Leaving the World (39 page)

‘We are on the same page – and I am very pleased, Professor, to hear your voice.’

‘Now, the next question I have for you is: Would you like to try to drink something with a straw? That tube sticking out of your right arm is keeping you alive but IV feeding is no substitute for the real thing, now, is it? You’ve got the entire ward to yourself – things are surprisingly slow, considering how everyone in Montana loses a screw or two every winter – so I could easily whip you up something nice and bland like a vanilla milkshake. That sound good?’

I nodded.

‘Words, please.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ I said.

‘Three more words. I am impressed.’

‘Can you take out the catheter?’ I asked.

‘Six more words. You are earning Brownie points by the minute. And yes, I can get that catheter removed – but only when we’re certain you can walk again.’

‘What?’ I said, suddenly terrified.

‘You fractured the tibia in your left leg. That’s why it’s in plaster. The resident orthopedist thinks you should be out of the cast in about four weeks tops. But we can’t have you trying to make it to the ladies until we’re sure you can stay upright. ’Course, we could put a bedpan under you . . .’

I became aware again of my left leg. The heaviness I had first felt in it turned out to be the cast.

‘I can cope with a bedpan.’

‘Then we can relieve you of the catheter.’

She came over to the bed and unbuckled each of the restraints. Though I had been out of it for two days I must have been struggling against the straps while unconscious, as there were deep red welts on both arms. Nurse Rainier caught me staring at these markings.

‘They’ll disappear in a day or two . . . unless you go postal on me and force me to chain you back down. But you’re not going to do that, are you?’

‘No.’

‘That’s my girl. Now I want you to very gently roll over on your right side – and, for obvious reasons, take it very slow.’

I did as ordered, but was unable to put my plastered leg on top of my good one.

‘Now all you’ve got to do is take a deep breath and hold it until I tell you to let go.’

I could feel her lifting up the back of the green hospital gown into which I had been placed.

‘Ready now?’ she asked. ‘One, two, three, deep breath – and don’t you dare move.’

Again I did as ordered. I felt immense relief as the catheter was pulled free of me – followed by a cascade of urine.

‘Shit,’ I muttered through stitched lips.

‘Don’t sweat it. It’s what always happens when the catheter is finally retracted. Anyway, it’s about time we got you off that gurney before bedsores set in. Hey, nurse . . .’

A large shaven-headed man – with tree trunks for biceps, all adorned with tattoos – came through the swing doors.

‘This here is Ray,’ Nurse Rainier said. ‘And he tends to be real pleasant unless one of our guests tries to engage in self-harm or leaves before they’re given their walking papers. But you’re not going to do that, are you, Professor?’

‘No,’ I whispered.

‘I think we’ve got a real nice customer here, Ray. What do you think?’

Ray looked at his sneakers.

‘We’ll see,’ he finally said.

‘Well, how about getting the Professor out of bed and wheeling her down to the bathroom. I’ll get Nurse Pepper to give her a bit of a sponge bath and get that disgusting nightdress off her. You up for that, Professor?’

I nodded.

‘Language, language. I have got to hear you speak.’

‘Yes, I would like to be cleaned up.’

‘An entire sentence! This is progress! OK, Ray, she’s all yours. I’ll see you later.’

‘My eye . . .’ I said.

‘What about it?’ Nurse Rainier asked.

‘How bad . . . ?’

‘You mean, will you lose it?’

I nodded, but just as Nurse Rainier was about to reprimand me for that, I managed to ask: ‘Yes, will I lose it?’

‘Not according to our ace ophthalmological surgeon who spent around five hours pulling shards of windshield out of your cornea and everywhere else. But you won’t be able to use it for a while.’

‘What else did I do to myself?’

‘What did
you
do to
yourself
? Nurse Rainier said. ‘I like it, I like it. The woman takes responsibility for her actions. You like that, Ray?’

‘Can I move her now?’ he asked.

‘Sure thing. But be real careful of all those tubes and cables and everything else. We’ve got to keep her monitored.’

Ray may have looked like the sort of biker who had once possibly eaten a raw steer but he was a deft hand at disconnecting me from all my monitors, and hooking up my feed bag to a stand on wheels. Then – without asking if I was ready – he shoved his tree-trunk arms under me and hoisted me down into the wheelchair with surprising finesse and gentleness. As he was engaged in all this, Nurse Rainier kept talking.

