Thirteen West (5 page)

"Some excellent recovery rates have been reported," Dr. Fredericks said to the three men and one woman who'd accompanied him onto Thirteen West. "We're trying our own experiment with the maximum mix concept here." He waved a hand.

Standing inside the nurses' station,
Alma
smiled at the VIP visitors when they glanced her way. Showcase was the word he'd used and you'd better believe old Nellie always meant what he said.

"The set-up is traditional," Dr. Fredericks went on, "since our physical space didn't lend itself well to any other configuration. Behind the nursing station is a lounge for personnel. This is separated from the rest of the ward by partitions so our nurses and technicians can have time to themselves during their breaks and yet not be off the ward. It resembles an island both in fact and philosophically.

"The day room is here," he continued, moving off with the four visitors in tow. "We have a color TV for those patients who care to watch it, plus a place for them to interact with one another."

Alma
could see Frank's back through the safety windows of the day room. He was inside making sure the patients wouldn't act out in any particularly weird ways while the visitors were present.

"Be glad you're not on days," he'd told her when she complained about this second tour within a week. "They get the brunt of it."

Sally was in Laura Jean's room, trying to do her best to prevent the girl from stripping. For some reason the girl had taken a liking to the student nurse after meeting her on the Ad Ward. Alma shook her head, unhappy Sally had been there to see her flip out that day—but getting bit was one intolerable thing. Her shoulder was still sore.

Connie Dominguez and David were in the four bed men's ward cleaning up old Mousie who'd deliberately crapped all over his wheel chair in the day room just before Dr. Fredericks was due with his VIP tour. The day room still stunk despite all the spraying housekeeping had done.

Grace Geibel was teaching Susie Q to brush her teeth properly, an unusual occupation for afternoon, but it kept Susie Q from hanging on the visitors because she did love to brush her teeth.

Lew Alinosky was in the lounge on a break and, thank God for small favors, Janet Young had a day off. She just naturally didn't like that woman.

"The staff tailors the approach to each patient," Dr. Fredericks said. His high-pitched voice carried extremely well.
Alma
had never quite gotten used to it coming from his huge bulk.

"For example, bowel retraining may be the goal for one of our elderly chronics..."

He had smelled the crap then,
Alma
told herself. Personally, she didn't think Mousie was going to do zip with bowel retraining. She'd seen the glitter in his eyes when he decided to be incontinent right after he'd been toileted in vain. Purely mean, that old man.

"...whereas the young adolescent needs acceptance, with firm reality direction at the same time."

Teach Laura Jean not to bite?
Alma
snorted. Lots of luck.

"While schizophrenia is an increasingly unpopular diagnosis," Dr. Fredericks went on, "I do believe there is a specific group of responses that can be termed nothing else. There's a movement afoot to overthrow all labeling of mental illness. I ask you—will not naming a condition cure the patient?"

He paused and
Alma
saw he was staring at the four visitors. Intimidating them, daring them to argue with him. Too bad if they did—he'd bring out the big guns and demolish them. Not wise to tangle with Nellie. She'd never heard of anybody coming out one up on him.

Seeing movement in the hall between the group and the exit door, she stepped into the lounge to alert Lew.

 
"Dolph Benning's on his way to demand his green jacket from Dr. Fredericks," she said. "Take him around the other way to the day room. Frank's in there and can hang onto him till the tour's over."

Lew passed her, his black hair accentuating his pallor…not really good-looking, different was a better word. Didn't talk much. If she hadn't set up her taboo about personal relationships with techs, he might prove to be interesting.
  

Lew skirted the nurses' station on the opposite side from the VIP group and approached Dolph from the rear. "Hey," he said, "there's a good western on TV. How about—?"

Dolph whirled to face him. "No. I got to get my jacket. I got to find out if they—"

"That's the head doctor," Lew said. "We already asked him about your jacket and he doesn't have it either. You don't want to go bothering him again."

"I got to find it," Dolph said. "It's green."

But he allowed Lew to take his arm and lead him away from the visitors. Lew handed him over to Frank in the day room, then stood watching the TV for a moment. "Picture's skewed," he said.

Frank shrugged. "Usually is. I checked the holds—it's not that."

"I used to do repair work. Maybe I could take a look inside the chassis sometime."

"Not now."

Lew turned away. I didn't mean now for Crissake. Does he think I'm retarded? Why the hell did they have to transfer him off days anyway? Working the PM shift, how was he supposed to keep an eye on that little sneak Becky? She'd be up to her old tricks in no time. Midnight when he got home and no telling what she'd been doing before he got there. She'd damn well better not be leaving Timmie alone in the house.

Lew unclenched his fists. No use to get uptight. Maybe Becky could get her shift changed, too. Then they'd have to find a sitter for Timmie, though, 'cause the nursery school wasn't open after five.

"Glad the rain's finally stopped," Frank said.

"What? Oh, yeah."

"Ms Reynolds will be setting up a program for taking the patients outside. If the weather holds you can get started on that next week."

"Yeah," Lew repeated. He glanced around at the patients in the day room and decided most of them wouldn't care one way or the other whether they were out or in. He wished he was still on C West, third floor in the main building, where the teenagers were. Couldn't trust a one of them but they acted out in ways he could understand. Not old enough to know better.

