Birthday, Part I

 My wound care day has been changed to Tuesday this week because of my eye appointment. When I get there, Vicki leads me to a room and Tim, the new guy, checks my vitals. 

My wound is showing significant drainage and maceration for the first time in a while. “It’s a good thing we’re switching to the TCC,” she says. I gather that she means the hard cast, though I’ve never heard anyone call it that. “I think all the shifting might be making things worse.” Ordinarily I would be upset by this apparent step backwards, but just like last week, I’m just relieved that the right foot remains intact. 

Gladys walks by a few times, glancing in through the crack between the curtain and the wall, and when Tim and Vicki are done measuring and photographing, she comes in. She tells me she moved out of Goose Hollow and is now living in Sellwood. I’m so wrapped up in talking to her that I don’t notice KC until she’s standing beside me. She makes as if to hug me but it’s too awkward with me in the chair, so she just touches my arm the way she used to when I was lying on the slab, just about to be slid into the chamber. 

“You’re the only one I never see here,” I say. 

“That’s because you only come in on my day off. Which I assume is intentional.”

“Maybe I should change my day.”

“Maybe you should. But listen, you won’t believe this: I have a date tomorrow,” she says, beaming. “I was so bored I finally got back online.” 

I tell her I'm happy for her, which is half true. “I could tell you were in a good mood about something. You’ve been in here five minutes and you haven’t hit me once.” 

Gladys says, “We really do a lot of hitting in here, don’t we? You know how Dr. Thompson and I are. Well one time she punched me in the arm in front of a patient and the woman got really upset and told her not to hit her staff, said she was going to report her. I tried to explain that this was just how we connected but she wasn’t convinced.”

Tim and Vicki are still there as well, and we all carry on like old friends. Vicki has never been my favorite, but she seems unusually loose and friendly today. Tim is really growing on me. He asks Vicki about a pin she’s wearing. She down looks at it. “Oh, that’s just my forty-five year pin.” 

“Forty-five years?” we all say.

“Yup. In this very building. Well, aside from seven years in Eugene.”

I tell them that last month was my twentieth anniversary working at the museum. They are all amazed, though it’s obviously not even half of Vicky’s career. 

I mention how strange it was being in the room with three guys last week. 

“I bet,” says KC. “Especially with S-Jon, he’s so manic!” 

“OK, look, once and for all, what the hell is his name?” I ask. “Everyone tells me something different.”

“It’s Jon,” says KC, pronouncing it Jean. “But he tells everyone to call him S-Jon and that’s what Aaron calls him, and he’s known him forever.”

“He’s part Norwegian and part Cherokee, from Oklahoma,” Gladys says. “As if that makes any sense. He’s still got a lot of that ER twitchiness. Taggert’s got it too, even though she’s been her two years. It takes a while to work its way out of your system. Speaking of which.” She leans in close. “If she gives you any of that crap about the wheelchair, just ignore her. You should just keep on doing what you’re doing.”

And then Dr. Arianna Taggert herself bursts through the curtain, not screeching like she usually does, but speaking in a relatively normal tone of voice. And soon everyone’s talking at once and joking and laughing and I’m back home, surrounded by love. 

Gladys supervises while Tim prepares the water and wrappings. “You sure you’re okay with the TCC?” Taggert asks. Hoping we’re talking about the same thing, I say yes. “Good. I think it’ll help.” 

She says she’ll be back in a bit. It takes a while to get the layers ready beneath the cast, especially because everyone’s talking and Tim is inexperienced. Gladys has him rewrap my foot when he does it wrong. KC holds a piece of silver foam, folding it one way and another, before realizing she’s not really helping. She says goodbye and I tell her I expect to hear all about her date next time I see her. 

“Oh you’ll hear everything,” she says. 

“Maybe not everything,” I say.

Taggert returns and as she wraps the cast, I think about how sad it is that I don’t have a group of people like this outside of the hospital. The memorial for Teddy made me realize how long it’s been since I had a real gang of friends. We certainly didn’t appreciate it at the time; we were just a bunch of misfits thrown together because there was only one coffee shop in town. And I left them all behind to come out here to follow some stupid dream of love, left them all for Portland.

Before she dashes off, I ask Dr. Taggert to remind me what TCC stands for. “Total contact cast,” she says. 

They bring me a new shoe for the TCC. It’s a little long in front- after all, I don’t have any toes- but it’s black, and looks much nicer than the ones they’ve been giving me.

Everyone is chatting by the computers when Tim brings me my scooter. It doesn’t get the kind of attention I had hoped for, considering I’ve covered it with nylon leaves and plastic gourds and random bits of autumnal flair. Maybe once I get the lights on it they’ll be more impressed. 

When I get on the bus, a bald guy in a t-shirt and jeans says, “Hey, nice holiday decorations.” I tell him I like his costume. 

“It’s my daughter’s birthday tomorrow,” he says, apropos of nothing. “I got a bad memory for most stuff but I always remember to give her a call on her birthday.” He stares straight ahead as he says all this, not looking at me. “I might not see her again.” 

“Well, um, happy birthday to her,” I say, and yank the yellow cord for my stop.