Brainstorm by Robert Wintner

Author:Robert Wintner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Yucca Publishing
Published: 2015-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

7

The Gift of the Ages

It’s not for nothing that hospitals are known for bad food. Still, you hope it’s only a joke, but then you know it’s not when the dietitian arrives with the evening shmush. She’s a roly-poly, jolly lass who appears to do the tasting and spend her days off at FoodCo buying in bulk. She delivers this meal in person to introduce herself. Dinner is two slices of white bread smashed under a fillet of sole, meaning shoe sole dba “prime rib.” The assemblage is drowned in cream gravy with a lightly congealed skin.

I laugh. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s a blessing, the laughter. The sight, scent and sound of it (“Oh, God . . .”) make this a wonder to behold. Rachel minds her manners but tells the dietitian, “I don’t eat meat.”

“Aw-hall right then. That’s why I’m here, to make sure everything is just how you like it. Vegetarian. Okay. Do you eat dairy products?”

“Yes. And fish and chicken are all right.”

“Okey dokey. I’ll take care of that.” The dietician takes her leave, leaving us to hunt or gather dinner for ourselves. Maybe it’s a good night for a continuing fast. Or maybe Rachel will get hungry enough to eat what she’s been served.

I check the rest of dinner, which is green gelatin, coffee and four slabs of butter. “And no coffee,” I yell. “And low fat!” Too late. The dietitian is gone to see that tomorrow turns out better.

“I haven’t eaten in three days,” Rachel says. I agree, though it’s really only two days. What does she want? Nothing is what she wants. But that’s not such a good idea.

Why not?

Well, because it’s good to have something to eat before they slice your melon open. This I don’t say, because the curtain opens again on a cheery face and a happy voice along with bright eyes and good posture. I hope for the best but I brace for goo goo morbidity talk or more extraneous blather.

“Hel-lo. I’m Leah, your new nurse. I only have one other patient tonight, but he might need me fairly regular. He’s a little guy, banged his head pretty badly.”

“Still no vacancy in neurology ICU?”

“No. We bring the kids here anyway, no matter what their injury. Did you get dinner?”

“Well. Yes and no,” I say. Leah understands; she saw it. I ask where is good for take out, nearby. She says the Thai place a mile down is good. Rachel likes the idea, but wants it simple, maybe some noodles, maybe some . . . pineapple. No, not pineapple, some . . . What do you call it?

Tofu?

Yes, tofu. Not too spicy. Leah assures us this place has good tofu. She feels like a lucky draw; she’s so normal, yet I wonder why she would choose a life of days and nights in this place.

It’s dark outside, wet and windy, and the medivac helicopter is grinding to earth again from somewhere in five states, delivering another trauma victim. I

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