Organ - Chapter 3

ORGAN

Chapter Three

Nervousness had become Oscars default state of composure since his admittance to Greenwood Heart Hospital, the stomach fluctuations of butterfly wings no longer felt worthy of acknowledgement. Days had blended together into headache inducing flurries of agitated prognosis and vague proclamations from medical professionals that each assured the young patient that everything was being done to correct his clandestine ailment. That evening would be Oscars first experience of sleeping in the observation room, he was uneasy at the prospect of being monitored all evening by machines that had previously triggered some sort of attack, but if Boothe was to be trusted then he was in his swollen hands. 

“Good evening, Oscar”,  Boothe said as he ambled into the room with casual excitement. 

Oscar noted a large red ketchup stain on his gown that the doctor attempted to hide with his badge. 

“How are we feeling?” Boothe posed the standardised required question.

“I am okay, not sure I am all that tired, but I think I should be able to sleep,” 

Oscar joked addressing the scheduled nights monitoring, below the surface this feeling of uncertainty very much festered. 

“That’s okay, we will take as long as you need to make sure we get some results for you. You will be monitored for the entirety of the night and into the morning by both our medical observation equipment and several members of staff.” 

Boothe paused as if considering his next sentence, “We won’t have a repeat of last time, I promise you that.” The doctor handed out another venomous taunt towards nurse Katie, Oscar felt almost defensive as he sat up in his bed. Katie had not been seen by the young man for a couple of days and he had grown nervous as to her position in the hospital being vulnerable due to the events on the night of his episode, his guilty conscience grew the longer Katie remained in memory alone. 

“Please don’t blame Katie” Oscar almost whispered towards Doctor Boothe, he felt like a child addressing a domineering principal, much to the doctors surprise this conversation had become unprofessional. 

“I don’t blame her, and it could have happened to anyone that night, she shouldn’t lose her job because of me. Especially since we still don’t know what is causing any of my problems” Oscar now spoke with more authority but still appeared as a shaken adolescent in the experienced Doctors eyes. 

Boothes face was pleasant when he entered the room, almost charming, it was now adorned with a frustrated wrinkle in his brow as he adjusted his glasses falling off his face.

“Nurse Katie was not fired, rest assured we have spoken to her privately regarding the incident as this was indeed a profoundly serious matter. I shouldn’t be telling you this Oscar, but I hope it will put your mind at ease on the matter. Our nurse has been placed on suspended leave without pay but she will most likely be returning to her regular duties by the end of the month pending an inquiry from the hospital. Keep this between us okay” Boothe was impactful and deliberate with his tone, the words fell as if a shuddering weight of education was being delivered to an unruly student once more. 

Oscar shrank in his bed and nodded in acknowledgement, sinking his gaze back into the sheets.

Outside the walls of this sterilised station of medicine, nights darkness overcame the days bright skies. Oscar was anxious for his observation to begin, glimpses of episodes past circled his brain seeking entry, it would be starting in a couple of hours’ time and the staff had filtered in throughout the day prepping both his body and his bed to ensure the process went smoothly had done nothing for his nerves. Perhaps the staff felt somewhat tense regarding the patients care, they had collectively dropped the ball on a handful of occasions since Oscar had been admitted, and an uncomfortable weight lingered above all heads working his case. It was as if no nurses dared look him in the eye at times, Oscar considered if they blamed him for Katies reprimand. He sat up in his bed and finished the pot of rice and various vegetables that had been brought as his dinner that evening. Oscar had failed to mention it to all parties concerned but since his admittance to hospital, hunger was now his default setting as food seemed almost weightless. Calories burned through him at an alarming rate and the mealtimes simply became a performance that Oscar was taking part in for the peace of mind of his nearby carers and a time to get calories into his misfiring digestive system.

Stuffing down the last spoonful of sticky white rice and placing the small plastic pot on this bedside table, he felt the pangs of distress seething into his stomach tissue. Hunger cramps had become manageable, or at the very least they had become tolerable enough to conceal from those surrounding him, they felt lighter and less intense than those crippling pains he felt before. Oscar considered alerting Dr Boothe early on in his visit regarding his issues consuming food, but it felt almost inconsequential considering his episodes of lost consciousness and muscular possession. Time elapsed and the mealtime obstacle simply became too awkward to bring up in the face of greater difficulties, these cramps persisted for almost 15 minutes, Oscar remarked in his mind that the periods of pain after eating had become longer, this thought was interrupted abruptly by the mechanical shuffling of his phone vibrating across the bedside table. Oscar had forgotten to call his mother at the agreed upon hour of the day, he hastily answered and cleared his throat of any oily residue from dinner with a flem-laced clearing crudely into the air. 

“Hello Mum,” Oscar began, “Sorry I didn’t call, I lost track of time” he quickly admitted without any prompting to put out the fire he sensed was crackling. 

“What are you up to that’s keeping you so distracted,” Mrs Rubens laughed on the phone.

