Imaginary Conversations

All about the hospital. Too much about the hospital. Talk too much about it. I am the hospital. The hospital is me.

Just finished playing a game of chess with Nick. He beat me. I did something unbelievably stupid in the end game.

Chess is too stressful for me. I always invest too much in it. My shrink would say, "It's only a game. It doesn't give any particular insight into your life. Just because you screw up the endgame doesn't mean you always screw up. It just means that you need to play more chess. Read a book or two on end games, if it really means that much to you."

That's what he would say.

And he's right.

This weekend was horrible at the hospital.

I was late on Friday, and for some reason, all the other supervisors were out, unbeknownst to me. So Regina had taken over and was charging. Actually, even though she's insufferable, she did okay, and I was simply not in the mood.

I had this funny, crazy patient, an eighth grade algebra teacher who had been in a motorcycle crash and was healing up just fine on the floor, but who ended up back with us because he just decided to have a complete psychotic break.

It wasn't a bad one, and he wasn't a mean guy. He just decided, I think, "O.K. Too much reality for me! Bye for now!" and out he's gone. He reminded me of Xavier when he had his break. Nice and sweet and utterly shattered.

"Where do you teach?" I asked him.

"In the parking lot." He tells me serenely. "I have 17 cars."

"You do?"

"Yes. Have you noticed I am a man?"

"I have."

"Do you know what that means?"

"What?"

"It means I have a man's parts and therefore need a man's underwear."

"Very true."

He was very anxious most of the time. Man, teachers. Even crazy, he couldn't let go of his duty, bless his heart.

"Do you know what the date is?"

He did. "School starts in 3 weeks! I have to get ready. I have to get the parking lot ready."

"It's okay. You need to stay here and get better."

"No one can do what I do!" He said. "You don't understand. No one but me can do it!"

"Do you know who the president is?" I ask.

"Denise Watson. And she is pretty."

Wiz liked him, because even crazy, he was so full of care for the people he was responsble to. Wiz pretty much thinks you're useless unless you're serving. Man, my poor driven little Wiz. One of the things Wiz can do is catch flies in mid air--just like Lilly.

"I dare you to eat it." I told him. He had just caught one over the salsa dip. (The EKG lady brings us snacks on the weekends. We don't know why. She's just an amazingly kind person. "How do you find time for this?" I ask her. "How do you find time to work 12 hour shifts, then go home and cook? Do you do anything else?" She looks puzzled. "Well, " she says after a pause. "I helped Leopold [our maintenance man] move last night." Little birds should follow her around. The hospital is just filled with people like this. Happy nerdy, dear, do-goody funny ones.)

"How much?"

"One Dollar."

"Five."

"Okay. Five."

He eats it.

"Ughh! I can't believe you did that!"

"Pay up."

"Fuck that. I'm not going to encourage you. Acck."

"They're not bad for you. Just a little crunchy." He smiles at me with his little round brown teeth.

"You've done this before? What, were you a prisoner of war?"

"Yep."

Hello. I'm Haley Patton. And I'm a piece of shit.

That's my 1/2 hour.