Unlike Becky—twenty-eight, her last birthday.

In Chester Mausser's room, David lifted him into his wheelchair, ignoring the old man's attempts to cling to his bed.

"He's a slider, Connie," David warned the tech who was helping him. "Tie the Posey tight. You know, Connie doesn't sound like a Chicano name."

"Short for Conception," she told him, winding the Posey ties around the lower handles before pulling them across the back of the wheelchair.

"You got any kids?"

"Five."

"Wow. And you still work."

"The money's good."

"You don't hardly look like you have five kids—you're so little."

She smiled at him. "I don't have time to get fat."

"Put me to bed," Chester Mausser demanded.

"Mousie, you know you have to stay up till after supper," David said.

"I'll have you fired, young man."

"Go ahead. Then I won't have to clean up old freaks who shit in their pants. You did it on purpose—I just got you off the toilet."

"It wasn't me," the old man insisted. "They put it in there to embarrass me."

"Sure they did. Well, you better not let me catch them doing it again."

"Reality orientation," Connie reminded him.

David made a face at her.

"You needn't hide behind me, young woman,"
Chester
said. "I know what you did just now and you ought to be ashamed of yourself."

David guffawed.

Up the hall, the touring group paused before being let out of the ward. The woman peered into the last open door. "Why that's a Mongol," she said in surprise, turning to Dr. Fredericks. "I didn't think you mixed mentally ill and mentally retarded on the same ward. I thought the practice went out countless years ago."

Dr. Fredericks smiled. "We're bringing back on Thirteen West just such concepts, once wrongly labeled as outmoded. That's what maximum mix is all about—total desegregation. As near to a community cross-section as possible. The retarded are part of our patient population—part of our community, as it were. Perhaps our girl here with Down's Syndrome will be the catalyst in—"

"Hi!" Susie Q called, clumping from her room. She reached for the woman's hand. "What's you name?"

Grace Geibel hurried up behind her. "Susie Q," she said, "the lady has to go now."

Susie Q paid no attention, staring up at the woman open-mouthed.

The visitor smiled nervously and tried to disentangle her hand from Susie Q's grasp, exclaiming in over-hearty tones, "You're certainly a friendly girl, aren't you?"

Susie Q snuffled and green mucus dribbled from both nostrils. "What's you name?" she repeated.

Grace reached for Susie Q's other hand. "Say bye-bye to the lady. Time to wash up for supper. Maybe there'll be candy after you eat."

"Candy," Susie Q echoed, dropping the visitor's hand as she turned toward Grace. "Want candy."

"After supper." Grace said, urging her back into the room. "We have to wash first."

As she wiped Susie Q's nose, Grace heard the ward door close and the lock click shut. Serve that snooty woman right, she thought, if Susie Q had smeared snot all over her. She night have acted a little friendlier—Susie Q loved attention. Yesterday afternoon Susie Q had sat for an hour next to one of the old ladies who couldn't utter a sentence that made sense. But she'd patted Susie Q's head now and then while she jabbered nonsense and Susie Q had been in ecstasy. Unfortunately, Susie Q was the token retardate in the "community" of Thirteen West. All the others were crazies of one sort or another.

Grace chewed her lower lip. She was afraid of most of them, never mind how harmless they acted. Why couldn't she have been left on B East with the retarded patients? They loved her, were used to her. Yes, Susie Q was doing all right on Thirteen West but what about Grace Geibel?

Dr. Fredericks might think he was God as far as running Calafia was concerned but he wasn't The Almighty. What right did he have to take people and put them somewhere else whether they wanted to go there or not? Just so he could show off to others. See my creation. Using the number thirteen like it wasn't unlucky…no hospital she'd heard of ever called a ward thirteen. Thought he was God and could do no wrong.

Another thing—Alma Reynolds was black. She seemed to be a good enough charge nurse, sharp and all and not lazy, give her credit. But to have her for a boss? Grace hadn't told Papa about it, except he might read it in the paper sometime, it probably would be in the paper what with Dr. Fredericks showing off the ward like he did. Still, the paper wouldn't say Ms Reynolds was black. There might be pictures, though.

Grace tensed. Should she tell Papa or just hope he never found out? He didn't like black people. He'd be angry, really mad if he found out and she hadn't told him. He might even...

Color stained Grace's sallow complexion. She put her hands to her face and closed her eyes. No, she mustn't...

"Is something the matter?" someone asked.

Hurriedly, Grace dropped her hands and stared at Sally. "No I—I'm just tired," she stammered.

"It's time for your break—maybe that'll help. Ms Reynolds sent me to relieve you. Laura Jean and I are going to the day room and Susie Q can come with us."

Grace peered nervously at the thin blonde girl behind Sally.

"I can't stand that creep," Laura Jean said.

Sally turned to her in surprise. "You told me you liked Susie Q. You told me she was the most honest person you'd ever met."

"I meant her." Laura Jean pointed at Grace. "She's a creep."

Sally flushed, embarrassed for Grace.

"See, you're not honest, either," Laura Jean told her. Hardly anyone in this shithole is."

"Susie Q's all cleaned up for supper," Grace said, ignoring Laura Jean. "I'll walk her down to the day room and then take my break."