This is a flash piece I wrote that is actually based on a true story. I go to a forum for retail workers where we complain about our jobs, and this one was told by a member whose father had experienced it in his time as a nurse back in the 1960's or 70's.
"Merry Christmas from Crazy Eddie"
Christmas Eve and the ER was packed as
usual. There were a few real cases: someone set on fire while
lighting the Yule log; someone else stabbed with the ham knife at the
annual family dinner. But tonight most of the patients were homeless.
The shelters were overflowing, so the local hobos made up chest pains
and stomach cramps and shambled in.
Marty didn't mind most of them. They
were quiet and polite and just trying to escape the snow. Anyway, he
had Christmas Day off. By the time he came back to work they'd all be
gone, back to wherever it was they went.
He'd just got the newest one installed
in his room- a quavery old man who called himself Prince Charlie-
when the PA squawked for backup to Room 207. Marty sighed. His shift
was almost over, so of course some crazy shit had to come up at the
last minute. He heaved himself into the corridor and almost collided
with Mike, the other male nurse on shift. Mike shot him a grin and
shrugged, no time to chat. They reached the open door of 207 at the
same time. Mike was bigger and shoved through first.
“Crazy Eddie,” he reported over his
shoulder. Marty groaned and followed him inside.
It was a shared room; three beds, all
full. Two of the guys were sitting up, watching Crazy Eddie. Their
hair was still damp from the showers they'd taken. Crazy Eddie, on
the other hand, had not showered in a very long time.
His name was actually Scott, or Eric,
or any of the dozen others he'd given every time he showed up at the
ER complaining of chest pains. Marty had christened him Crazy Eddie
because of his uncanny resemblance to Iron Maiden's gaunt mascot.
Crazy Eddie stood by his bed, which was
nearest the door. He swayed drunkenly from side to side. His hair
straggled over his shoulders like pale, limp snakes. His eyes swung
around, their whites so bloodshot they looked pink. Crazy Eddie wore
a hospital gown that wasn't tied in back. It flapped like ragged moth
wings around his wasted limbs. He wore socks that might have begun
life white but were now crusted stiff and brown. His jaw worked
convulsively, dribbling words that didn't seem to connect.
The nurse who'd called for help cringed
against the bathroom door. She was very young and Marty didn't think
he'd ever seen her before. She turned to them, her eyes pleading. “He
says he needs the restroom, but he can't even walk straight. And he
won't let me help him!”
“I kin walsh!” Crazy Eddie roared
before sinking into a storm of coughing.
“I know you can walk, man.” Mike
edged into the room. “But the hospital says patients have to have
someone go with them. It's policy, we can't do anything about it. So
just let me help you, okay?”
“He's right,” Marty moved to Crazy
Eddie's other side. “Let us help. Maybe we can even get you a
shower while we're in there. I bet you clean up real good.”
Mike had gotten close enough to take
Crazy Eddie's elbow. The old man peered suspiciously at him but
didn't fight when Marty touched his other arm. Together they managed
to get him moving, though they were more carrying than assisting him.
His arms felt like sticks under the gown.
Two steps, three, and then Marty
smelled it. A stench of despair and decay, rotting vegetation and
withered meat, with a sharp buttermilky under-smell. An eye-watering
stink the likes of which Marty hadn't smelled since his son was a
baby. An instant later something splashed on his scrubs, and he knew.
Even with their help, Crazy Eddie hadn't been able to make it.
The other men in the beds groaned and
protested. Marty glanced at the young nurse, but she was already
diving for the door and the cleaning staff. Mike shook his head
sadly. “If you hadn't stood there and argued so long-”
“Shaddup!” Crazy Eddie howled.
Marty looked down. Streams of blackish-brown shit ran down Crazy
Eddie's wasted legs, staining his socks even darker. It puddled on
the floor in a half-liquid pool, little clumps plopping into it,
spattering the filth even higher. Marty held his breath. He'd seen
worse; blood didn't bother him but he'd never gotten used to the piss
and the shit, even after all this time.
“Come on, buddy.” His voice was
nasal and thick. He grasped Crazy Eddie's arm tighter. “Let's go.”
“Noooooo!” Crazy Eddie wrenched
away with a strength Marty wouldn't have guessed he had. Mike also
let go as Crazy Eddie tried to jump back, away from them. His socks
slipped in the puddle of shit and he crashed to the ground, landing
in it. His arms and legs flailed madly as he tried to get up. Shit
spattered Crazy Eddie, Mike, Marty and the floor as they tried to
haul him to his feet. Marty tried to breathe through his mouth, but
he was afraid to open it. Instead he let the stench invade his
nostrils. Maybe he would get used to it and stop smelling it at all.
“Calm down, man!” Mike dug his
fingers into Crazy Eddie's ribs and yanked. He rose enough for Marty
to grasp his shoulder. Together they lifted him. Crazy Eddie abruptly
went limp. Mike and Marty nearly dropped his suddenly compliant body.
“Sorry,” Crazy Eddie mumbled.
“Sorry, sorry.” Shit matted his dirty hair into glistening coils.
“Don't worry about it.” Marty
patted his bony shoulder. “Let's get to the bathroom and let
someone else mop this up.”
As they guided the old man to the
bathroom, Mike glanced over his shoulder. He began to chuckle. His
shoulders trembled with mirth. “Hey Marty, check it out.”
Marty looked. The puddle on the floor
had been splashed and smeared by Crazy Eddie's furious flailing.
Staring up at him from the linoleum was a perfect shit angel.
He had to laugh too. “Merry
Christmas, Mike.”
“Merry Christmas, Marty. Merry
freakin' Christmas.”
