As I advised in May's post, this new blog entry consists entirely of a piece of my recent fiction. Though I've produced many short stories since my childhood days, I've very rarely attempted (always unsuccessfully) to get published. Consequently I get very little feedback on my efforts. So if you take the time to read this short piece and are so inclined, a few words of criticism would be appreciated. Be harsh. I'm seeking illumination, not affirmation.
As always, I encourage readers to comment here. If you would prefer to comment privately, you can email me at gerardwickham@gmail.com.
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| Francis Bacon, Head VI, Oil on Canvas, 1949 |
Crisis
Click. Click. Click.
Elizabeth was in her mother's kitchen fiddling with the stove she was forbidden to touch. She wasn't certain why she was violating the long-established prohibition, and she felt vaguely confused and uneasy.
Click. Click. Click.
Though the igniter was clicking away, the burner did not light and gas continued to collect at the stove top. She knew she should shut off the valve and wait for the gas to dissipate but was determined to get a flame.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
The clicking seemed to be getting louder and more insistent. This was taking way too long, and far too much gas had flowed into the burner. Now it was inevitable that the flame would ignite in a blinding flash, the kind that singes eyebrows and rattles pots and pans. A substantial explosion seemed a real possibility. She started to panic.
Upon opening her eyes, she was unable to determine her location. She was seated, her back stiff and aching. The glass that surrounded her was glazed with condensation permitting only a dull gray light to permeate the interior. A thick blanket, tucked about her chin, concealed her limbs. A feeling of cold, probably the most extreme she had yet to experience in her lifetime, gripped her body, and a miasma enveloped her mind. Where the hell was she?
Click. Click. Click.
She turned to her left. A key ring grasped tightly in a fist was beating at the window, a muffled voice brayed urgently, and, through the clouded glass, she made out an indistinct face. She lowered the window just a crack.
“Liz! Don't tell me...”
“What?” Elizabeth rubbed her swollen eyes. “No, Ann, I'm just...”
“You can't. This is impossible.”
“Can't what? I'm just taking a break.”
“Bullshit!” Ann objected.
“Really. I had only a few hours between shifts. It wasn't worth the trip home.”
“God. You're living out of your car. This is madness.”
Elizabeth exhaled in surrender. “I considered setting up a tent in our yard, but there's still snow on the ground. This is fine.”
“You'll freeze to death.”
“No. I'm fine. Just gotta get out of there for awhile, or I'll go mad.”
“I understand. Really I do. But... this isn't reasonable.”
“Listen, Ann. This thing is bad... real bad. Did you hear Dr. Zalesny died over the weekend? I can't risk bringing it home to my family.”
Her brow furrowed with concern, Ann studied Elizabeth's weary features. “Okay. You'll be staying with me. Definitely not luxury accommodations, but I live alone and, let's face it, we're both equally at risk.”
“I couldn't ask that of you.”
“You're not. I'm insisting.”
Her face was a map etched with the lines of highways and rivers, entire zones tinted in hues of red and purple. A cluster of acne had blossomed beneath her nose, a flashback to her teen years, and a cold sore crowned her upper lip. There was a sheen to her flesh as if she had applied a coat of petroleum jelly to her face. Despite her improvised band-aid cushion, the bridge of her nose, where the goggles rested, was bruised and conspicuously discolored. She gratefully observed that several hanks of her greasy hair were draped over her features veiling the ugliness somewhat.
The image in the mirror shocked and repulsed her. She froze, gaping into the glass. Though never a knockout, Elizabeth had always looked after herself, hygiene and orderliness being of paramount importance to her. She wanted to look fresh and attractive, not flawless or hot. This stranger in the mirror confronted her, asserting a version of herself that violated the boundaries of her every expectation. She was absolutely disgusted.
At the same time, she felt elated to have the protective gear off, to touch surfaces unfiltered by a layer of latex, to breathe cool, unrecycled air. Though inured somewhat to the discomfit, the stifling warmth and the suffocating mask, she still relished the relief of being free, of experiencing sensations normally.
