Chapter 3 — The Shape with Bad Words
Nina woke up, feeling poorly yet perceiving her surroundings vividly. It was the first time she had awoken without being roused by the sound of a nurse’s voice or a doctor feeling the urge to administer a dosage at ungodly hours of the morning. It had always fascinated her how nurses always woke patients to give them ‘something to sleep’ at ridiculous hours, often between two and five in the morning. The logic of such practices eluded her completely, and she made no secret of her vexation for such idiocy, regardless of the explanations offered for it. Her body ached under the sadistic thrall of the radiation poisoning, but she tried to bear it for as long as she could.
To her relief, she’d learned from the on-duty physician that the sporadic burn wounds to her skin would heal in time, and that the exposure she had suffered under ground zero at Chernobyl was remarkably minor for such a hazardous area. Nausea would trouble her daily until the antibiotics had run their course, at least, but her hematopoietic presentation was still of great concern to him.
Nina understood his concern for the damage to her autoimmune system, but for her there were worse scars — both emotional and physical. She could not focus very well since she’d been liberated from the tunnels. It was unclear if it was caused by prolonged visual inactivity from the hours spent in practically pitch darkness, or if it was also the work of her exposure to high concentrations of old nuclear waves. Regardless, her emotional injury manifested in worse ways than the physical pain and skin blisters.
Nightmares plagued her about the way Purdue hunted her in the dark. Reliving small shards of recollection, her dreams would remind her of the groans he’d uttered after he laughed wickedly somewhere in the hellish blackness of the Ukrainian netherworld they’d been trapped in together. Through the other IV tube, sedatives kept her mind locked in the dreams, unable to fully awake to escape them. It was a subliminal torment she could not communicate to the scientifically-minded people who were only concerned with alleviating her physical ailments. They had no time to waste on her impending insanity.
Outside her window the pale threat of dawn winked, although the whole world was still sleeping around her. Faintly she could hear the low tones and whispers exchanged between medical staff, interspersed with the odd clink of teacups and coffee furnaces. It reminded Nina of very early mornings during school holidays when she was a wee girl in Oban. Her parents and mum’s dad would whisper just like that as they gathered up the camping gear for the trip to the Hebrides. They would try not to wake little Nina while they packed the cars and only at the very end would her dad steal into her room, gather her up in her blankets like a hotdog roll, and carry her into the freezing morning air to put her into the backseat.
It was a fond memory she now briefly revisited in much the same way. Two nurses entered her room to check her drip and change the linen on the empty bed opposite hers. Even though they were talking in hushed tones, Nina was able to employ her knowledge of German to eavesdrop, just like those mornings when her family thought she was sound asleep. Keeping still and breathing deeply through her nose, Nina managed to fool the shift sister into believing she was fast asleep.
“How is she doing?” the nurse asked her superior, as she roughly rolled up the old sheet she’d pulled off the empty mattress.
“Her vitals are good,” the head sister answered softly.
“What I was saying was that they should have dressed his skin with more Flamazine before fitting his mask. I think I am correct in suggesting it. There was no reason for Dr. Hilt to bite my head off,” the nurse complained about an incident Nina reckoned the two had been discussing since before they came to check on her.
“You know I agree with you in that regard, but you have to remember that you cannot question the treatment or dosage prescribed — or applied — by highly qualified doctors, Marlene. Just keep your diagnosis to yourself until you retain a stronger position on the food chain here, alright?” the plump sister advised her subordinate.
“Will he be occupying this bed once he leaves the ICU, Sister Barken?” she asked curiously. “Here? With Dr. Gould?”
“Yes. Why not? This is not the Middle Ages or Primary School camp, my dear. We have unisex wards for specific conditions, you know.” Sister Barken half-smiled as she reprimanded the star-struck nurse she knew adored Dr. Nina Gould.Who? Nina wondered. Who the hell are they planning to room with me that deserves so much bloody attention?
“Look, Dr. Gould is frowning,” Sister Barken remarked, having no idea it was prompted by Nina’s discontent at soon receiving a very unwanted roommate. Silent, waking thoughts were controlling her expression. “It must be the splitting headaches associated with the radiation exposure. Poor thing.”Aye! Nina thought. The headaches are killing me, by the way. Your painkillers are a great party favor, but they do jack shit for a throbbing frontal lobe attack, you know?
Her strong, cold hand suddenly latched onto Nina’s wrist, sending a shock through the historian’s fever-riddled body that was already sensitive to temperature. Unintentionally, Nina’s big, dark eyes shot open.
“Jesus Christ, woman! Do you want to peel my skin off the muscle with that ice-cold talon?” she shrieked. Streaks of pain shot through Nina’s nervous system, her thundering response startling both nurses into a stupor.
“Dr. Gould!” Sister Barken exclaimed in surprise in flawless English. “I am so sorry! You are supposed to be under sedation.” On the other side of the floor the young nurse grinned from ear to ear.
Realizing that she had just betrayed her charade in the rudest way, Nina elected to play the victim to hide her embarrassment. Immediately she held the side of her head, moaning a little. “Sedation? The pain is coming right through all the painkillers. My apologies for scaring you, but…it — my skin is on fire,” Nina performed. Eagerly the other nurse approached her bedside, still smiling like a groupie with a backstage pass.
“Nurse Marx, would you be so kind as to get Dr. Gould something for her headache?” Sister Barken asked. “Bitte,” she said a tad louder to jerk young Marlene Marx from her silly fixation.
“Um, yes, of course, Sister,” she replied, reluctantly accepting her task before practically skipping out of the room.
“Cute lassie,” Nina said.
“Excuse her. She, actually her mother — they are huge fans of yours. They know all about your travels, and some of the things you wrote about quite captivated Nurse Marx. So please ignore her staring,” Sister Barken explained amicably.
Nina cut right to the chase while they were unperturbed by the drooling puppy in scrubs that was soon due back. “Who will be sleeping there, then? Anyone I know?”
Sister Barken shook her head. “I don’t think he should even know who he is, actually,” she whispered. “Professionally I am not at liberty to share, but since you will be sharing a room with the new patient…”
“Guten Morgen, Sister,” said a man from the doorway. His words were muffled behind his surgical mask, but Nina could tell that his accent was not authentically German.
“Excuse me, Dr. Gould,” said Sister Barken as she walked over to speak to the tall figure. Nina listened attentively. In this sleepy hour it was still relatively quiet in the ward, which made it easier to listen, especially when Nina closed her eyes.
The doctor asked Sister Barken about the young man brought in the night before and why the patient was no longer in what Nina heard as ‘Room 4’. Her stomach twitched into a knot when the sister asked for the doctor’s credentials and he responded with a threat.