“It’s not very good,” Judith allowed. “In fact, it’s
tasteless. I tried salting the gravy, but that doesn’t help
much. There’s a green salad, though.” She searched
around on the tray. “It’s under the other covered dish,
but I don’t see any dressing.”
“Rice,” Renie said, holding her head. “How can you
ruin rice? And why is it sort of beige?”
“Brown rice?” Judith suggested, taking a bite. “No,
maybe not.”
“This isn’t even wholesome,” Renie complained.
“Mutton is fatty. I’m going to call Bill.”
“What for?” Judith asked. “He’s not with the Department of Health.”
“No, but he can swing by Art Huey’s and pick us up
some Chinese. What do you want?”
Judith’s attention, however, had been caught by the
TV screen. Sister Jacqueline was in living color,
speaking in front of Good Cheer Hospital. Judith
turned the sound back on.
38
Mary Daheim
“. . . to clear our reputation,” Sister Jacqueline was
saying. “The general public doesn’t realize that every
time a person goes into surgery under a general anesthetic, they risk death. It’s simply a fact, which is why
hospitals require signed waivers before any procedure.
Sometimes, of course, there are extenuating circumstances.”
Mavis’s male coanchor reappeared, looking solemn.
“Statistically, the number of otherwise healthy patients
who die within a week of a surgical procedure is very
small. Good Cheer Hospital’s most recent deaths have
been local celebrities, thus bringing the long-time institution under scrutiny. It should also be pointed out
that Good Cheer is the only local hospital where orthopedic surgeries are performed. As chief of surgery
Dr. Peter Garnett said earlier, the statistics are bound
to be skewed when each hospital has its own specialties.”
The camera angle expanded to include Mavis.
“Thanks, Paul,” she said with a grim smile. “I guess
I’ll think twice before I get those bone spurs removed.”
Paul dutifully chuckled. Mavis announced they were
cutting to a commercial break.
“Face-lift,” Renie said. “She’s had two already.
Pretty soon her ears are going to be sticking out from
the top of her head.”
“The hospital had to expect some bad publicity,” Judith remarked, ignoring Renie’s comment and muting
the TV again. “I’m surprised there hasn’t been more
about it in the newspapers.”
“So am I,” Renie said, dumping her entire tray in
the wastebasket beside her bed. “I wonder if the
Fremont’s husband who covers city hall.”
SUTURE SELF