Exhaustion crept upon her and rapidly suppressed all of the emotions that had swelled within her mind just a few moments ago. Elizabeth knew she ought to prepare some hot, nutritious food. If she wanted to stay healthy and fulfill the absurdly demanding requirements of her job, she had to take care of herself... to eat well... to permit herself to relax... to escape the dark reality of work... to seek the solace of distractions. The image of a plateful of stir-fried vegetables strewn over a hill of brown rice materialized tangibly in her imagination, the aroma of sauteed greens filling her nostrils. Merely the thought of quietly reading a book while curled up on a comfortable chair consoled her. Of course it made sense to satisfy a few basic wants.
But her limbs were leaden, her mind submerged in a sea of fog and from time to time her eyelids closed of their own accord... only for a second or two surely. Her body was stating firmly that it could offer nothing more, that willpower must eventually succumb to physical necessity. “Just for twenty minutes or so,” she thought while unfolding the blanket draped across Ann's sofa back; however she knew that inevitably in just a few hours she would be roused from her sleep by her phone's alarm and begin preparing in the weak, blue light of dawn for another day of work.
“So can I leave now?” he rasped at her.
“Didn't they make it clear to you, Mr. Carbone? You're being admitted.” Elizabeth scanned his chart.
“That's ridiculous. I'm fine.”
Through the scratched plastic of her goggles, she examined her patient: the impeccably cropped salt and pepper hair, the aquiline nose, the freshly shaven jawline and the slim, muscular torso.
“You do know you tested positive? You're actually pretty sick.”
“Nonsense. I've got a stubborn cold.” He gasped then coughed uncontrollably for a while. Clearly choking back the cough, he brushed the tears from his eyes and composed himself. “Went to my doctor to get some pills and the nitwit sent me here. Never should have listened to him.”
“He did the right thing, Mr Carbone. You have all the classic symptoms.”
“Lou.”
“Excuse me?” She looked up from her paperwork.
“It's Lou.” He smiled at her almost devilishly. “You can call me, Lou.”
Good-naturedly, she scoffed at his flirtation. “Right, Mr. Carbone. I'll make a note of that.”
“Okay. I'll tell you what. You can keep me here a day or two, poke and prod me... siphon off my blood, if that's what floats your boat. But then I've got a trip to prepare for.”
“A trip?” Elizabeth was incredulous.
“Been set up for months. Going skiing with my posse next week.”
She referred to his chart again. Her patient was in his early sixties. “Seems a little late in the season for that.”
“It's peak in Utah now. Warm weather, clear skies and perfect snow. And the crowds are gone too. Been doing it every spring for nearly thirty years now.” He added confidentially, “Keep this from my ex, but it's always been the highlight of the year for me. I've already got my plane tickets and hotel reservation, so don't tell me a silly cold is going to put the kibosh on my plans.”
Elizabeth smiled lamely behind her mask. “We'll see what we can do.”
Her husband's image edged out of the frame and was replaced by a blurry, backlit shadow. She stared intently at the screen while the camera struggled to focus, then recognized her daughter's distorted features. She gulped.
“Mommy. Is that you?”
“Of course it's me, darling.”
“What happened to your face?”
“Nothing, dear. Can't you see me?” Elizabeth was confused for a moment, then it dawned upon her. “Oh, Charlie. Mommy's being very careful. I wear all sorts of things to keep me safe... kind of like a knight's suit of armor. It's really very, very good, but it makes my skin a little bit sore. The marks go away very quickly. Please don't worry, honey.”
“So you're not hurt?”
“No, Charlie, I'm fine.”
“Where are you then?”
Elizabeth hesitated a moment. “I'm actually very close to you. Not far at all.”
The child's eyes glistened. “Then why don't you come home?”
Elizabeth fought back the tears. She didn't want her daughter to see her crying. “I can't just yet, darling.”
“Why not? I miss you, Mommy.” One thin, glistening line appeared on her daughter's cheek.
Her husband's stern voice intruded from a distance. “Charlotte, we talked about this. You know your mother's taking care of sick people who need her help. She can't be with us now.”
“But I need her too, Daddy. I need her more than they do.”
Elizabeth felt her daughter's anguish. She heard the panic in the pitch of her words.
