Babel

It’s the fourth anniversary of the assault on the capitol by a gang of hooligans egged on by the most depraved, noxious cretin to ever hold this country’s highest office. On my way to work a guy on a bike decides not to stop or even slow down for the red light and nearly crashes into me as I cross. 

A few blocks away an SUV does stop for the light, but then speeds through before it changes. narrowly missing both me and an old guy with a walker. 

On the other side of the street, a young woman looks around and, deciding no one is watching, decides not to clean up after her dog. 

As I approach the museum, I pass a man wearing a hoodie with the words ASSHOLES LIVE FOREVER emblazoned on the back. 

At work, things are needlessly chaotic. My suggestions to help are ignored, so eventually I just keep to myself as everyone around me bitches about the chaos. Because they don’t really want solutions. They want to keep bitching. And these are the people who voted that treasonous parasite back into office. 

Beneath all my irritation with humanity, I am anxious about today’s appointment and the impending nurses’ strike. I try to keep an eye on my fear, and keep reminding myself of all I’ve been through in the past year, telling myself I will get through this as well. I try not to linger on the mistakes I’ve made that led me to this point, delicious though it might be to do so. 

The sun is blinding as I wait for the bus after work. I’m already dreading Dr. Taggert’s hectoring. I know it comes from a place of caring, but what does that matter if it only serves to amplify my anxiety? Please let her be subdued today, I pray, though I’ve already made more prayers this week than an atheist has any right to, the most pressing one being, Please let them call off the fucking strike. 

The metal detector in the lobby isn’t roped off but I don’t see any guards around. The woman in front of me stands frozen in place. I go around her and skirt the detector. “It’s been out of service for weeks,” I say.

“But I have a stun gun I have to leave with them,” she says. I almost crack a joke, but decide against it.

“McCollum I gotchoo,” the woman behind the counter yells across the lobby. 

An attendant I’ve never seen before is sitting to her left. He calls to me to stop. “She got me!” I yell as I wheel on past.

I sit out in the waiting area, too unfocused to read or draw. I look at 3 beds folded like sandwiches in the middle of the hallway. I look up at the smoke detectors, the sprinklers. I get up to inspect the sole piece of artwork in the room, which I’ve never looked at before. It’s a photograph of a mountain called the Tower of Babel in the Canadian Rockies. 

I look it up online and read a step by step guide to ascending it. The peak affords one a spectacular view of the cerulean Moraine Lake and the other nine peaks that surround it. It looks otherworldly but I will never see it in person. It doesn’t look like a particular arduous scramble but I would never be able to manage it; not that I was ever all that much into strenuous outdoor activity. The last hike I went on was up Larch Mountain, which is also not much of a climb but fucked up my feet for months. Like Taggert says, these feet should only be used to stand and pivot.

S’Jon bursts out and tells me to come on in. I ask how he is and he says terrible. He leads me to room one and I turn my head and see KC hiding in the corner. “Boo,” she says. I’m pleased that at least one of my sad little prayers has been answered.

“Is everyone ready to strike?” I cry. “Where are your signs? I want to hear your chants!”

KC immediately starts talking about how upset she is about the whole thing. “I really spiraled down this weekend,” she says. She tells me she’s really scared about paying her mortgage. I tell her to let me know what she needs and I’ll cover it. “Finally I’ve found my sugar daddy!” she cries. 

“Hey I’m pretty scared too,” says S’Jon, and he actually sounds it. Everyone in the office is on edge. I can hear Kaitlin and Shelley having a heated discussion about salaries. 

“Look at this! You don’t get anyone making less than five million until you hit the next page!” 

“It’s no wonder they say they’re broke, paying all these salaries.”

“And what do they do all day? Their assistants do everything for them!”

“How do they sleep at night?” 

.“I’m all for you guys striking,” I say, “but you couldn’t wait a month until I get my other eye done?” 

“It’s really bad timing for a lot of patients,” KC says, looking like she’s going to cry. “I feel so bad. I wish we weren’t doing this.” 

S’Jon cuts off the cast quicker than ever. “I like to see if I can beat my time,” he says. “Oh hey, you cracked the heel.” 

There is moderate drainage and my wound has grown slightly larger. I grow sullen, and KC gets quiet too. “I’m so tired of this,” I say, for the six hundredth time.

“I know,” she says tenderly.

“Why don’t you just go ahead and chop the fucking thing off,” I say. “You’ve got the saw right there.”

Taggert comes in looking miserable. I want to ask her if the skin graft was just completely useless, but I already know the answer. She talks about scabs, and how much money they make, and how all the hospitals in the area are going to be swamped. 

“It’s going to be just like during the pandemic when you had to call for hundreds of miles around looking for openings. I sent a woman to Boise for an appendectomy!” She doesn’t mention the wound, though she obviously sees how bad it is. She says she’ll be back to do my cast and slips quietly away. Another answered prayer.

“God I hope there isn’t another pandemic,” S’Jon says. The first US death from bird flu was reported today.

“At least we’ll have finally have people running the country who really care about human life,” I say. KC glares at me. 

S’Jon lets her prepare my undercast. I watch carefully, knowing this might be the last time I see her for a while. She wears a black vest over burgundy scrubs. Her sharp little nose hangs over her mask and her face looks ruddy and pinched. S’Jon takes his mask off and his weird little mustache actually looks sparser than before. To cheer us up he shows us photos of his cat, an enormous white rag doll kitten that he says is a huge pain in the ass. He keeps saying it’s “ours,” so I guess he’s not single like I thought, and also has a mortgage, which he too is stressed out about. 

“I know I’m lucky in that I can always go live on the res if I need to,” he says, actually sounding a little sheepish. I like this kinder, gentler S’Jon better than the one who bitches about how dangerous Portland is.

KC repeats that she’s worried about making ends meet. “I know the union can help but you have to prove you tried everything else first,” she says. I tell her that her and Cathy can always sleep in the hyperbaric chambers if she gets evicted. “I just had work done on my teeth,” she says. “I owe six thousand dollars.” She pulls down her mask and flashes her small, straight teeth. I’m not sure what I’m looking for but they look fine. I ask her how her holidays were.

“Low key. Talked to my dad, talked to my mom.” I know her folks are separated but for some reason I also thought her dad was dead.

“You didn’t yell at anyone?” I ask.

“Not this time.”

Taggert cones in to put on the cast and KC stays to assist. I tell her “this might be my last one for a while so make it good! The heel cracked on the last one.”

Taggert comes in to wrap the cast and KC stays to assist. I say, “This might be my last one for a while, make it good! No cracked heels this time.”

They reminisce about the last strike, which only lasted a few days. “This one’s a lot bigger, I’m hoping it only lasts a week or so,” Taggert says. “It’s going to be a giant mess.”

Despite the gloomy atmosphere, I gather what little strength I have left and manage to get them both to laugh a little. By the time they release me, I’m spent. KC walks me to the door. She looks worn out as well.

“You’re going to be okay,” I say.

“So are you,” she says. Balanced on my scooter, I hold out one arm and she comes in for a hug. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want her to go through this alone, and I sure as hell don’t want to be alone. But this is where we’re at in this collapsing tower of a country. I can barely find the words to talk about it. We are all so broken. We are all so frightened. We are all so doomed.