Oscar smiled and relaxed, he felt his mother at his side once again. 

“That’s okay sweetie, anyway, how are you feeling?” she continued. 

“I am okay, just finished dinner. How was work?” Oscar’s response was almost pre-prepared, as though reading from a mental teleprompter. 

Oscar’s mother let out a small sigh that did not go unnoticed. 

“Work has been fine, only tired of people reminding me that you are unwell. The principle has been talking about potential redundancies, and I hope he doesn’t try and use you against me.” 

Oscar paused and pondered the problem in his mind, but no words of relief leapt forward to aid his mother’s worries.

“I am sorry Mum” was all that he could offer up. 

“Don’t be daft, we are in this together. You will always come first and a jobs a job” his mother’s warm words stuck with him that night.

His concerns for her career simply stacked on the mountain of dripping dread that built up upon the young man’s chest, his own personalised paralysis demon. 

“Anyway, how was your dinner?” she asked playfully attempting to defuse the tension. 

“I miss your cooking.” 

Oscar threw back as a smile crept into the corners of his mouth, “Christ, It can’t be that bad!” his mother replied, and they both shared a laugh before saying their goodbyes. 

“Sleep tight sweetheart.” 

“Sweet dreams Mum.”

Observation time had arrived, it was approaching eleven in the evening and after the rather emotional phone call from his mother, Oscar was now feeling the weight of the day on his eyelids pulled heavy. Expectations ran few and far between in his mind, after his experience other procedures at this hospital and the painful events that followed, Oscar was unaware of how this new venture into yet another attempt at prognosis would end. Dr Boothe, beaming with a sense of confidence, entered the room with a couple of attending colleagues at his back. 

“Good evening, young man, I hope you are tired,” Boothe toyed as he attempted to dilute the tension thick in the air. 

Oscar pulled himself out of bed and felt around for his slipper with the ball of his heel, the cold hospital tiles underfoot were something he still had not come to expect, it was freezing to the touch.

“If you would follow me, we can make our way over to observations and get you all set up for the night, will you be okay walking?” Boothe enquired as he handed Oscar his pastel blue dressing gown. 

Oscar smiled and wrapped a preowned gown that spent most of its time hanging lifelessly on the back of the room’s door around his shoulders, the brief walk through the hospital halls was unpleasant at that hour of night, various coughs and splutters echoed through corridors without the sirens of normal hospital duties happening to drown them out. This particular ward was fitted out with rooms that sporadically interrupted the windows to the outside world, glimpses of the night broke up his stroll and did tease his body clock into sleepy steps. As Oscar made his way past the last coupling of adjoining bedrooms his stare found a familiar face, the same elderly man that attended his local doctors office that day Mary had arranged an appointment for him, he thought briefly about how long ago that all felt now. Oscar summoned up images in his mind of the elderly white-haired man hunched over with a faceless doctor hearing his body through a stethoscope back in his tiny local doctor’s office. His mind fluttered momentarily with questions, “Why was this man here?,” “Had he taken a turn for the worst?,” “Did he recognise Oscar as he had recognised him.” His train of thought was derailed by the stern voice of a passing attendant informing Boothe that the observation equipment was indeed ready, Oscar smiled under his nose and entered the room nervously with Boothe behind him overseeing every step he took, the over protective nature of his doctor was becoming rather irritating, he was now growing worn-out of the tone.

Oscar lay quietly on the bed in the observation room. Nurses and attendees to the spectacle attached wires and plugs to his chest, temples and one strange looking device at the side of his neck. Boothe assured him this was totally normal and nothing to be alarmed about, alarm was far away from his emotions, Oscar mainly found himself feeling isolated from humanity like some experiment in a specimen jar. The room was filled with bleaching light, he wondered how they expected him to sleep under these fluorescent tubes like a basking salamander for a moment, but Boothe promptly addressed the ambience. 

“We will get these lights nice and low, but unfortunately still on, we want to be able to see your body in case you are showing signs of distress again,” he paused to briefly clear out his throat, “Does that sound okay Oscar?.” It wasn’t a question that needed an audible confirmation. 

This was Boothes world and Oscar was simply a prop in his production. Smiling without baring his teeth Oscar indicated that he agreed non-verbally with the plan. 

“You can tell our attending nurse here whenever you are ready for the lights to be lowered, take your time, and try to stay as relaxed as possible. I know these are less than usual circumstances, but it is particularly important that we get as close to normal readings as possible to really understand what is causing this okay Oscar,” 

Doctor Boothe sounded confident and reassuring this time as he patted the young man on his shoulder, Oscar felt that and kicked off his slippers before climbing into his new bed gingerly. 

“Thank you,” he called out as he lay his head on the stiff hospital pillow. “I think I am ready,” he called out fidgeting himself into a more comfortable position, the lights gradually grew dimmer, akin to an artificial sunset. 

“Sleep well Oscar,” Boothes sang through the intercom. 

