Winkin' & Blinkin' Waiting for Nod

To What length might I go to obtain the familiar comfort of twilight sleep? Whatever necessary when the call comes. The trek up Livingston from Alumcreek had exacted its measure from my limited physical resources. I was tired to begin with, but I had to get away from the Engagement Center with its drunk-tank mentality, even at five am. Blistered feet, legs tight from the two plus mile hike. The early stillness broken only by the calling of the early rising robins, and occasional cars whizzing past hurriedly, headed somewhere downtown. There had been bus fare home, but I was faced with the choice of beer at 6.00 am when the carryout began selling, or waiting at the stop for the first bus going home, where there was money, and relative comfort. I was chilled, wearing green velour pajama bottoms & a thin plaid short sleeved shirt. Not dressed for dawn on the far east-side. The beer was gone some time ago. How had it come to this? Bryden Road in the early light was familiar. Perhaps the glowing blue ER sign would offer some reprieve, a short rest at least. I'd done this before.

"I've an intense pain in my groin," I offered the triage nurse at the first stop inside the thankfully empty ER waiting area. Friday night must have been slow. All's quiet in the hood, early spring. Groin pain seemed like a sure enough ruse, how could they disprove a pain. A small familiar room with the usual examining bed, TV, medical equipment. A phone to call no one.

"I have to update your history." Her face was emotionless, polite and exact. "Allergies?" The usual battery of inquiries. "Ever molested?" Easily expanded upon, but I was getting fidgety. The booze was wearing off.

"I need something for the withdraw," I announced, telling the truth. I'd left the Engagement Center at Maryhaven mainly because I knew I'd be wanting something to drink & they didn't give out bus passes to leave with on Saturdays. If I had to, I'd wait until there was traffic enough to panhandle a drink.

"We're almost finished." Her demeanor was sympathetic. "Just hold on a few minutes. We'll get your IV in. I've got your Adivan." The comforting thought of liquid Adivan was enough. I could hold on as the vein was located and accessed. "Ever molested?" The repetition is a bit annoying. A second chance to come clean, but why go into all that with someone hardly known.

"Never." The lie is always easier.

When she pushed the clear liquid into the IV port everything became calm, at least in respect to the sweat that had been. The palpitations slowed. The pulsing in my brain diminished. The overhead light became less harsh. The anxiety in my chest was replaced by a welcomed resting. I closed my eyes and drifted. In the dark, shapes flowed into one another. My body rolled with a wave.

Opening my eyes to a dimness of time I was alone again. Beneath the drape separating my sanctuary from the world, I could see feet scurrying back and forth. Names were called blankly across the address system. How long might this last? Didn't much matter as I closed and drifted on.

"Sir?" Someone calling, disrupting my rest. The brightness was bothersome. "Sir? Wake up now, we have to go for a scan of your abdomen." Annoying tugs at my person. "We need you to wake up."

"OK, already," turning from the light. "I'm awake."

"We just need for you to scoot over onto the gurney." Someone behind me, prompting movement. "We've done this before. Can you just scoot over onto the gurney? Exactly." The scan was disturbing. At some point I'd developed an aversion to close places, bright lights. And the echoing thud, a distant memory. At times I was haunted by thoughts of my mothers's grave. Not sleeping then was torment, especially when I was working. Great jobs: antique appraiser & buyer, shop manager, college counselor, program director. Small wonder marijuana was high on the list of self prescribed medications. So which came first? The pot or the insomnia? Nodding through junior high attests to a childhood onset of nightly sleeplessness. Worry over why and what. Stomach ailments. The pounding ceased and I was again wheeled somewhere, fading.

The half life of Adivan leaves a bit to be desired. Even in the dim stillness, I wanted more and pressed the call button. "How may we help you?" scratchy, distant through the wire.
"I need more Adivan." I sounded pathetic. I greatly dislike asking others for assistance, but this was the ER, after all. "And some ice water."
"I'll let your nurse know." scratched away. Waiting, always waiting. Waiting for a rebirth of wonder? Who was that? What happens to memory? If they were lying here. Feet beneath the drawn petition, all going somewhere else. City Light's Bookstore, San Francisco? Ferlinghetti! Lester? Loren? Where the hell? Lawrence Ferlinghetti: Coney Island of the Mind Waiting for a rebirth of wonder where the hell's the freaking nurse?

"What is it you need?" a shortish chub of young male in white scrubs. Lawrence Nightingale?
"The Adivan's wearing off. I'm in pain." I whimpered, embarrassed, and annoyed that I envied the young. "And I need ice water."

"I'll tell the Doctor," he responded, weaving a blood pressure cuff through IV tubes and leads, wrapping it swiftly around my bicep. "Though I'm afraid ice water is out of the question."

"Why?" Wasn't I needy enough? Overplayed? Too down & out?

"The scan of your abdomen showed an abnormality. " The pressure on my arm became uncomfortable, constricting.
"You may need surgery."

"What?" My stomach tightened. "Surgery?" Who was kidding what?
"It may be your appendix." Unwrapping the cuff from my arm. "Your blood pressure's up. I'll get the Adivan and something for the pain."

How could it be my appendix? What abnormality? Where was the Adivan? Something for pain? Was this a dream? I closed my eyes to focus on the phantasmagorical swirl deep within. Less friendly this go round. I remember a painter from the old neighborhood whose doctor told him he'd have to have an operation to maintain the disability payments he received: nearly died.
Perspiration beaded down my forehead. My pillow was soaked. How long could I let this play out? Just how far would I go?

The curtain parted and blue scrubs came through with young white. The young held three syringes and approached the bed. "This is Dr. Weldon. He's admitted you. This first syringe is the Adivan and the second is morphine." Old tapes played away all resistance. "The third's just a flush." With a push, calm came into the world.

"So it seems you have an abnormality that we need to take care of." The good doctor needn't try very hard, I was more than compliant as whirls of relief came to the forefront of my consciousness. "We need to get you into a room where you can be monitored more closely." I watched as Lawrence Nightingale inserted the second needle into the port. Consciously I held my eyes open as the wave of sweet warm filled my body. The lights trembled overhead with the surge of blood. My mind closed to the old familiar.

"Don't worry," the good doctor said. "We'll take good care of you."
Home again.