The Thief of Lost Time

Chapter 48: "Am I Plugged In and Ready to Go?"

The day after Christmas, I'm back in the office. The week between Christmas and the New Year is always quiet, allowing me to catch up on work. A hiatus from the incessant questions and problems.

The telephone rings and makes me jump. It's Leslie. "Dad's in the hospital. The doc told him to call an ambulance and go straight to the emergency room."

"What happened?"

"Dad said he had trouble breathing last night. His heart rate was rapid, and his chest ached."

"He didn't act sick yesterday."

"You have to admit he was a little out of it."

"Tired, yeah, but not sick."

"The hospital admitted him for observation. I'll call you as soon as I hear from—oh, wait—this may be The Quack now." She hangs up.

'The Quack' is Leslie's nickname for Dr. Madison because she's never been satisfied with the treatment he prescribed for Mom. Our attempt to convince them to get a second opinion failed. "First of all, he's too old," Leslie told me several times. "He's never acted like he wanted to find out what was wrong with her! Just prescribed pills to keep her quiet."

***

I try to concentrate on work, but I'm distracted waiting for Leslie's call. I can't picture Dad in the hospital. He's always traipsing off to the doctor for one symptom or test—or so it seems—but he's not been admitted since his operation for colon cancer twenty years ago.

I continue working but am prepared to leave at any moment. After two hours, I call her but her phone connects me to her secretary. "She's unavailable. Can I take a message?"

I remind her I'm Leslie's brother.

"Sorry, Mark, I didn't recognize your voice. She said to tell you she went to the hospital."

Then why didn't she call? Has something unexpected happened?

"I hope your father is better."

I thank her and hang up. I leave a note on my computer screen saying I'm out for the rest of the day. I grab a report to read in case I'm stuck in the waiting room. At the elevators, I text Rachel not to expect me home for dinner.

The rush hour traffic is unusually heavy at three o'clock. Does no one work an entire day anymore? I imagine Dad in the emergency room. He was fine yesterday except for looking tired. Maybe it's nothing serious and we'll take him home tomorrow.

The hospital parking lot is crowded. One would never guess it's the day after Christmas. Valet parking takes all the choice spaces. I find a spot in 'Overflow Parking.'

At reception, they check my ID and tell me Dad's in a room. I find his room, but his name is not outside the door. At the nurses' station, I'm told there's no 'Aherne.'

"I was given this room number downstairs."

The secretary checks her computer. "You're right. Admitting called to make sure the room is ready. He's on his way up. You can wait in the room if you'd like."

In the room, the other bed is occupied, and I nod at the elderly man. He's watching TV but takes off his headphones and smiles expecting I am a doctor. "My father will be here momentarily." When the patient realizes I'm not here to visit him, his smile vanishes. He puts his headphones on and turns back to the TV screen flickering silently on the wall.

Outside the sky is dark enough for headlights. In the last glimmer of daylight, the low clouds look poised for a snowstorm. The room, in the newest wing of the hospital, has a magnificent view of the Boston skyline. Magnificent if one ignores the parking lot, the shopping mall down the street, and the interstate highway climbing between walls of granite.