Friday, June 1, 2007

598 days, 0 hours, 4 minutes , 7 seconds

At midnight she calls home. He wants to know where she is. Then why she is. He thought she was upstairs. He had dinner and two drinks with Nina after the two of them left here together. The elderly Spanish woman in the bed beside hers sounds as if she'll scream all night, she's really scared here alone, without her daughter. Tied down. Now she screams for Mercedes who, by the way, has been really helpful to everyone. Then her other children.

598 days, 12 hours, 54 minutes , 7 seconds

Eleven o'clock. And he isn't here yet. Why today? Why isn't he here yet? Why doesn't he care enough? He knows by now that he's bringing her medication. And her glasses. She can barely see without them. Audrey called. Nearly blind Audrey. Her father's cousin.

598 days, 13 hours, 12 minutes , 15 seconds

609; the escort service. It isn't what you think. But they need someone on the other end of this stretcher. To get back to her room.

598 days, 13 hours, 12 minutes , 15 seconds

609; the escort service. It isn't what you think. But they need someone on the other end of this stretcher. To get back to her room.

598 days, 13 hours, 34 minutes, 10 seconds

He tells the nurse he'll be here in an hour. She says she hates him. She used to think 609 was the worst day of her life. This is what angry feels like. This is what married feels like.

600 days, 12 hours, 46 minutes, 15 seconds

15 seconds. And 15 years ago, just before he turned 50, she drove all nght from the country, rushing to see him before gall bladder surgery. Then she couldn't find him. Then when she did it was right as he was being wheeled off. They stopped for a second. She tried to kiss him, but the stretcher was too high. The last thing he did was laugh at her.

600 days, 13 hours, 7 minutes, 51.9 seconds

Nearly 10 a.m. They've been here since 5:45. She's not allowed to eat or drink, but all he's had is orange juice. Niether of them got enough sleep last night. He dozes beside her. She figures she'll get enough sleep after surgery, fights to stay awake. She suggests he at least go in the family waiting room for coffee, but he says he's okay. He'll go out after they take her to surgery, maybe find the hospital coffee shop. She tells him of the good places along First Avenue. She knows them all, since she used to teach right near here. Alzheimer's patients.

It's almost 11, not almost 10. She read the clock wrong.

600 days, 13 hours, 38 minutes, 43 seconds

Ben Casey was not a nice person.