Origami to Joyce, or as if some exotic sea bird had perched on the nurse’s head to lay eggs.
“This young lady was struck by a car,” the woman chaperone said.
“Oh dear,” the nurse clucked. She motioned for an assistant, who came up pushing a wheelchair. They helped Joyce into it and began bringing her down the hall. The wide halls had scarred linoleum floors and butter-yellow walls.
She was surprised to find herself in a big open room, lined along each wall with metal-framed beds and washstands. Long curtains on a track hung between each bed, but all of the curtains were pushed back against the wall and the room reminded Joyce of a warehouse.
62
ENTR’ACTE
“Shouldn’t I be going to the ER?” she asked, as the staff helped her into one of the beds. “I have insurance. I think it covers a semi-private room.”
The nurse looked at the people who had brought Joyce to the hospital. They just smiled wanly back at her.
A doctor appeared at the foot of the bed, with a ward nurse at his side. He asked everyone to wait while he examined Joyce.
The musician and the older woman said their goodbyes, and the man handed Joyce her wallet. “You dropped this and you’ll probably be glad to have it. I’ll come by and see you if that’s all right.”
Joyce nodded blankly and the nurse put the wallet on the bedside table. Then she spun the drape closed on its ceiling track behind her.
“Okay miss, do you know your name?” the doctor asked, sitting on the edge of her bed.
“Joyce Waszlewski.”
“Okay, Joyce. Do you know what happened to you?”
“I was struck by a car. Someone stole my purse and I was chasing him.”
The nurse asked for her age and address, and her parents’
names, and Joyce provided the information. She had to think a minute to recall the address of Debbie’s apartment. “I just moved there yesterday,” she explained.
The doctor took out a tiny flashlight and asked Joyce to follow the beam with her pupils, keeping her head still. Then he held Joyce’s eyelids back and shone the light directly into her eyes.
The nurse helped Joyce out of her clothes. The corduroy pants were tight, and when they wouldn’t slide easily over Joyce’s bruised hip, the material was cut away.
The doctor pressed his hands into Joyce’s abdomen and sides, asking her to tell him where it hurt. She didn’t need to say 63
FRANK JULIANO
anything, when he palpated the lower rib cage on the right side.
Joyce’s back arched in pain and she grabbed the sheets in both fists.
“Bruised, possibly cracked fourth rib, bruised hip,” he said, and the nurse made notes. He asked Joyce to turn onto her stomach, which she did gingerly, and he massaged her lower back and shoulders.
When she jumped again, the doctor intoned, “bruised coccyx,” and the nurse made another note. When she moved onto her back again, the doctor grabbed each of Joyce’s feet in his hands and pulled gently, feeling along the femur and tibia for breaks or bruises.
“Well Joyce, you are pretty banged up. But you are going to be fine,” the doctor said. “We’ll have you stay with us a day or so until we can bring down the swelling. We’ll give you aspirin for that and for the pain.
“We’ll wrap your ribs to give them support. Your lungs are clear and there is no sign of any internal bleeding. The nurses will bring you cold compresses,” he said. “Is there anyone you want us to call?”
Joyce propped herself up on her elbows. “Aren’t you going to X-ray my ribs?”
The doctor and nurse smiled quickly at each other, and the doctor said, “sometimes the old ways are still the best ways. I could tell everything I needed by the physical examination.”
“I never heard of not X-raying to make sure there are no broken bones,” Joyce said. “I demand an X-ray.”
“Dear, the doctor knows what’s best for you,” the nurse said in a condescending tone that was supposed to soothe her. “An X-ray isn’t called for in
“This young lady was struck by a car,” the woman chaperone said.
“Oh dear,” the nurse clucked. She motioned for an assistant, who came up pushing a wheelchair. They helped Joyce into it and began bringing her down the hall. The wide halls had scarred linoleum floors and butter-yellow walls.
She was surprised to find herself in a big open room, lined along each wall with metal-framed beds and washstands. Long curtains on a track hung between each bed, but all of the curtains were pushed back against the wall and the room reminded Joyce of a warehouse.
62
ENTR’ACTE
“Shouldn’t I be going to the ER?” she asked, as the staff helped her into one of the beds. “I have insurance. I think it covers a semi-private room.”
The nurse looked at the people who had brought Joyce to the hospital. They just smiled wanly back at her.
A doctor appeared at the foot of the bed, with a ward nurse at his side. He asked everyone to wait while he examined Joyce.
The musician and the older woman said their goodbyes, and the man handed Joyce her wallet. “You dropped this and you’ll probably be glad to have it. I’ll come by and see you if that’s all right.”
Joyce nodded blankly and the nurse put the wallet on the bedside table. Then she spun the drape closed on its ceiling track behind her.
“Okay miss, do you know your name?” the doctor asked, sitting on the edge of her bed.
“Joyce Waszlewski.”
“Okay, Joyce. Do you know what happened to you?”
“I was struck by a car. Someone stole my purse and I was chasing him.”
The nurse asked for her age and address, and her parents’
names, and Joyce provided the information. She had to think a minute to recall the address of Debbie’s apartment. “I just moved there yesterday,” she explained.
The doctor took out a tiny flashlight and asked Joyce to follow the beam with her pupils, keeping her head still. Then he held Joyce’s eyelids back and shone the light directly into her eyes.
The nurse helped Joyce out of her clothes. The corduroy pants were tight, and when they wouldn’t slide easily over Joyce’s bruised hip, the material was cut away.
The doctor pressed his hands into Joyce’s abdomen and sides, asking her to tell him where it hurt. She didn’t need to say 63
FRANK JULIANO
anything, when he palpated the lower rib cage on the right side.
Joyce’s back arched in pain and she grabbed the sheets in both fists.
“Bruised, possibly cracked fourth rib, bruised hip,” he said, and the nurse made notes. He asked Joyce to turn onto her stomach, which she did gingerly, and he massaged her lower back and shoulders.
When she jumped again, the doctor intoned, “bruised coccyx,” and the nurse made another note. When she moved onto her back again, the doctor grabbed each of Joyce’s feet in his hands and pulled gently, feeling along the femur and tibia for breaks or bruises.
“Well Joyce, you are pretty banged up. But you are going to be fine,” the doctor said. “We’ll have you stay with us a day or so until we can bring down the swelling. We’ll give you aspirin for that and for the pain.
“We’ll wrap your ribs to give them support. Your lungs are clear and there is no sign of any internal bleeding. The nurses will bring you cold compresses,” he said. “Is there anyone you want us to call?”
Joyce propped herself up on her elbows. “Aren’t you going to X-ray my ribs?”
The doctor and nurse smiled quickly at each other, and the doctor said, “sometimes the old ways are still the best ways. I could tell everything I needed by the physical examination.”
“I never heard of not X-raying to make sure there are no broken bones,” Joyce said. “I demand an X-ray.”
“Dear, the doctor knows what’s best for you,” the nurse said in a condescending tone that was supposed to soothe her. “An X-ray isn’t called for in
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