Her husband's exasperated sigh rasped through the speakers. “Remember you were going to be strong, Charlotte. You don't want to make your mother sad, do you?” he admonished her from off-camera.
“Charlie!” she exclaimed brightly. “Where's Iris? I need to see her too.”
“Can't,” the child answered.
“And why not?”
Her husband intervened again. “Sorry, Liz. She conked out right after dinner. I tried, but she was exhausted.”
Elizabeth did her best to hide her disappointment. “That's alright. I'll catch her next call.”
“Charlotte. It's time to say goodbye to Mommy,” he instructed her.
“But I just got on,” she sobbed.
“We'll talk again real soon, honey.” She smiled at her daughter.
“Promise?”
“Absolutely.”
“When are you coming home?”
“Soon.”
“You better. 'Cause Mandy never gets my hair right. Not ever.”
She felt the blood rush to her head. “Okay, honey. Now I need to talk to Daddy a second. Could you give us a little private time?” When she was sure her daughter had left the room, she cried out angrily, “Are you kidding me, Bill? Using a babysitter at a time like this?”
He reentered the frame. “Didn't have a choice, Liz. They wanted me in the office a couple days each week, and I got them to agree to one day every week or so.”
“You shouldn't be in the office at all!”
“Not if I want to keep my job. And it's not safe to bring the girls grocery shopping with me. Do you know Iris absolutely refuses to wear a mask? Just pulls it off.”
She couldn't accept this. “No, Bill. You don't realize how serious this is. Lots of people are dying.”
“I watch the news,” he objected.
“No. You don't understand. We're completely overrun. I've never seen anything like this.”
“I really do get it. But the schools are closed. Iris' daycare shut down two weeks ago. I don't have many options.”
“How could you make a decision like this without consulting me? Here I am exiled from my own family and you're bringing outsiders into our home. What's the point?”
“First of all, do you realize that you're impossible to reach? And I'm dealing with a situation here that I never could have imagined. Cut me a little slack. And Amanda isn't a stranger. She's been babysitting for us since Charlotte was just a baby.”
“Nothing against Mandy, but every time you allow a person into our home you're exposing yourself and the kids to everybody that person's been in contact with. Who knows what Mandy's been up to... how careful she's being? I imagine her campus is the perfect breeding ground for the virus.”
“Her college closed weeks ago. All the classes are online now. She was able to get tested and came up negative. And we're it. She doesn't babysit for any other families, and she wears a mask at our home. For Christ's sake! Have a little faith in me.”
She could hear in his tone of voice that he was getting worked up. “Okay, Bill. But please don't let your guard down.”
Lou smiled brightly as she entered the room. “Ah, the most beautiful nurse on the ward is paying me a visit.”
Elizabeth glowered at him in mock irritation. “Flattery won't get you out of here any sooner.”
“Honestly. If only I could turn back the clock...”
She studied his chart. “Hey, Lou. I need to talk with you.”
“Uh oh. Here's where she drops the hammer.”
She smiled sadly at him. “Your oxygenation level continues to drop... even with the nose piece. I think the ski trip won't be happening this year.”
He wheezed, then started coughing a dry, rasping cough. “Yeah. I sorta figured that out on my own.”
“Your lungs aren't able to pull in enough air. And you're still quite feverish.”
“It's one hell of a cold, but, don't you worry, I've gotten over worse.”
“It's pretty serious, Lou. I need you to understand that.”
“When I'm all better, I'm going to take you out for a nice dinner. Some place fancy and real expensive. Just to say thanks.”
A nonstop concert of the convulsive gasping of ventilators, the beeping of heart monitors and the ringing of alarms accompanied all of her activities throughout the workday. This was nothing new for a hospital, but now there were more machines and critical patients than she had ever known before. The noise was deafening. When absolutely overwhelmed, she would retreat to the semi-private room Lou had miraculously secured upon being admitted. He wasn't one of the kind of people with whom she usually associated. Elizabeth came from common, plain-speaking stock, and Lou was a character, the sort of colorful persona she couldn't understand and naturally mistrusted. His exaggerated talk and casual romancing would ordinarily have offended her, but, during those strange days, she craved the human connection that his bold familiarity provided. They had many intimate conversations. One evening, she even slipped into disclosing a litany of flaws she had discovered in her husband once they had married, a betrayal she would normally never have permitted herself. She was a little troubled. She had learned years ago that, while it's a good thing to care about a patient's welfare, it's disastrous to become too intensely attached. That would only lead to depression and burnout.
