"That will teach her," laughed the other.
"She still struggles with Thrush," a third broke in, in the patient's defense. "The reason she drinks so much is because it eases her dry mouth and nausea."
"Then give her the anti-nausea medication."
"She refuses to take meds she feels she doesn't need," countered the other. "Says, they add to her dry mouth. She wasn't one to take drugs prior to this; has an allergy to some drugs, especially those for pain."
"Oh, posh! That's all something in her head," disagreed the first. "Her dry mouth is because she breathes through her mouth at night; the tumor blocks her nose."
"None of that matters. We follow doctor's orders. No water..."
****
For two nights and a day, Gemma had been wondering why the water girls would give her a jug of ice-water, and immediately the nurse or CCA would snatch it away. When she asked, she was told, her void and intake were being monitored; fluid ingestion recorded; after every meal, they even counted every glass of juice and milk.
But night time was the worst.
I can't take this anymore! If they won't give me water, I'll just steal it from the tap in the bathroom.
Gemma hid the Styrofoam cup in the folds of her hospital gown, pushing the pole of the IV along the floor toward the bathroom. It was almost four in the morning, and the nurse was nowhere in sight. She knew it was soon time for the Chemo bag to be replaced; they always woke her to do it.
But she needed to drain...and desperately craved water. She would do anything to get it!
Yet, when she had accomplished the deed, it seemed a pointless endeavor. The liquid hadn't done much to alleviate the problem. Gemma was still dying of thirst.
Finally, at six AM someone took pity on her, giving her a jug of water. By shift change at eight, she had drank most of it, afraid they would snatch it away, when the new girls came on.
****
It was finally morning. The nurses from both shifts were in review.
Gagging, Gemma swiftly sat up in the hospital bed. Something was slowly slipping from her nose, down her throat. She leaned far forward, but it failed to stop what was happening.
She coughed hard, grabbed at a tissue from the box on the table at her side. Gasping to catch a breath, she gagged violently again.
Whatever was in there, now slid to the top of her windpipe, cutting off the air completely.
For this round, Gemma was in the bed nearest the door. A nurse appeared from the nursing station directly across; stood in the doorway, watching, a worried look on her face. Desperately struggling to breathe, Gemma was completely unaware of this concerned observer.
Coughing, retching, she finally gagged the obstruction up, and spit it into the soft paper in her hand.
Gemma opened her fist, staring at the thing lying there: a large gob of greenish-gray; square...like a metal chip, and hard.
What the heck! Is this part of my tumor?
"Are you alright?" asked the nurse, approaching the bedside.
Gemma held out what she had regurgitated; the woman turned away, repulsed. She didn't seem much inclined to examine the thing further.
"I nearly choked..."
"I know. We were watching from the nursing station. We had no idea how to help you. I'm glad, you're okay."
Only then, did Gemma become aware of the crowd gathered in the doorway. Quickly the rest of the staff turned back to the work they had been doing.
Oh, man! I've had an audience. How embarrassing!
****
"She's lost her tag," revealed the orderly to the head physician. "We all watched from the nurses' station as she almost choked, gagging it up. It had grown too large to pass down the throat. We wouldn't have a problem, if it had been smaller; would just have passed into the stomach and adhered to the wall. Now, instead, she has no tag."
With little show of sympathy, the doctor retorted: "Well, see she is tagged again. We have done too much with her, to be stymied, now. We can't be losing her!"
"Where should we tag her, and...how?"
"Try her IV site."
****
Gemma was so uncomfortable she felt like crying. For days, she had tried to get the nurse to look at her IV site; it ached like heck! But, nobody listened...until it was too late.
Now she was on antibiotics, with an infected wrist. Each time, they had to squeeze the wound to extract the puss, before applying the ointment, and wrapping the area.
It will leave a scar now, for the rest of my life!
****
"Her body rejects any tag we try to introduce," complained the orderly. "The IV site is badly infected, and her veins are rolling. She's almost impossible to plant another IV; covered with bruises from where we've tried...we are going to lose this one, if we don't take other measures."
"Okay," decided the physician. "We'll give her the blood transfusion. I'll see you get the compatible supply..."
As the orderly turned to go, the other stopped him with a word.
"See that she's tagged properly, after. Try it orally..."
"She's leery; questions everything we do..."
"Tell her, she's low in potassium..."
The other nodded, and went to carry out his orders.
****
Loni and Da were weeding out the portulaca in the flower beds, throwing the prolific plants in a pail to die, before they were burned in the refuse. The two controllers surprised them, coming out of nowhere, grabbing Loni by either arm, as was their custom, and starting off with him in tow. Loni had been intent on his thoughts, deep in mental concentration, listening in to the minds of the healthcare personal in the adjacent lab-room; he hadn't even sensed the presence of his overseers.
"Come on, Flaw!" declared the rougher
