performed on Joan Fremont. In the sports section,
there was a story about possible trades to replace the
SUTURE SELF
15
Seafarers’ ace pitcher, Joaquin Somosa. At last Effie
McMonigle had said something that Judith didn’t feel
like contradicting.
Some people weren’t lucky. They didn’t get out of
the hospital alive.
All Judith could hope was that she and Renie
wouldn’t be among the unlucky ones.
TWO
JUDITH’S SURGERY WAS scheduled for eight-thirty on
Monday. Renie’s was set for nine-fifteen. Joe and
Bill delivered their wives to admitting at the same
time. The cousins had worn out the phone lines over
the weekend encouraging each other and trying to
make light of any potential dangers.
Their husbands chimed in. “Hey, Bill,” Joe said,
“we could have hurried this up by driving together
and dumping the old, crippled broads from a speeding car.”
“You already called the girls?” Bill said with a
straight face.
“You bet,” Joe replied. “Chesty and Miss Bottoms. They’re rarin’ to go.”
“Not funny,” Judith muttered.
“Nothing’s funny this early in the morning,”
snarled Renie, who usually didn’t get up until ten
o’clock.
Nor did Good Cheer Hospital’s forbidding exterior live up to its name. Built shortly after the turn
of the last century, the large, dark redbrick edifice
with its looming dome and wrought-iron fences
looked more like a medieval castle than a haven for
healing. Judith half expected to wait for a draw-SUTURE SELF
17
bridge to come down before driving over a moat into
the patient drop-off area.
Renie, who was bundled up in a purple hooded coat,
shuddered as she got out of the Joneses’ Toyota Camry.
“Why couldn’t we go to our HMO’s hospital? This
place looks like a morgue.”
“Don’t say that,” Judith retorted as Joe helped her into
the wheelchair. To make matters worse, it was a damp,
dark morning with the rain coming down in straight,
steady sheets. “You know why we’re here. Our HMO
doesn’t do orthopedic surgeries anymore. All the hospitals are consolidating their services to save money.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Renie said with an ominous glance at
the double doors that automatically opened upon their
approach. “It just looks so gloomy. And bleak.”
“It’s still a Catholic hospital,” Bill Jones pointed out
