Keeping the Balance

By

Carl England

Carl England

112 Mitchell St. N.E.

Calhoun, GA 30701

(770) 608-2657

Gilbert.Nash@Gmail.com

KEEPING THE BALANCE

Bartholomew Walter Perry awoke with the urgent need to pee.  He could see that the room was dimly lit through his closed eyelids.  His first thought was, “I’ve got to pee.”  His second was, “Where am I?”  He opened his eyes just enough to peer through the slits.

        “Nurse, I think our patient is beginning to wake up,” said a voice from his left.

        Walt opened his eyes and looked to the left.  He was evidently in a hospital bed.  Beside the bed were a doctor and nurse, both peering intently at their patient.  “Where am I?” he echoed his second thought.

        The doctor picked up the chart at the foot of the bed and flipped through it.  “What do you go by?  Certainly not Bartholomew?  Is it Bart?”

        “Call me Walt,” Walt replied.  “I don’t like that name either, but it’s better than the alternatives.  Where am I?”

        The doctor hung the chart back on the bed.  “You are at Northside Convalescent Center or, in more general terms, you’re in a nursing home.  Tell me, Walt, how do you feel?”

        “Well I’ve got to pee.”

        “That good,” the doctor nodded, “Nothing like a good pee to make you feel alive.  Nurse, will you help Walt get out of bed.  Nice and slow of course.”

        The nurse took Walt’s hand and pulled.  There was definitely something wrong with the bed.  It felt as if he were lying on flypaper.  The sheet clung at his body and it almost felt if it were going to rip his skin off.  Walt was about to look back to see what it was that gripped him so tightly, but the doctor commanded, “Walt!  Walt!  Look at me!”

        Walt did as he was commanded.  “What’s in this bed?  It feels like glue.”

        “You’ll feel a lot better once you’re on your feet,” the doctor promised.

        The nurse tugged as Walt attempted to stand.  He could feel the skin on his buttocks stretch as the sticky substance reluctantly released its grip.  Then suddenly, with a snap he was on his feet.  The doctor had been correct; he did feel a lot better.  He reached behind to close the gap in his hospital gown and shuffled toward the bathroom.  As Walt emptied his bladder, he realized that what the doctor had said was true.  Having to pee did make you feel alive—alive and with a purpose, that purpose being to relieve oneself.

        When Walt exited the bathroom, he noticed that the curtain had been drawn around the bed.  “Odd,” he thought, but what he voiced was, “So, when do I get to go home?”

        “Soon, maybe,” the doctor answered.  “But first I think we need a little celebration drink.”

        “What are we celebrating?” Walt asked naively.  As he asked the question he stole a quick glance at the nurse.  He was wondering if her uniform was the standard for this nursing home.  She was wearing a tight-fitting top that was difficult to ignore.  When he managed to force his eyes away from her cleavage he could see that she was wearing the type of nurse’s hats that you only saw in 50’s movies.  And her skirt was short—really short.  As his eyes followed the lines of her crossed legs upward toward the hem of her skirt, the nurse scooted forward in her chair.  She scooted—but the skirt did not.  Walt realized at that moment that his nurse was not wearing panties.  He saw fine curly hair that was darker than...When he looked up to compare the color of the hair that he had just viewed to the tresses under the antiquated hat, the nurse actually smiled and winked.  Walt could feel the front of his gown beginning to tent.

        The doctor chuckled.  “We will celebrate the fact that you are awake and apparently doing very well.  Do you like bourbon?  There’s an all-night liquor store about two blocks from here, and I think we could all do with a good drink.”  

The good doctor offered his hand to the pretty nurse.  As she stood, the nurse uncrossed her legs giving Walt a glimpse of pink.  Walt realized that this was definitely not an ordinary nurse.  When he finally managed to get his eyes back into their sockets and when a little blood had returned to his brain, he reasoned, “I can’t leave here dressed like this.”  He continued to clutch the back of his gown but a cool breeze still disturbed his backside.  “Where are my clothes?”

The doctor opened the door.  “No time for that right now.  I’ll just get you some hospital scrubs and some of these paper shoes—very comfortable—and we’ll head out to the liquor store.”

Walt wasn’t sure that he wanted to be seen walking down the street in hospital scrubs.  “I don’t know...”

“Come on, live a little,” the doctor chuckled.  “If you want, I’ll even find you a stethoscope.”  He fingered his own ‘scope hanging from his neck.  “Put one of these on, hold your head high and stroll down the street.  Demands respect.”

“I think I’ll pass on the ‘scope.”

“Suit yourself.  I’ll be right back with the scrubs.”  With that the good doctor left the room.

Walt turned toward the curtain with the intention of seeing what was in the bed that had made it so difficult to escape.  “Uh-uh.  No peeking,” the nurse admonished.

