Stephen twirled the edge of the bedsheet in his fingers, avoiding his mother's eyes.
"Stephen, it's way past your bedtime. You go home with Dad, and then when you wake up, it will be the day I come home."
"I want you home tonight!"
"I know you do," Darlene said. She leaned over and gave her son a hug. Then she winced and let out a little groan from having moved her operated leg more than she had planned. The leg was partially immobilized in a motorized apparatus that slowly but continuously flexed the joint.
Paul stepped forward, put his hands on his son's shoulders, and urged him to step away. Stephen allowed himself to be backed up. He'd heard his mother's moan.
"Are you all right?" Paul asked his wife.
"Yeah," Darlene managed. She readjusted herself in the bed. "I just have to leave my leg still." She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, and the pain lessened.
"This is quite a setup," Paul said, nodding toward the apparatus. "We should thank our lucky stars we got into AmeriCare this fall. Otherwise, all this would have broken the bank."
"You're not suggesting I shouldn't have had the surgery, are you?"
"Not in the slightest! I'm just thinking our old insurance wouldn't have covered everything. Remember all those complicated deductibles and all that nonsense every time we tried to put in a claim? Hey, I'm just pleased everything is covered."
The little episode with the pain seemed to have a big effect on Stephen. It scared him enough to convince him that his mother needed to be in the hospital. Just a few minutes later, when Paul repeated that they had to go, he went without complaint.
All of a sudden, Darlene found herself alone. During the afternoon, there had been constant activity in the hallway, but now stillness reigned. No one passed her open door. What she didn't know was that all the nurses and aides from the evening shift, as well as those from the night shift, were having their report. The only sound was the distant, barely audible beep coming from a cardiac monitor someplace down the corridor.
Darlene's eyes roamed around her room, taking in the simple hospital furniture, the cut flowers from Paul on the bureau, the celery-green paint, and the framed Monet print. She shuddered to think of the life-and-death struggles the walls had witnessed over the years, but then quickly tried to erase the thought from her mind. It wasn't easy. She didn't like hospitals, and except for childbirth, had never been in one as a patient. Childbirth had been different. There was sense of happiness and anticipation that permeated the ward. Here, it was different and far more intimidating.
Turning her head and looking up, she watched the drops fall soundlessly from the IV bottle into an expanded portion of the IV line. Watching it was hypnotizing, and after a few minutes, it took a bit of effort to pull her eyes away. The reassuring part was that piggybacked to the IV line was a small pump containing morphine, which meant that to a controlled degree, she could medicate herself. So far she had done it only twice.
A TV was suspended above the foot of her bed, and she turned it on, more for company than anything else. The local evening news was in progress. She turned down the sound, preferring only to watch, her mind addled from a combination of the morning's anesthesia and the narcotic pain medication. The machine continued flexing her leg, but she was strangely detached from it, as if it were someone else's leg.
An hour passed effortlessly in a state midway between sleep and full consciousness. It was more like sleep when she remembered to lie still, and more like wakefulness if she happened to move her leg. She was vaguely aware that the local news had given way to the Letterman show.
The next thing she knew, she was being shaken awake by a nurse's aide. Darlene gritted her teeth because she'd inadvertently contracted her thigh muscle upon being disturbed.
"Have you passed urine since your operation?" the aide asked. She was an overweight woman with stringy red hair.
Darlene tried to think. In truth, she couldn't remember and said so.
"I think you would have remembered if you had, so you've got to go now. I'll get the bedpan." The aide disappeared into the bathroom and returned with the stainless-steel container. She placed it on the edge of the bed, against Darlene's hip.
"I don't have to go," Darlene said. The last thing she wanted to do was move herself onto the bedpan. Even the thought made her wince. The surgeon had told her she might have some discomfort after the operation. What an understatement!
"You have to," the aide stated. She checked her watch, as if there was no time for discussion.
A combination of the aide's attitude and Darlene's drugged state made Darlene's dander rise. "Leave the bedpan; I'll do it later."
"Honey, you're doing it now. I got orders from above."
"Well you tell whoever is 'above' that I'm doing it later."
"I'm getting the nurse, and let me tell you, she doesn't brook contrariness."
The aide disappeared again. Darlene shook her head. "Contrariness" was a word she associated with preschoolers. She moved the ice-cold bedpan away from her thigh.
Five minutes later, the nurse burst into the room with the aide in tow, causing Darlene to start. In contrast to the aide, the nurse was tall and lean with exotic eyes. With her hands on her hips, she leaned over Darlene. "The aide tells me you refuse to urinate."
"I didn't refuse. I said I would do it later."
"You're doing it now or we'll cath you. I trust you know what that means."
Darlene had an idea, and it wasn't appealing in the slightest. The aide went around to the other side of the bed. Darlene felt surrounded.
"It's your call, sister," the nurse added when Darlene didn't respond. "My advice to you is to get that butt of yours in the air."
"You could be a little more empathetic," Darlene suggested as she prepared to raise her backside by putting her two palms against the bed.
"I got too many sick patients to be empathetic about passing a little urine," the nurse said. She checked the IV line while the aide got the bedpan into place.
Darlene breathed a sigh of relief. Getting on the bedpan hadn't been as bad as she had imagined, although the cold metal was shocking. Urinating was another matter. It took her a few minutes of concentration before she could start. Meanwhile, the nurse and the aide had left. She passed more urine than she thought she could, which made her recognize that the ordeal was necessary. At the same time, it made her remember why she didn't like hospitals.
Once she was finished, she had to wait. She could move her pelvis up and down without discomfort, but to get the bedpan out from under her, she'd have to lift one of her hands off the bed. That meant tensing muscles that hurt her knee, so she was stuck. After five minutes, her back started to complain, so she gritted her teeth and managed to move the bedpan to the side. Almost on cue, both the nurse and the aide reappeared.
While the aide dealt with the bedpan, the nurse offered Darlene a sleeping pill and a small paper cup of water.
"I don't think I need it," Darlene said. With all the drugs she'd had during the day, she felt like she was floating.
"Take it," the nurse enjoined. "It's been ordered by your doctor."
Darlene looked up into the nurse's face. She couldn't tell if her expression was brazen or bored or disdainful. Whatever it was, it seemed inappropriate. It made Darlene wonder why the woman had gone into nursing. Darlene took the pill, swallowed it, and chased it with the water. She gave the cup back to the nurse. "You could be a little more personable," she suggested.
"People get what they deserve," the nurse said, taking the cup and crushing it in her hand. "I'll be back to see you later."