“I understand,” Judith said. “It’s a terrible problem
that nobody seems able to solve.”
“It’s those damned insurance companies,” Renie asserted, lifting her head a few inches from the pillow.
“Let’s not even talk about the greedy jackasses who
run the pharmaceutical industry. What about the patient? I’m lying here in misery and half starved while
a bunch of bumbling morons in Washington, D.C., try
to figure out whether their pants get pulled up over
their fat butts or go down over their empty heads. Or
maybe they aren’t wearing any pants at all. Furthermore, if anybody had an ounce of—”
Sister Jacqueline cleared her throat rather loudly.
“Mrs. Jones. Ranting will do you no good. I suggest
that you exercise the virtue of patience instead.”
“I
not a patient patient.”
“I gather not,” Sister Jacqueline said mildly, then
30
Mary Daheim
turned to Judith and spoke almost in a whisper. “If
someone is discharged tomorrow, we might be able to
move you to a different room.”
Judith tried to smile. “It’s fine, Sister. Honestly. I’m
used to her. She’s my cousin.”
The nun drew back as if Judith had poked her.
“Really!” She glanced from Judith to Renie and back
again. “Then patience must be one of your outstanding
virtues.”
Judith looked sheepish. “Well . . . Many things in
life have taught me patience. In fact, my cousin really
doesn’t—”
A tall, thin middle-aged man who looked vaguely
familiar tapped diffidently on the open door. “Sister?”
he said in an uncertain voice.
The nun stepped away from Judith’s bed. “Yes?”
“I’m worried,” the man said, removing his thick
glasses and putting them back on in a nervous manner.
“My brother isn’t getting any rest. There are way too
many visitors and deliveries and I don’t know what all.
I thought since Margie volunteers at the hospital, she’d
keep things under control.”
“I haven’t seen Mrs. Randall since Mr. Randall was
in the recovery room,” Sister Jacqueline replied. “Even
though the post-op news was very good, she seemed
downcast. Perhaps she went home to rest.”
“I hope not.” The man who appeared to be Bob Randall’s brother gave a shake of his head. “There’s supposed to be a big snowstorm moving in. She might get
stuck at the house.” He uttered a heavy sigh. “Poor
Margie. She’s always downcast. I guess it’s just her nature.”
The nun turned back to Judith, but avoided looking
at Renie, who wore a mutinous expression. “Excuse
SUTURE SELF
