Kelly Johansen enters St. Francis Memorial Hospital in Edmonton hoping to learn more about what happened to her husband Jake. Somebody from his company had called to tell her that Jake had collapsed in his office, screaming something about having bees in his back, and had been taken here, but she hasn’t been able to find out anything tangible about his condition. Apparently, Jake had caught the flu, but what kind of flu puts a healthy 38-year-old man, who is fine in the morning, in the hospital by the afternoon?
    Even in her distracted state, she is shocked by the chaos in the hospital.
    Every seat is occupied, and more people are coming in, some on ambulance gurneys. She sees wincing people holding various limbs, a very pale woman hunched over holding her stomach, friends and family of patients wringing their hands and muttering to themselves and staring blankly at magazines. Somebody is moaning, pleading for a doctor. A mother is demanding help for her screaming boy who has an ear infection. Somebody is weeping. Then all sounds are drowned out by the squawk of the intercom.
    She notices that most of the people don’t have cuts or broken bones; they’re just plain sick. The air is filled with coughing and an increasingly pungent odor of vomit and diarrhea. Doctors in surgical masks roam among the people. A nurse has begun handing out masks from a box. Kelly takes one and puts it on.
    She sees an old man hacking into his fist while his wife pats him on the back. She’s wearing a mask, too. This makes Kelly focus on her eyes. They are wide, gleaming, watering, filled with fear. Beyond this couple, a boy sits with his mother, his head leaning against her breasts, coughing as loud as a grown man. Between coughs, panting, he spits green phlegm into a tissue his mother holds for him. Most of the people in the emergency room are coughing. Some of them hold clumps of paper towels against their noses. The towels are stained dark red. Nobody seems to be looking at each other, as if avoiding it.
    A nurse is saying: If you are not in need of hospital attention, please give up your seat, please.
    How about you let my wife in and give her some attention? a man shouts back.
    We are doing the best we can, the nurse says. She looks like she has not slept in two days. She says something else, but the sound is drowned out by the sudden wail of the siren of an ambulance approaching the building outside.
    Kelly gets in line. Around her, the volume of voices and coughing has increased a little at a time until she notices that it’s deafening. Nurses rush past her pushing a gurney with an IV attached to it, causing a ripple in the crowd that makes her stumble backward.
    Suddenly, she is next. She approaches the central desk with its nurses and computer stations. The nurse in front of her is a matronly woman who wears cat’s eye glasses and a pink cardigan sweater over her uniform. Her eyes are lined and bloodshot, giving Kelly the impression that nobody here has slept in quite a while.
    Kelly identifies herself and says she’s looking for her husband. The woman checks the computer, tells her Dr. Hightower will be out to see her shortly.
    An hour goes by. Kelly watches the hospital staff snap at each other and the families of patients. They’re losing it, she thinks. This makes her worry even more, a general worry to add to her specific worry about her husband.
    Kelly hates to fly, but always relaxes on a plane when she sees how calm the flight attendants are. This plane appears to be going down.
    A doctor enters the waiting area holding a clipboard and calls her name.
    She feels better immediately upon seeing him. He’s tall, with a square jaw, salt-and-pepper crew cut, and calming blue eyes above his surgical mask. He is not sweating like the ER doctors; his white coat, white shirt and red tie are immaculate.
    The world’s going to be okay, she tells herself. This man knows what he’s doing. And he seems to be flying the plane I’m on.
    Dr. Hightower tells her that Jake has influenza complicated by viral pneumonia, and that he has been administered medicine to combat the infection. The flu is a bad strain. It has been spreading like wildfire through the school system, and now the parents are catching it. So far, Jake’s not improving, but he’s not getting worse, either. We’re doing everything we can to help him.
    Kelly begins crying. It doesn’t sound good.
    Dr. Hightower clears his throat behind his surgical mask, and says: You can help us. We were able to obtain Jake’s medical records, but I’d like to confirm with you: Does he have any chronic cardiac or respiratory disease? Kidney disease, diabetes, HIV, cancer? Has he been taking steroid treatments for any reason?
    Kelly answers no to all of his questions. The process calms her down.
    Dr. Hightower says that Jake is relatively young and healthy, and should be able to fight off the infection. He will call her if his condition changes; in the meantime——
    At this moment, he bends over, coughing loudly into his cupped hands, each cough louder and more violent than the next.
    Finally, he stops, but he appears to be disoriented, like his eyes can’t focus, like he has forgotten his own name and desperately wants to remember it. His forehead has begun to glow scarlet.
    I’m sorry, he says. What were you saying, um, Ms. Johansen?
    Before she can answer, he bends over again, coughing raggedly. A nurse appears at his side, supporting him, glaring at her as if it was Kelly who had gotten him sick. The coughing in the ER suddenly appears to grow in volume in her ears. Backing away, she turns and runs as fast as she can out the hospital doors.
    Outside, she tears her mask off and breathes the cold air in quick gasps.
    Something horribly wrong is happening in this city, she tells herself. Why can’t anybody see that? Why aren’t they doing something about it?

Emergency Room: A Day in the Life

Critical Care Nurse: A Day in the Life

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©2008 Future Shock Books, a division of ZING Communications, Inc.