‘So besides fracturing your tibia, and doing a real number on your eye, you were severely concussed, and you’ve also got one big welt across your forehead. Then there was all the glass in your lips – but I’ve seen you running your tongue across the stitches, so I’m sure you’re aware of that by now. What else? The concussion caused your brain to swell for around twenty-four hours – but the neurologist stabilized that one. You also had severe bruising around the chest and pelvis. Neat trick, unstrapping the seat-beat and disengaging the airbag. Oh, you hit a tree, by the way. And when this Native American – name of Mr Big John Lightfoot – came down the road and saw your tail lights sticking out of the snowbank, not only did he stop to see what was going on, but he called the cops on his cellphone and even used a rope to attach his back bumper up to his rig and pulled you right out.

‘I tell you, you’ve really got to thank Mr Big John Lightfoot for saving your life. The guy was right on the ball. As soon as he’d yanked you out of the woods, he opened the one car door that wasn’t crushed and saw that you were suffering from hypothermia – the cops figured you’d been there around ninety minutes before Big John found you – and the guy sees that the car heater’s off so he cranks it right up and starts warming you up. Then he finds the empty bottle of pills on the car floor, puts two and two together and – now this qualifies as heroic in my book – sticks his fingers right down your throat and makes you upchuck everything. Mind you, we had to pump your stomach all out when we got you here. You took that many Zopiclone, you’re lucky you didn’t wake up with major brain damage. But Big John’s quick thinking probably saved you from that fate.

‘So if I was you I’d write Mr Big John Lightfoot one major thank-you letter . . . if, that is, you feel like thanking him for your life.

‘Anyway, that’s all the news that’s fit to print on the physical stuff you did to yourself. You’re going to be in here for a spell – because though physically you could probably hobble out of here on crutches in around a week, well, it’s the head stuff that’s gonna want us to keep you hanging around. You’ll hear more about that from our resident shrink, Dr Ireland, but only when she gets here in two days’ time. We are the only psych ward in this corner of Montana, but with such slow business we don’t merit a full-time shrink. Still, you’ll like Dr Ireland. Woman about your age, from somewhere back East. Came out here to change her life and all that. Never met a patient who didn’t rate her – except those whose cognitive faculties couldn’t stretch to rating a candy bar. But I guess you’re tired of listening to me. So let’s get Nurse Pepper to clean you up . . . and we’ll talk later.’

Nurse Ray wheeled me out of the empty ward and down a short corridor. I tried to take in my surroundings, but found that all visual perspective proved difficult. I could see everything and everyone who came close to me. Beyond that, nothing. Though Nurse Rainier had forced me to speak, I still found it difficult to articulate anything but the responses she demanded. I put my hands to my face. I
want to be dead. Because being dead means the absence of thought. And the absence of thought means
 . . .

I was wheeled into a bathroom that had been specially equipped to handle the infirm. A young, stout woman in her mid-twenties was awaiting me. She introduced herself as Nurse Pepper. From her accent she sounded like she was from somewhere below the Mason-Dixon line. She immediately thanked Ray for ‘delivering’ me, then offered me a large, soft smile.

‘I am so glad that you are back with us,’ she said, all enthusiasm.

‘And I hope you don’t mind me telling you this, but I really was praying so hard that you’d make it. You’re not offended by that now, I hope?’

I shook my head.

‘Well, I am a great believer in the power of modern medicine – but I also know that Jesus can heal as well. But I bet you don’t want to hear about that now.’

I started to sob. Within moments the crying was out of control – the same sense of drowning that overcame me in the hours, days, weeks after the . . .

It was just a desperate accident
, they all kept telling me.
Terrible, random – like all accidents. And there was nothing you could have done about it
.

I wouldn’t accept a syllable of their consoling words. It was my fault . . . all my fault . . .

But the sobs now so intensified that I found myself no longer able to think one simple irrational thought. The grief had, as before, submerged me. Nurse Pepper kept trying to comfort me, putting her arms around me and saying she ‘understood’. But when I veered into out-of-control territory, she suddenly let go of me and charged off. Moments later she was back with Nurse Rainier.