Walt was about to ask why he wasn’t allowed to peek but, when he turned back to face the nurse, she was seated again with her legs crossed.  As she inched forward in the seat Walt totally forgot why he had wanted to look behind the curtain.

The doctor returned and handed Walt a bundle.  He pointed to the bathroom.  “Get dressed and let’s go.”  Then with a little laugh, “I’m dying for a drink.”

The scrubs fit well and when Walt looked at himself in the mirror, he almost wished that he had accepted the offer of a stethoscope.  “What the hell!” he thought.  “Let’s go get a drink.”

The three headed down the hall toward the front door.  As they approached the nurse’s station, the doctor halted and pressed his index finger to his lips.  He pointed to the lone nurse sitting in the glassed-in room.  “Shhhh.  She doesn’t know we’re here.  Do you see what she’s doing?”

Walt eased forward until he could see past the nurse onto her computer screen.  He whispered back, “She’s playing solitaire.  Is that okay?”

“No, that’s not okay.  She should be checking on the patients, or doing paperwork, or stocking supplies.  Solitaire is not part of her job description.”

“Are you going to say something to her?”

“Not my job.  She answers to the head of nursing, not to the doctors.”

“Are you going to report her?”

“Not really necessary.  She is about to have a very bad day.”

“What do you mean?”

“One of her patients died tonight.  She went to check on him around two this morning.  Shortly after that, her patient passed away.  The monitors that should have alerted the staff were disconnected when the ground-fault tripped on the life support.  She skipped the four o’clock rounds playing solitaire.  If she follows her usual habits, she will not get around to checking the patient on her six o’clock rounds.  Her paperwork will show that the patient was still healthy when she goes home at seven.  An autopsy will show that he has been dead since around three.  Like I said, she is going to have a very bad day.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing something?” Walt asked.

“We did do something,” the doctor replied.  “That nurse didn’t actually leave the monitors disconnected from the patient.  Nurse Naughty here removed them.”  He patted the voluptuous young nurse on the behind; she gave a little wiggle and a little giggle.

Walt was stunned.  “What??”

“And while Nurse Naughty was removing the sensors, I pressed the push-to-test button on the outlet.  In other words, we pulled the plug on her patient and she’ll get the blame.”

“Why would you do something like that?”

The doctor began walking toward the exit and motioned for Walt and Nurse Naughty to follow.  “I’ll explain it to you on the way to the liquor store.”

It was night but the air was warm and the sidewalks near the convalescent center were well lit.  The doctor pointed to the sign on the building’s facade.  “There are lots of really good nursing homes but this isn’t one of them.  This one is severely understaffed and the staff are severely underpaid.  That is interesting when you factor in how much they charge the patients.  On top of underpaying the staff, they also cheat them out a couple of hours pay each week.

“The night nurses can’t start final rounds until six in the morning.  The rounds and the accompanying paperwork, if done properly, take about an hour and a half.  But the staff has to clock out at seven.  The nurses who really care about their patients work about a half hour each day for free.  The ones who are a little less conscientious cheat on their paperwork.  They fill it out ahead of time and only edit it if there is a really significant change in the patient.  They only get cheated out of about fifteen minutes.

“Then there are the nurses that don’t really care about the patients.  For them, this is just another job.  Those aren’t people that they are caring for; they’re just things to be watched so that the nurses can earn a paycheck; and I use the word earn very loosely.  They do their paperwork early with no intention of editing.  On the final rounds they only visit the patients that are lucid enough to report them for not making their rounds.  The nurse playing solitaire is called Nurse Neglect by most of the staff and many of her patients.  Patients under her care experience more bed sores than the other patients.  They are also likely to remain in soiled beds for hours at a time.

“With any luck, Nurse Neglect will be fired because of what we have done.  If so, the other patients’ lives will be made infinitely better.”

Walt shook his head.  “It’s still wrong.  It benefits the other patients but you killed a patient to do it.”

The doctor put his hand on Walt’s shoulder.  “That’s where you’re wrong.  The patient has been brain dead for over a month.  I don’t think that he would have wanted his body to continue after it was no longer of any use to him.  I may be wrong but I think he would have wanted us to pull the plug.  And think about his poor family.  They kept paying to keep his body alive even after the doctors told them that he would never recover.  They couldn’t bring themselves to make the decision to let go.  That must have been tearing them apart.  Now that the body is as dead as the brain, there is no way that they can continue to delude themselves that he might someday miraculously recover.  Now they can properly grieve his passing and begin the healing process.”

“I’m still not sure that what you did was right but, if he’s been brain dead for over a month, why did you wait until tonight to pull the plug?”

“He’s not normally Nurse Neglect’s patient.  But the nurse that usually handles that wing is on vacation.  Management won’t bring in additional staff; that would require paying them overtime.  Instead, the already understaffed night shift has to take on additional patients.  Fortunately, tonight Nurse Neglect ended up with our patient.  I waited because I wanted to kill two birds with one stone.”  The doctor chuckled.  “Or, at least kill one and get the other one fired.”

