Write me a Letter

Doc,” I said, looking shamefaced. ”I was in once before. For piles.”
    Dr. Imre laughed merrily. Nurse frowned.
    ”Thirty-two-caliber piles, you bad boy,” he said.
    ”The worst kind,” I said. ”Talk about ouchy ouch.”
    ”While you were going beddy-byes,” he said, rubbing his hands briskly, ”I took the great personal liberty of going through your pockets, you know, with the assistance of a gigantic policeman. We were thrilled to find an up-to-date health card, or at least I was. Goodness knows what would thrill that brute. So we do not have to worry about that part of it anyway, do we, Nurse, such a relief.”
    Nurse nodded. I could thank my mom for that; she always insisted on me belonging to some health scheme. And I have to admit that despite the lunatic premiums someone in my disreputable line of work, possessing my age and state of health, has to cough up every few weeks, the price is worth the paying. Mighty like a hangover.
    ”And this charming garment,” the doc said, running his fingers coyly up and down the latest addition to my wardrobe, ”is to prevent any further slippage, you might say, until that muscle heals enough to take over. We are talking a week, ten days. We are talking sleeping on our back. We are talking being extremely careful getting in and out of vehicles and picking items off the floor. We get into a vehicle the same way a matronly lady does—rear end first. We pick fallen tissues off the floor by bending at the knees, not by stooping from our hips. Anything we’ve forgotten, Nurse?”
    ”We sit down putting on and taking off our trousers,” she said primly. ”We do not indulge in any athletic activities but swimming.”
    ”Ten days, eh?” I said. ”It’ll be terribly frustrating for the little woman but she can always double up on her dance classes. Tell me, Doc, that other guy they brought in with me, whoever he was, how’s he doing?”
    ”Ten minutes ago we were sound asleep,” he said. ”All systems going. Heartbeating normal. Blood pressure way back up. We have three pints of fresh red blood circulating away. Our drainage is in place. If we avoid those nasty secondary infections such as pleurisy, we shouldn’t have a thing to worry our poor heads about. Oh, golly, silly me, I almost forgot the best part! Our lung has been completely repaired and is now reinflating in a totally normal fashion.” Lucky old Benny, I thought, lying there with hardly nothing at all to worry his poor head about. Nurse looked at her watch, then gave her frown lines another workout.
    ”I am making the assumption from his overall condition that Mr. Clam was not being a professional hockey player or a runner of the marathon, because in that case it is certainly possible that his future performance might be affected negatively.”
    That’s a good one, I am thinking. Whatever Benny was, and he was many things to many people, it is safe to say he was not a long-distance runner. The only time in my life I ever saw him move even briskly was when he had diarrhea that time down in quaint old Mejico, and then his gait was no more than a slow trot.
    ”Doc, before you go,” I said, ”thanks for everything, first. Also, I’m curious, just how serious is Mr. Clam’s condition? When would he, say, be able to move to another hospital if he wanted to, one closer to his home?”
    The doc waved one hand negligently. ”A week? If there’s no complications. Three weeks, he should be out of hospital completely.”
    ”And me?”
    He shrugged cheerfully and gave me a playful little tickle down where my corset ended. I gave him a little slap on the wrist, not quite as playfully.
    ”How long, how long?” he wondered aloud. ”What, three days? Oh! I am forgetting!” He leaped onto one of the other beds in the ward and stretched out stiffly. ”Here is how we are getting up. Be watching closely.” He maneuvered himself onto his side at the edge of the bed, then in one smooth movement pushed up with one arm while swinging his legs down to the floor.
    ”And upsadaisy,” he said, beaming from ear to ear. ”Now you try it.”
    ”Eh, maybe later,” I said. ”How about dope for the excruciating pain?”
    ”If we are not foolish, we should not be excruciating,” he said sternly. ”However, as far as we are being concerned, you can munch Paracetemols all day long.” He waved the tips of his fingers at me, then departed, nurse right behind him. Swish went the door—if not the door and