As she entered the room that afternoon, Elizabeth noticed a distinct change in Lou's appearance. The orbits of his eyes were clearly defined and shadowed with a dark, bruised, greenish discoloration. His features were sagging, his impeccably coiffed hair was now oily and disheveled, and his breathing was extremely labored.
“Hey Lou, are you getting enough air?”
Unaware of her presence, he started. “Oh, Liz. Don't sneak up on me like that.”
“Sorry, Lou. I don't think you're getting enough oxygen. I see you working hard to pull in breaths, but your lungs are so compromised they're unable to take in enough air. I'm becoming very concerned.”
“I'm fine,” he rasped.
“You're not fine, Lou. It's definitely in your lung tissue. Now it's a question of how your immune system is going to respond. I'm worried.”
He croaked out a chuckle. “Lies of the biased media.”
“What are you talking about?” she almost cried.
“Just a bunch of propaganda. I'm not scared.”
“Well, you should be.”
She stormed angrily out of the room.
“That's impossible!” she scolded.
“It's not impossible,” he responded. “It's reality.”
“So you're actually going to get on a plane?”
“I have no choice.”
“Of course, you have a choice. You can quit.”
Bill exhaled audibly. “Come on, Liz. We can't make ends meet on just your salary. You know that.”
“I'd rather we were broke and homeless than you and the kids get this thing. People are dropping like flies, Bill. They're talking about bringing in a refrigerated truck.”
“Let's not get overdramatic here. I'll be taking every precaution.” She pshawed in disgust. “We knew this was going to happen sooner or later. My company can't just leave its clients hanging. Some locations are in the middle of implementation...”
“How long?” she interrupted him.
“Not more than a week.”
“Are you kidding me? What about the girls?”
“I've got that all figured out. Amanda's going to stay here.”
“You can't ask her to do that.”
“I didn't. When I told her about your concerns, she offered. Said she and her parents are at each other's throats and our wi-fi's much better than theirs. Acted like we'd be doing her a favor. Honest!”
“I don't know, Bill. How can this possibly work?”
“The girls are thrilled to be doubling up. Amanda'll take Charlotte's bedroom.”
“I thought we agreed that you were going to stop making decisions solo.”
As she crossed the room's threshold, Elizabeth was hit with a tsunami of sound. The television's volume was turned way up. She glanced at the screen and saw, tucked behind a long, colorful counter, a group of individuals angrily ranting about some apparently pressing topic. Turning to Lou, she observed that his eyes were closed, seemingly in sleep.
“Poor Lou,” she mumbled under her breath. “Not only are you sick but now you have to be assaulted with that nonsense.”
She reached up to turn off the television, and his eyes popped open.
“Leave it on!” he commanded.
“How can you stand that, Lou? It's deafening.”
“Truth,” he wheezed.
She folded her arms and stared sorrowfully at him.
“I'm glad you're awake, Lou. I need to talk with you.”
A faint smile lit up his gaunt features as he struggled to speak. “Shoot, gorgeous.”
“I'm sorry to say your condition is worsening. Your immune system isn't beating this thing, and just working to breathe is exhausting you. You really should be on a ventilator at this point, but we have a problem. Our hospital never anticipated needing so many of these machines, so, for the time being, we're experiencing an extreme shortage. There are simply not enough ventilators to go around, and our administrators have determined to prioritize younger patients over older ones. Considering your excellent physical fitness, I think you would respond well if you just got a little help, but right now that isn't happening. This policy is absolutely ridiculous and I'm going to continue fighting on your behalf, but I believe you have a right to be informed of the situation.”
His face expressed such confusion that she wondered if he had understood a word she had said. He patted her hand reassuringly.
“Of course,” he said with real empathy, “You must take care of the young people first.” He panted momentarily. “And I'm really not that sick. Really.”
