Going to wound care twice a week has become such a routine that I barely pay attention to what I’m doing. We become our habits so easily.
I don’t want to stop noticing things, though. I don’t want to take any of this for granted. But there’s a reason it’s called paying attention, and I definitely feel like I am paying.
*
I leave work and roll across the park and down to the bus mall and encounter the same goofy bus driver, the same motley gang of passengers, the same dangerous intersection at the entrance of the hospital parking lot, the same steep hill leading down to the main entrance, the same metal detector, the same gift shop the same Starbucks the long hallway the other hallway the water fountain the green elevator the fourth floor waiting area. Day after day after day I smash the blue square button with a picture of a wheelchair and poke my head in and if it’s Thursday they tell me to wheel right in and if it’s Monday they tell me to wait. It’s Monday. I wait.
I take a seat beside an older interracial gay couple whose bodies seem entwined even though one of them is in a wheelchair. A large man lumbers out of the clinic and plops down across from us.
“Those ladies treat you pretty rough in there, don’t they?” he chuckles.
“Actually I find them to be quite nice,” the man in the wheelchair says.
“Oh they’re nice,” the large man quickly agrees. The older men look at the news on the phone, comment quietly.
“Don’t know how you keep so thin, being in a wheelchair and all,” the large man says. “Don’t usually see that.”
“It’s only my legs that are thin,” says the man in the wheelchair. “They’re paralyzed. The rest of me is kind of big.” I see for the first time that his legs are like sticks.
“I got a lot of friends in wheelchairs and they don’t want to do anything but sit around so they get fat,” the large man says. Just then Vicki comes out with a bottle of pills for him. She gives him detailed instructions which he clearly does not understand. She tells the couple they can come in, leaving me alone with him.
“So what happened to you?” he asks. I tell him I had all my toes chopped off. “That happened to my best friend,” he says. “He takes good care of himself and everything, but he lost his toes, then his heel, then his leg. Then the other leg.”
“Huh,” I say. He waits.
“Yeah they’re burning my veins,” he finally says. “ Lasers. The Burning blood smells awful. They gave me laughing gas but it doesn’t make me laugh.” He laughs. “Makes me feel pretty good though.”
Caitlin rescues me and saws off my cast with her usual efficiency. She says she and her husband are going back and rewatching the entire run of the X-Files, a show I never got into. KC waves from the gap in the curtain and says she’ll be in to help. Caitlin rolls her eyes and mutters something.
She unwraps the undercast carefully and says the blister looks okay. She bandages everything up without showing the doctor, which surprises me. Dr. Taggert doesn’t seem to mind though, just asks Caitlin if she looked at it.
“I mean, not really, I didn’t take it off,” Caitlin says uncertainly.
“You can see through the screen! You didn’t take a peek? You didn’t see any big white globs of fresh new skin forming?” Caitlin says no. Taggert shrugs. “Dr. Thompson says it stays on for two weeks, so we'll see next week. I’ll be back for casting.”
Caitlin wraps my foot expertly, barely having to look at what she’s doing. She talks about What We Do in the Shadows, which I actually do find funny. KC bounces in and hangs on the arm of my chair and says she just watched a program about Mesopotamia. “I’m making myself smart,” she giggles. “Hey, have you heard of the Gilgamesh Project?”
Before I can answer, Kaitlin says, “He’s a Hindu god.” KC looks confused so she repeats it. “He’s the Hindu god with the elephant head.”
“That’s Ganesh,” I say.
“Oh right, of course,” she says.
“This is Gilgamesh. There’s a poem about him,” says KC. “The Epic of Gilgamesh, I don’t know why I keep wanting to say Gilgamesh Project.”
“I love that poem,” I say. “It’s great. You should read it,” She seems unsure if I’m serious.
Dr. Taggert reappears in a blue paper gown and holds up her phone. “Look it’s hailing!” The entire screen is white with hail.
Caitlin nervously checks her phone. “I’m going to skip the gym tonight,” she tells KC. She lives out in the gorge.
“Good, then I’m not going either. We go to the gym together,” says KC.
Taggert looks at the bucket and rolls of casting and says, “Just the way I like it!” She starts singing “I Want it That Way.” She really is the Warbling Wound Care Warrior.
She laughs and wiggles around. “Backstreet Boys! I love it! Weird Al did a parody and made it about e-Bay. Don’t you love Weird Al? I love Weird Al! I’ve seen him twice. Once at the county fair! I don’t know about the long hair though, it freaks me out a little. I liked it back when it was poofy.”
“That damn song is going to be in my head all day,” grumbles Kaitlin.
"It's a real, what do they call it, ear bug," laughs Taggert, and sings some more.
"Ear worm," says Kaitlin. She starts to sing a song I don't recognize to try to drown it out.
"Hey, did you see there's a new hospital show out? It looks funny. It takes place in Oregon. Not Portland though." KC says. I feel like I’m on that show.
Taggert talks about the tiny hospitals she worked in along the coast. "One had nine beds. Four in ER and four for patients, plus one for the doctor. It was a 24-hour shift. They'd bring you a tray of breakfast and make your bed in the morning. It was nice. Nothing ever happened."
While Taggert does my cast, KC shows me photos of her cat sitting in her lap. “We pretty much didn’t move from this spot all weekend,” she says.
The doctor finishes and Caitlin gives me a new plastic bag to wrap around the cast and I wheel out the door and up the hill. Ice clings to the roots of the trees and the edges of the grass, but the sidewalk is merely wet. I catch the 4:53 bus and tell the driver no I don’t need the ramp and make my connection and tell the other driver I don’t need the ramp and wheel across the bridge and down two blocks and into the building and across the lobby and up the elevator and around the corner and down the hall and when I’m finally in my apartment I collapse into bed and wonder how many weeks I could get away with just lying here motionless before I had to get up.