Terminal

The name Helen Cabot immediately registered in Janet’s mind. Despite the mildly jealous feelings she’d had back in Boston, she was pleased to find Helen at the Forbes. Her presence would undoubtedly help keep Sean in Florida.

After Janet had spoken briefly with Helen, the two nurses left the room.

“Sad case,” Marjorie said. “Such a sweet girl. She’s scheduled for a biopsy today. I hope she responds to the treatment.”

“But I’ve heard that you people have had a hundred percent remission with her particular type of tumor,” Janet said.

“Why wouldn’t she respond?”

Marjorie stopped and stared at Janet. “I’m impressed,” she said. “Not only are you aware of our medulloblastoma results, you made an instantaneous and correct diagnosis. Are you endowed with powers we should know about?”

“Hardly,” Janet said with a laugh. “Helen Cabot was a patient at my hospital in Boston. I’d heard about her case.”

“That makes me feel more comfortable,” Marjorie said. “For a second there I thought I was witnessing the supernatural.” She began walking again. “I’m concerned about Helen Cabot because her tumors are far advanced. Why did you people keep her for so long? She should have been started on treatment weeks ago.”

“That’s something I know nothing about,” Janet admitted.

The next patient was Louis Martin. In contrast to Helen, Louis did not appear ill. In fact, he was sitting in a chair fully dressed. He’d only arrived that morning and was still in the process of being admitted. Although he didn’t look sick, he did appear anxious.

Marjorie went through introductions again, adding that Louis had the same problem as Helen, but that thankfully he’d been sent to them much more swiftly.

Janet shook hands with the man, noting his palm was damp. She looked into the man’s terrified eyes, wishing there was something she could say that would comfort him. She also felt a little guilty realizing that she was somewhat pleased to learn of Louis’s plight. Having two patients on her floor under the medulloblastoma protocol would give her that much more opportunity to investigate the treatment. Sean would undoubtedly be pleased.

As Marjorie and Janet returned to the nurses’ station, Janet asked if the medulloblastoma cases were all on the fourth floor.

“Heavens no,” Marjorie said. “We don’t group patients according to tumor type. Their assignment is purely random. It just so happens we’ll currently have three. As we speak we’re admitting another case: a young woman from Houston named Kathleen Sharenburg.”

Janet hid her elation.

“There’s one last patient from Boston,” Marjorie said as she stopped outside of room 409. “And she’s a doll with an incredibly upbeat attitude that’s been a source of strength and support for all the other patients. I believe she said she’s from a section of town called the North End.”

Marjorie knocked on the closed door. A muffled “Come in” could be heard. Marjorie pushed open the door and stepped inside. Janet followed.

“Gloria,” Marjorie called. “How’s the chemo going?”

“Lovely,” Gloria joked. “I’ve just started the IV portion today.”

“I brought you somebody to meet,” Marjorie said. “A new nurse. She’s from Boston.”

Janet looked at the woman in the bed. She appeared to be about Janet’s own age. A few years earlier, Janet would have been shocked. Prior to working in a hospital she’d been under the delusion that cancer was an affliction of the elderly. Painfully, Janet had learned that just about anyone was fair game for the disease.

Gloria was olive-complected with dark eyes and what had been dark hair. Presently her scalp was covered with a dark fuzz. Although she’d been a buxom woman, one side of her chest was now flat beneath her lingerie.

“Mr. Widdicomb!” Marjorie said with surprised irritation. “What are you doing in here?”

Her attention focused on the patient, Janet had not realized there was another person in the room. She turned to see a man in a green uniform with a mildly distorted nose.

“Don’t go giving Tom a bad time,” Gloria said. “He’s only trying to help.”

“I told you I wanted room 417 cleaned,” Marjorie said, ignoring Gloria. “Why are you in here?”

“I was about to do the bathroom,” Tom said meekly. He avoided eye contact while fidgeting with the mop handle sticking out of his bucket.

Janet watched. She was fascinated. Tiny Marjorie had been transformed from an amiable pixie to a commanding powerhouse.

“What are we to do with the new patient if the room is not ready?” Marjorie demanded. “Get down there at once and get it done.” She pointed out the door.

After the man had left, Marjorie shook her head. “Tom Widdicomb is the bane of my existence here at Forbes.”

“He means well,” Gloria said. “He’s been an angel to me. He checks on me every day.”

“He’s not employed as part of the professional staff,” Marjorie said. “He’s got to do his own job first.”