The weeks that followed were strange in that time seemed to slow to a crawl and yet passed in a blur of routine. Her work was so demanding that she seldom paused a moment to consider the scope of the catastrophe that was unfolding around her. One completed task offered no comfort but the call to move on to another. Although she attempted to pace herself through her workday, the critical needs of her patients imposed a sense of urgency upon her, culminating in a mad frenzy by her shift's end. Gurneys lined the hallways. Every available square foot was used to board patients. Now she flitted from bed to bed, jotting down information, making quick adjustments to equipment, replacing IVs and ensuring that airways remained clear. For most of her career, the death of a single patient during a shift was a significant occurrence; throughout the current crisis, it was uncommon for an hour to pass without losing at least one charge. People were slipping away all around her without family or friends to comfort them. She tried to fill that void, but the obligations of her work didn't permit her the flexibility to spend much time with individual patients. The situation was intolerable.
Making matters worse, she often volunteered to work extra shifts – not that she wanted the extra pay or believed that even in her extreme exhaustion she had that much to offer, but because she felt like an intruder in Ann's apartment and didn't want to exploit her kindness. Her life had devolved into the nightmare of the unanchored and the dispossessed.
For a period of a few days, Lou's condition appeared to stabilize. Even though he showed no evidence of improvement, Elizabeth was optimistic. Many of her patients had descended to a dire plateau only to rally within a few days and begin the slow climb to recovery. She had seen it happen often.
One morning while changing his IV, Elizabeth noticed Lou studying her activities.
“Good to see you more alert. Did they tell you that your numbers have been stationary for some time now? I think it's a good sign.”
“Of course,” he wheezed. “What I've been telling you all along. I'm doing great.”
She pursed her lips and drew them to the side. “I don't get it, Lou. Why can't you admit that you're terribly ill?”
“Because I'm not a puppet. They can't just pull my strings and make me dance.”
“Who are these people pulling your strings?”
“Reporters... and the eggheads... but mostly the politicians.”
“I admit I don't pay as much attention to current events as I should, but I can't see the connection between politics and your health.”
“It's all a show to make us think the sky is falling. They just want to shake people up... make them believe we're in a crisis, so everyone'll panic and grasp at straws.”
She paused for a moment to consider this. “So you don't believe this is real?”
“Not for a second. And I'm proud to say I never wore a mask... not once.”
A wave of pity flowed over her. “Oh, Lou. How could you?”
After that, Lou's condition deteriorated rapidly. The doctors believed that his immune system had gone into overdrive. Besides attacking healthy lung tissue, it apparently was targeting his kidneys and possibly his liver too. One of the hospital's physicians advised her that, if the heart became infected, the battle would be over very quickly.
One afternoon when she stopped by to visit, Elizabeth found Lou lying on his side, eyes open yet taking nothing in. She deliberately stepped into his line of vision, stooping to bring her face closer to his, but there was no glimmer of recognition. He was clearly exhausted, unable to connect with the surrounding world any longer. Elizabeth could only adjust his nose piece which had been tugged askew and monitor his vitals. She checked his IVs to be sure all was in order. Hesitant to leave his side, she lingered in the room, feeling completely ineffectual. The desire to penetrate his fog, establish a connection and assure him that he wasn't alone engulfed her, nearly crippling her.
For a day or two, he sank deeper into a nearly catatonic state. It became clear that Lou wasn't going to make a miraculous recovery, and Elizabeth tracked his status tirelessly to ensure that she would be at his side when his time came.
One morning while just starting her shift, she was pulled aside by her supervisor.
“He went into arrest twice and was resuscitated each time, late last night and again early this morning,” she informed her.
Elizabeth gasped.
“We won't do it again. It's just cruel at this point.”
Elizabeth started to argue, then reined herself in. She knew that this was the most humane course of action.
Even though she was needed elsewhere, Elizabeth remained in Lou's room throughout the morning. He looked terrible, almost as if he had been beaten. Scattered about the room were the remnants of the staff's earlier efforts to revive him: syringes, tubes of conductive gels, bloodstained bandages, masks, paper gowns and all kinds of packaging. A defibrillator stood by his bedside. His respiration was so shallow that several times she placed a stethoscope on his chest to persuade herself that he was still breathing. His pulse was weak and irregular.
