck up and look at him. Kimit told the tale: Harry, 6 p.m., parked in their room after Harry had asked for help to the toilet, and then had been totally ignored for FIVE hours until his urine hit the fan. And the floor.
Where Kimit slipped in it, and he said, loudly, “If you don't get someone in there RIGHT NOW I WILL CALL THE POLICE!!”
They all rushed from the station, to K's room. One aide remained behind. Kimit glared at him. “Well?” asked Kimit. The aide said, quite rightly, “I presume you need your feet washed, Kimit?” and Kimit let this guy wash his feet, guide him back to his room, and while the RN's and CNA's cleaned up the floor, the chair and Harry, and got Harry in bed, the aide got Kimit back to his own bed.
When I heard about this the next day?
The Pompeiians had it good in comparison.
(End Part One of Two)