‘What the hell did you say to her?’ Nurse Rainier hissed. ‘You pull that Jesus shit with her?’

Nurse Pepper started to whimper.

‘Look at you, all pious and helpless,’ Nurse Rainier said. ‘You run right now and get me a syringe with five mgs of Sodium Pentothal. You get back here in less than one minute – or I will have your Christian ass suspended indefinitely. Now move.’

As Nurse Pepper raced off, Rainier crouched down beside me and locked her hands around both my arms.

‘Professor . . . Jane . . . this is not the way to go. You hear me? I know how bad it is, how desperate and unlivable it all seems. But this is
not
going to do you any good. I’ll say it again – you have got to cut this out now. Because you are going to—’

That’s when I lashed out and caught her on the side of the head with my open hand. As soon as the blow was struck, she came right back at me, slapping me across the face. The smack was very precise – missing my damaged lips and landing on the cheek opposite my bandaged eye. But it still hurt like hell – and shook me out of my crying jag.

There was a moment of shocked silence between us. Then she stood up and smoothed out her uniform and stared down at me.

‘You could have my job for that,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think you want to go there, do you?’

I shook my head. Nurse Rainier was about to automatically say: ‘Language!’ but checked herself.

‘Your face OK?’

I nodded, then managed to mutter: ‘Your head?’

‘I’ll live,’ she said. Nurse Pepper came running back with the syringe and a glass vial, handing them both to her senior colleague.

‘She OK?’ Nurse Pepper asked.

‘I got her calmed down.’

Nurse Rainier held up the syringe in front of me.

‘You think you need this, Jane?’

I nodded.

‘You sure? I mean, it’s guaranteed to knock you out for the next twelve hours.’

I nodded again.

‘Have it your way.’

The needle pricked my arm – and I went under.

When I came to I was back in the gurney-bed, my arms again tied down, though somewhat looser than before. Everything still hurt – and my re-entry into consciousness was accompanied by the thick chemical fog that strong sedatives leave behind. I immediately felt the tubes and catheter back in place. Nurse Rainier was standing at my bedside, peering at me over her reading glasses.

‘With us again,’ she said.

I nodded.

‘Language, Professor.’

‘Yes, I’m here,’ I muttered, my lips still in agony.

‘Good. Very good. Shall we agree to deep-six everything that happened yesterday and start again?’

‘Fine.’

‘Then I’ll get that catheter out of you and arrange for Ray to bring you back for that long-overdue bath. Trust me, Nurse Pepper won’t try to “save” you this time. She’ll just make certain you’re nice and clean.’

It was exactly the same drill as yesterday. I rolled over on my side. I was told to hold my breath. The catheter was slipped out of me. Ray arrived, as silent and sullen as the last time – and as deft and gentle as before when it came to getting me into the wheelchair. Nurse Pepper was awaiting me in the bathroom, looking very nervous when I arrived.

‘So good to see you better,’ she whispered after Ray had deposited me with her. ‘And I’m so sorry if I upset you yesterday . . .’

‘It’s OK.’

‘Well, let’s get you into a nice hot bath.’

It was quite an operation getting me into said bath. Nurse Pepper had to first wrap my cast in a waterproof casing – even though, as she explained, she would be keeping the leg suspended above the bath. Then she had to gently remove the bandages encasing my damaged eye so she could wash my hair.

‘Don’t worry about the eye being exposed to the light,’ she said while cutting the bandages and trying her best not to take too much hair off with them. ‘There’s a separate internal bandage covering the eye. But I won’t be able to wash your hair if I don’t get the big bandage off. And your hair really needs a good washing.’

She ran the water in the bathtub, mentioning that she was putting in some salts to allow me a very good long soak. The bath was kitted out with a special clear-plastic seat that allowed the aged and the infirm to be electronically lowered into the water. Getting me into it took some work. So did taking off the sweat-and-urine-stained hospital gown, as the very act of raising my left arm upwards caused me immense pain in my midsection. Once she had me positioned in the seat she swung it around so I was directly over the bathtub. She wheeled a metal trolley over to the side of the bath. On it was a plastic sling, long enough to handle a leg. She winched the sling down so it was level with the bath. Then she gently lifted up my plastered leg and negotiated it into the sling.