"Why don't you know anything if you work here? Where's the doctor? I need to talk to someone who knows something," I moaned.
She practically lifted me onto the bed, tucking the blanket around me. My head fell back against the pillow.
"I'll crank the bed up for you," she said and pushed a button that raised my head and upper torso until I was nearly in a seated position. Then she moved the tray table so the food was in front of me. "Can you feed yourself, or do you want me to feed you?"
"I can eat by myself," I said. "I can do everything for myself if you people will just let me."
"Good. I got two other patients on this floor and neither can do much for themselves. They can't even wipe their own noses most of the time and they're not much older than you."
She started away from the bed and then stopped and returned to fasten the straps over my legs.
"Please, can't you leave them undone?" I asked.
"You might fall out and then get fired," she said.
"Why do you work here if they'll fire you for anything that happens?" I asked.
She finally smiled.
"It's a good job. They pay me more than I can make most anywhere else, and there's just me and my mother now. She's too old to do anything for herself and she doesn't get much social security."
"How long have I been here? You can tell me that at least," I said.
She shrugged.
"Not more than a day, because. I would have seen you before," she said.
We heard the sound of footsteps in the hall.
"Uh-oh," she said, her face whitening with fear. "That's Doctor Scanlon making his rounds along with Mrs. Roundchild. She cracks the whip here."
A woman of about forty with hair the color of pencil lead turned into the doorway, a step ahead of Doctor Scanlon. She had gray eyes and a narrow face with a strong, full mouth and a nose so straight it could be used as a ruler. She wore a dark blue cardigan sweater with pearl buttons over her uniform. I thought she had a nicely shaped figure and a rich complexion. However, all that was feminine and soft about her body was negated by the firmness in her lips and the piercing chill in her eyes.
"What are you doing?" she asked Clare.
"I was just on my way to three-oh-four. I got her settled with her dinner and---."
"Well then, get on with it. See to the others. They can't complain for themselves, you know." Her words were sharply pronounced with an English accent.
"Yes, Mrs. Roundchild."
"Wait. Why is that closet door open?" she demanded, nodding at it.
"Closet door? Oh." Clare looked at me, her eyes frantic. She reminded me of some small creature looking for a way to escape.
"I was trying to find my clothes," I said. "I want to go back downstairs, Doctor Scanlon," I explained, turning my attention to him.
"You will," he said. "Soon."
Mrs. Roundchild spun on Clare.
"You let her get off the bed and open the closet?" "When I went to get her food, she did it herself," Clare said.
"You undid the straps and left the room?" Mrs. Roundchild practically lunged at Clare.
"She wanted to wash herself, so I thought to save time, I would go get her food and--"
/> "That's a demerit, Miss Carson. It will go on your record. You know all about our liabilities here and you've been told what to do and what not to do. It clearly states on the door that this patient does not have off-bed privileges at the moment."