Cold Hands

By Ana Aguilar, OMSIV

Rosemary Machon heard the knock. It was two, sharp raps on her door. It was almost lost under the sound of the excitable man on TV trying to sell her knives, but even at 87 years, she had excellent hearing. “Selective hearing” her kids called it. She only heard what she wanted to hear. Kids said the darnedest things.

She heard the door slide open and a pool of light spilled into the room, chasing the darkness away. If only for a moment.

Rosemary didn’t look at the small shadow that slipped into her room. She had learned during her 13 day stay in the ICU to not look at people who walked into her room at first. If they thought she wasn’t paying attention to them, she could get a good read on their character. She could tell which nurses were burnt out. She could tell which doctors were snooty. One could tell a lot about someone through one’s periphery.

But the small shadow seemed to play a similar game. It watched the TV screen. The man was demonstrating how the knife could easily cut through vegetables, fruits, “you name it!” He enthusiastically sliced into a frozen chicken breast.

“Rosemary?” came a quiet voice from the shadow.

Rosemary grunted, still not looking. Let’s see if it thinks I’m senile, she thought. 

“I’m sorry to come in so late. I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”

Rosemary sighed at that. Questions. Always questions. The nurses would come in the morning and ask “how’re we doing today?” or “did you poop?” She had never had to discuss her bowels so openly and unabashed. Rosemary would never tell anyone, but she rather liked the freedom. She guessed it came with her age. Or possibly the fact that she was in the hospital. Whichever would work. She looked over at the little shadow.

The TV illuminated the face of a pale young woman. A girl, really. She had dark circles under her eyes. Her black scrubs didn’t help her complexion. Her name tag was blocked by her long, dark hair, but Rosemary could make out the word “doctor” on the bottom.

“You doctors keep getting younger and younger,” Rosemary snorted, turning back to the TV. The man had a stack of cut food to his right and was starting to hack at a whole frozen fish. She wished she had his zeal for life.

The doctor smiled. At least Rosemary thought she did. She couldn’t see the girl’s mouth, but saw her eyes squinch. These masks were more trouble than they were worth.

“I get that a lot,” said the girl. “Do you mind if I sit down?” She gestured to the chair next to the bed. Rosemary nodded. This little thing looked like she might collapse at any minute.

There was that eye squinch again. She sat down. “Thank you.”

“Busy day?” Rosemary heard herself ask. She didn’t really care about the answer. She was just bored.

“Oh, yes. I’ve been very busy these past few months.”

Rosemary didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t one for small talk. Hank had always been better at that than she ever was.

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Our visitor policy changed recently. Did you get to have a loved one come be with you?”

Rosemary shook her head, her gaze locked on the knife man. “No. All my family is back in California.”

“Ah. I see. What placed you here?”

Rosemary didn’t know if it was the strange phrasing of the question, but she turned completely to face the girl. “My late husband. He grew up here. We met in California, but he always wanted to move back. I couldn’t bear to leave after he passed. This was our home together. I didn’t want to leave.”

The girl nodded. “Tell me about your husband.”

“What do you want to know?”

The doctor thought for a moment. “What is his favorite color?”

Another strange wording. But Rosemary ignored it. She was probably exhausted. She looked exhausted. “Brown.”

The girl laughed. It was high and musical. “How wonderful. I’ve never met someone whose favorite color was brown.”

Rosemary smiled, despite herself. “He loved chocolate. It was his favorite thing and…” she felt herself blush. Still, after all this time… “I have brown eyes. He always used to say that the color of my eyes was his favorite.”

Those eyes squinched again. Rosemary noticed that they were grey. Or at least she thought they were. It was hard to see clearly in the dark.

“Do you miss him?”

“Ferociously. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him.”

Another nod. “I’m very sorry your family couldn’t be here with you, Rosemary.”

She shrugged. She hated when people said sorry. She never knew what to say if the roles had been reversed, but she always hated hearing it. “It’s ok, honey. It’s not like you had a say in the matter.”

The girl sighed. “No, I guess you’re right.” She pulled a stethoscope from around her neck. “Could I listen to your heart and lungs?”

Rosemary nodded and turned back to face the TV. The knife man had been replaced by a woman with too much make-up trying to sell jewelry. Tacky jewelry.

“I apologize for my cold hands.”

The girl touched her arm.

Her fingers felt like ice.

And then Rosemary understood.

The small shadow that had entered her room placed her stethoscope on her chest. Rosemary breathed in and out. She felt her heart beat.

Until it stopped.

The girl took the stethoscope off Rosemary and stood by her bed. “Do you want to go see Hank?”   

Rosemary smiled. “Yes, please.”

“Here, take my hand. Mind the cords. I don’t want you to trip.”

Rosemary reached for her.

Her hand was warm.

“Do you mind if we make a quick stop first?” the girl asked. She glanced at the clock.

10 minutes until one.

“Not at all.”

They walked hand in hand down the halls. No one looked twice at them. No one tried to stop them. Rosemary saw a nurse barrel past but didn’t turn around to see the commotion behind her.

Her little shadow was not much taller than she was. Lord, was the girl thin. She looked like a strong breeze would push her over.

They went up a flight of stairs. Rosemary wasn’t winded. She felt better than she had in years.

They walked up to double doors. The girl swiped her ID card. A green light flicked on and she pushed open the doors. They walked down another hallway until they reached a small crowd.

“Hold tight to my hand, alright?”

Rosemary nodded.

Together, they elbowed their way into the room.

Two doctors hovered near a woman on a bed, her legs spread. The taller one kept holding out a hand for the shorter one to place some sharp instrument in.

Several nurses in teal scrubs and someone in dark blue scrubs huddled around a very futuristic looking bassinette. One was squeezing what looked to be an inflated balloon. She squeezed over and over again.

Curious, Rosemary steered them towards the bassinette.

A baby lay on her back, her face mostly obscured by the strange balloon-breathing apparatus.

She was blue.

Rosemary was not a doctor. She was not a nurse or a medical provider. But she knew a very important thing about babies.

Babies were not supposed to be blue.

“One moment,” said the girl. She let go of Rosemary’s hand.

And touched the baby’s chest.

Slowly, color started to bloom. It spread up into her face and down into her toes.

And then came a piercing cry.

It was one of the loveliest sounds Rosemary had ever heard.

She could see everyone take a deep breath with the baby. The relief was palpable.

The girl’s eyes squinched again. She extended her hand towards Rosemary again. She took it.

Her hand was cold.

“Come on. Let’s go see Hank.”