“What kind of doctor are you?”

“I’m a specialist.”

“What kind of specialist?”

“I’m a rescue specialist.”

“What’s a rescue specialist?”

“I’ll explain later.  Here’s the liquor store.  Let’s go in and get a bottle of bourbon.”

When the three entered the clerk was busy with another customer and didn’t even acknowledge their presence.  “I come here all the time,” the doctor said.  “They keep the good stuff locked up in the rear.”  He walked around behind the counter and lifted a key from a nail.  “I usually just help myself when he’s busy.”

Walt followed the doctor and Nurse Naughty to the back of the store where the doctor opened a cabinet and removed a bottle of bourbon.  He relocked the cabinet and headed back toward the cash register.  Back behind the counter the doctor returned the key to its place on the nail, dropped the liquor bottle into the pocket of his scrubs and walked out the door.

Walt raced after the doctor.  “Are you insane?  What kind of doctor goes around shoplifting?”

The doctor reached into his pocket and removed the bourbon and carefully opened the bottle.  He took a drink and asked, “What do you know about karma?”

“What has karma got to do with you stealing that bourbon?”

“What do you know about karma?”

“Good deeds are rewarded with good and evil deeds are rewarded with evil.  Shoplifting doesn’t give you good karma.”

“Simple answer, but it will suffice.  If good deeds are rewarded with good and evil deeds are rewarded with evil, what does one do if they are happy with things the way they are?”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Have a drink.”  The doctor offered the bottle to Walt.

“No thanks.”

“If you’re worried about germs, don’t.  Number one, I don’t have anything contagious.  More importantly, the alcohol sterilizes the bottle.  I promise that a little drink isn’t going to kill you.”

Walt wiped the bottle with his scrubs and took a drink.  “I don’t understand how your karma is related to shoplifting.”

The doctor reached for the bottle and took another drink.  “I’m really happy with the way things are going.  If I only do good, I upset the status quo.  By balancing good with evil, I’m keeping the balance.”  The doctor wiped the bottle and handed it back to Walt.

Walt also wiped the bottle and took another swallow.  It was very good bourbon.  “Why do you want to keep the balance?”

The doctor took a drink and passed the bottle back.  “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up in the nursing home?”

“There was a tractor-trailer heading toward me.  It swerved and I didn’t have any place to go.  I remember thinking, ‘I’m gonna die.’  I don’t remember anything after that.”

“Well, you were right.  You did die.”

“Really?  How long was I dead?”

The doctor took a drink and passed the bottle back to Walt.  “Technically, since about two-fifteen.”

Walt halted with the bottle almost to his lips.  “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.  I just thought you might like to know.”

Walt turned to face Nurse Naughty.  “Does the doctor pull this on all his patients?”

Nurse Naughty replied, “Most of them.  Some of them actually believe him, but most of his patients are skeptics like you.  For instance, I never believed in ghosts until I actually saw one for myself.”

“You’ve seen a ghost?”  You’ve seen a real, honest to God, ghost?”

“Sure.  I’ve seen a lot of them.”

“So what’s the gag?  Is someone going to jump out from behind a building wearing a sheet and shout BOO!?  Then you and the good doctor...”  He turned back to the doctor.  “By the way, what is your name?”

“It’s funny that you should call me the good doctor because that’s actually my name.  I should have introduced myself earlier.  I am Dr. Good, at your service.”

Walt continued his thought, “Then you, Nurse Naughty, and the good Dr. Good can have a really good laugh at my expense.”

Nurse Naughty gave him a wink and a smile.  Dr. Good chuckled, “That would be funny.  We’ll have to do that some time.  But to be perfectly honest with you, you’re dead.”

Walt laughed.  “Bullshit!”  But his laugh was a little hollow.  He had to admit that they were good at this gag.

Nurse Naughty leaned over and whispered, her erotic breath brushing Walt’s ear, “No bullshit.  The three of us are D-E-A-D.”

Walt took a big drink of the bourbon; the bottle was almost empty, now.  “Okay, you win, you’ve scared me.  Go ahead and have your laugh.”

Walt held the near-empty bottle out for the doctor to take.  Dr. Good shook his head.  “No, you finish it.  A little alcohol is good for the soul.  And it can’t do your body any harm—that’s for sure,” he chuckled.

“But I don’t feel dead,” Walt protested.

“Got ya!”

Walt clutched his chest.  “Thank God!  I was actually beginning to believe that I was dead!”

“Stop it!” Nurse Naughty admonished.  “Now, Dr. Good is jerking you around.  We really are dead.”

Walt looked from one to the other.  Now he didn’t know what to believe.  His hand was still over his heart and he expected it to be hammering wildly against his rib cage—but it wasn’t.  In fact, as far as he could tell, it wasn’t beating at all.”

“Welcome to our world,” said the good doctor.

***