an emergency room, pt 2.

(continued from this post)

The old man in Bed 3 catches sight of the nurse as she walks into the room. You called my cousin yet, he nearly shouts. It's hard to say whether this is a question. He doubles over, coughing, and Louis and the nurse both go over to him. She helps him lean back against the bed. They couldn't find anyone by that name, she explains. We already called your brother. Is there anyone else we can call?

Why did you call my brother, he demands. He can't do anything. Just call the operator in Pasadena. My cousin's name is Robert Johns, and he and his wife are going to drive down to pick me up.

She turns away. The nurse comes over to my relative's bed, adjusts the IV bag. What's your name, the nurse asks her. Can you grip my hand for me? There is no response. There is nothing conclusive yet, she says to me. We'll do some more tests. She exchanges some words with Louis. I only make out a few of them: operator, discharged, disconnected. Louis shrugs, grimaces.

My back hurts, the old man complains. Why won't you help me? Louis tries to look reassuring. We already gave you some medication for that, he says. You'll feel better soon. We will call you a taxi, okay? I'm sure your cousin will be down to see you tomorrow. Pasadena is a long drive for tonight.

I expect another outburst, but I don't hear anything from his bed. I get up, rub my eyes. I need a cigarette. The night is cold and fresh, and I borrow a lighter from a middle-aged Asian woman sitting outside. Someone as young as you shouldn't smoke, she says. I shrug. My daughter had rashes on her legs, she explains. We put some cream on them, and they went away for a few weeks. Now they are all over her body. I nod. This is some sort of sympathy, I hope, the best I can muster.

When I come back in, there are two or three nurses standing around Bed 3. I told you he would come, the old man is saying. Him and his wife are going to drive down. A younger nurse is here now as well, looking doubtful. I haven't seen this nurse before. Louis smiles. You have a very kind cousin, Louis says. He should be here soon. I guess the operator found him after all, he says.

Some time passes, maybe an hour or two. The old man seems to have gone to sleep. More tests. There is nothing conclusive. I have brought a woman to two clinics and an emergency room tonight. When the nurses ask her to grip their hands, she turns away silently. Her right hand twitches involuntarily.

Louis touches my arm. I'm going off my shift soon, he says. There isn't anything more you can do. We'll keep her here overnight; you should go home. I close my eyes, think of a warm bed, pillows. I nod. Thank you, I say to him. I start to form a question, decide against it.

Outside, the sky is just starting to turn to a faint blue. There is a yellow checkered taxicab waiting. "Are you --", the driver begins. I cut him off. This is enough, for one night. I pull my hands out of my pockets, show him my keys. I drove here, I tell him. I am going home.