Unwittingly, tears fell from her eyes. She could taste their salt on her lips. Butted by a wave of frustration and despair, she lamented, “I'm so, so sorry, Lou. This virus is a demon.”
She was shocked to see his eyes open momentarily. While focusing on her, he struggled to speak, mouthing his words more than voicing them.
“Just a cold,” he asserted.
Within minutes he was gone.
Something broke inside her. Almost immediately, she was glutted with anger: anger at the physical discomfit she suffered every day... anger at the sacrifices she was forced to make... anger at the risks to her own life she reluctantly accepted as a professional responsibility... anger at being separated from her family... anger at holding steadfast while all those around her tried to undermine her efforts... anger at the multitudes who were choosing to embrace lunacy over reason.
“You fucking ignorant old bastard!” she shrieked.
Appalled by her outburst, Elizabeth froze and looked through the glass partition that separated Lou's room from the central treatment area. She expected to see doctors and orderlies rushing to restrain her, but everyone was oblivious to her transgression - simply going through their customary routines.
Sensing she was losing her balance, she stumbled out of the room and fled down a corridor. Huddling beside a vending machine, she pulled her phone from her pocket and frantically dialed home.
“I really need to talk with you. I think I'm losing it,” she blurted out.
“Excuse me. Bill stepped out for a moment. Can I take a message?”
Her head was swimming. “Mandy?”
“Oh, Mrs. Conway. I'm sorry I didn't recognize your voice. He should be back in...”
Elizabeth ended the call without saying another word, feeling more lost than ever. With no plan in mind, she let her feet carry her toward the glaring light at the end of the corridor. Under her breath, she muttered phrases like “I've had it!” and “I'm through with this shit!” as she marched down the hallway, passing an administrator, two nurses, an orderly and one elderly janitor mopping up a puddle of brown fluid on the floor. No one seemed to take any notice of her. However one teen-aged candy striper stared wide-eyed as she crossed her path, grumbling, “This is just bullshit!”. Elizabeth pushed open the red handled emergency door, setting off a loud alarm, and exited into the cool sunshine.
The landscape flowed by her in a blur as she drove home. She wasn't sure what she would do once she arrived, but she knew she had to reclaim her life. She was through with the hospital. It was an insane place filled with insane people. It made demands of her that were unreasonable, putting everything that mattered most to her at risk. That was over.
Her heart pounded wildly, and she was panting to catch her breath. She was so lightheaded that she feared she might veer off the road. Elizabeth felt that the world was no longer real, that it was crumbling... dissolving into nothingness. Everything she had faith in... every principle that had steered the course of her life no longer applied.
As the car came to a stop at a traffic light, she peered through the windshield unsure of what she would see. It wouldn't have surprised her to witness a comet plummeting to earth or a host of golden armored angels, some blowing clarions, others clutching upraised swords, surmounting the distant ridgeline. But she was stunned to observe an ordinary late spring day. The sky was cloudless, granting the brilliant sun unchallenged dominion over the landscape. Scattered throughout a field of lush grass, an array of stately oaks, crowned with clusters of bright green leaves, swayed in the gentle breeze. An elderly man carrying a bag of groceries shuffled along the sidewalk. A groundskeeper pushed a spluttering mower back and forth across the lawn. In the park, a mother and her toddler sat upon a blanket in the shade, their laughter invading the car's interior... shredding the conception of reality she had embraced just a moment earlier.
When the light changed, she pulled through the intersection and stopped her car at the curbside. Her hands still grasping the steering wheel, she rested her head on the hot, molded plastic and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She wept over the grotesque inequity of her situation. Her tears rushed to the bridge of her nose then fell to the floor mat. Her nose began to run, and she sniffled repeatedly. Her head throbbed. For quite some time, she was unable to move, paralyzed by the emotions coursing through her mind. Restraining a powerful desire to let out a wail of frustration, she lifted her head and wiped her eyes and nose on her shirtsleeve.
Then she started her car and made the U-turn that would point her back toward the hospital.
© 2021 by Gerard Wickham