“Goodnight” Oscar replied with gentle worried cadence, for a few moments before Oscar closed his eyes, he mixed thoughts around his mind of this latest experiment. 

Considering the prospect of this review showing nothing, or the idea that they may once again put this down to his mental state being awash at sea. It was harrowing, but Oscar quickly dismissed these ideas, the only life preserver that he repeatedly found himself grasping for was that another person, scratch that, another professional had heard the voice that torments him. It called out to Katie as it had to him, whether they all acknowledged this was irrelevant, Oscar knew that if he held onto this saline truth, they cannot level the accusation that he has gone crazy without proof. This train of thought had sped up his breathing and it must have been noted behind the glass as the intercom clicked into life. 

“You okay in there Oscar? We noticed a spike in your heartrate,” this new disembodied voice croaked through the speaker. 

“I am okay, sorry just a bit nervous.” he didn’t shout but it was loud enough for those observing to hear, his tone was loose and that must have given them reassurance as they would not respond again. 

Some more minutes past, Oscar lay in the almost-darkness thinking of his Mum and her concerned pale wrinkling face, it was the blanket of normalcy he needed and one he often relied upon at times of stress in his life. Closing his heavy eyes, he began nodding off to sleep, no longer aware of the glass and those behind it. As the sandman took him, Oscar thought of home, his bedroom in particular, it was his refuge and the cold room he currently occupied was nothing close, his eyes closed tightly as he fell into the normally peaceful embrace of sleep. Quietly he lay asleep on the singular narrow bed, dreaming of a blurry green afternoon back in his family home, waiting for his father to pull up in his decorated work van. If he tried really hard Oscar could still recall the markings in dark maroon and yellow printed on its side, “Rubens Contractors,” it read. His father was parading the van up and down the neighbourhood the day it came back from the graphics guys in town. In his dreams Oscar could still unite himself with his broken family, for his own needs his mind allowed him pleasant dreams more than unpleasant when it came to recalling his father. Mum would sit inside resting on the large alcove window ledge, the sun beamed down on her as she read or embroidered something beautiful to hang in her bedroom. Images would flash across her sons’ mind of her beautiful, graceful smile through the window onto the porch as Oscar sat with his lunchbox and waited. 

She looked angelic, like a stained-glass window in its glorious glow. Stirring from this wonderful transporting dream, Oscar twitched open one eye and was greeted with the harsh sterile reality of the hospital. No sound could be heard, he rested his head tightly back against the pillow and began drifting once more back to sleep. Oscar dreamt once again, this time not of peaceful happier times, he saw the same porch, but it was withered and rotten, stinking of musty rot and soaked earth. Standing at the foot of the pathway that led to the front door his body shook fearfully, through the window facing the porch his mother vacantly stared out into a void. 

Through the splintered cracked glass panels her eyes lurched towards him, her lifeless porcelain eyes wandered through his with hollowness, as though he too was constructed of glass. 

“Mum?” Oscar called out, his voice whispered and became lost in the air. 

Marys face remained unchanging; tears empty of life filtered down her withered cheeks. Oscar slowly walked the path to the door and stopped at the first step up to the porch, he could see the broken and dismantled seat that his father would sit upon to enjoy lunch. Thick stink of foul decay pierced his nostrils and punched the back of his throat in violent revolt, this was not a home he remembered. Oscar stepped up onto the porch proper, his fixation on the front door of his bizarro home, the handle rusted to black with age and cracked with dilapidation. Reaching for the handle and turning it in place, a phantom hand thumped down on his shoulder, swivelling him around with enough force to shake the porch beneath him. Thomas stood before him, eyes teeming with bloody streams, his clothes reeking of the same stench that engulfed the property behind him. 

“Oscar!,” he shrieked out, his voice was low and barely audible but for the smacking of chapped dry lips moistened by the red iron river running down his cheeks into his lips. 

His expression was screaming out the words but only a whisper landed on his sons ears in this prison nightmare. Thomas shook him violently in his hands by the shoulders causing the wood beneath them to again loosen aggressively under foot. 

“OSCAR!,” the sound came out more defined but still not more than a tough gust of bracing breeze.

Their family home rattled and began to crack loudly in splinters that rained around the two stood connected by his father’s grasp, Oscar raised his head to witness the shards of wood, glass and nail falling, as his eyes met his fathers, his expression and appearance had morphed in an instant. No longer did he cry, his face was awash with tranquillity, a peaceful orange glow about him. Oscar began to speak but was swiftly interrupted by Thomas dropping through the earth before his eyes, plunging loosely into the dark abyss beneath their feet. Oscar screamed himself awake and into an upright position, in the chaos of this nightmare, medical staff had assumed he was experiencing yet another attack of body and came rushing in to his aid. His mind racing as various voices both tangible and imagined spoke to him. The feeling of extreme isolation washed over him as he tucked his head between his knees that pulled to his chest, not much else could he recall from that evening in the observation room, just the flurry of voices and masked faces moving about his bed and the sickening sensation of falling in his chest.