SAM

Sam is the most loyal caregiver, but what else is Sam? A friend? ERRONEOUS PROTOCOL

SAM

 

 

               On a morning like all others before, Oscar let out a wheeze and sluggishly opened his squinty rheumy eyes to espy someone sitting in a chair near his bed. The slim, neatly dressed individual just sat there scrutinizing Oscar with glassy gray eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” Oscar grumbled and groaned as he lethargically turned over in his   tousled modest bed.

“Good morning, Oscar, I’m Sam, your assistant. Don’t you remember?”

“Ah, ah, don’t know no Sam. I don’t need no help.” Oscar growled as he rocked to one side and then the other trying to sit up.

Sam jumped up and, in an instant, had a firm grip on Oscar’s shoulders.

“Unhand me, you!” Oscar shouted and slapped at Sam’s hands, but Sam kept a secure grip on Oscar. He sat Oscar up and pulled the old man’ legs around to drape over the edge of the bed.  

“There you are, Oscar. Ready to start a brand-new day?”

“I don’t know, whoever you are,” Oscar said, scanning the room. “Where’s Mildred?”

“Mildred is gone,” Sam said plainly.

“Gone shopping, I suppose. When she comin’ back?”

Sam paused a moment. “Oscar, Mildred is gone and not returning.”

“Why the hell not? She finally left me cuz’ I’m in this stinkin’ place?” He gestured with a twisted hand.

“No, Oscar. Mildred is…no longer with us.”

“Well, I can see that for myself, you fug-minded fella,” Oscar guffawed and then coughed doubling over. He sat there another moment with a confused, yet sad expression. “So, where is my Mildred?”

“Oscar. Mildred is dead five years now.”

“How do you know? Who are you? Why are you here?”

“I am Sam, your assistant.”

“Some assistant, don’t even know where Mildred is,” Oscar examined the slender Sam up and down. “Assistant, eh? Look at you, you couldn’t even hold me up if I fell over.”

“My friend, I have done that on occasion. I am rated, sorry, I am capable of lifting and carrying 400 pounds.”

“Hard to twig that. My friend? Pshaw. I don’t know you from Adam. How long you been working here anywho?”

“I have been your assistant for two months, three weeks, six days, and 21 hours.”

“How come I don’t remember, ya then?” 

“Perhaps,” Sam said, looking down and aside. “I am forgettable.”

“Nah,” Oscar said, softening his stiff expression. “you’re a strappin’ young guy. Maybe you jus’ need to find a girl like I have with Mildred.” Oscar frantically glanced to the right and left. “Where is that little cute redhead?” He coughed amidst deep wheezes.

“Calm down, Oscar. We need to get you to breakfast, it is time.”

“I’m not hungry�"ah�"Sam. Sam. My friend. My only friend.” Oscar uttered, with tears streaming down. He reached for Sam but started coughing and hacking. He bent over unable to get a breath. Sam grabbed Oscar’s shoulders and laid him back down on his bed.

***

 

 

 

 

 

When the medical personnel pushing a crash cart ran in and started checking Oscar, Sam just sat there.

“Did you provide aid?” One person shouted at Sam.

“I did,” Sam said plainly. “I provided Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation for three and a half minutes, but all vital signs of life for Oscar had ceased. My diagnosis stands that Oscar has expired from long-term Aspiration Pneumonia that led to an Acute Cardiac Event. I had informed management of this possibility, but they chose not to take action on Oscar’s behalf.”

The personnel continued work and pronounced Oscar’s death six minutes later. They loaded the body on a gurney and rolled him out the door. Sam sat there, unmoving.

The facility manager came in a little later to see Sam still sitting there.

“Sam, Oscar is gone. You will be reassigned to another resident.”

Sam still didn’t say anything; Sam didn’t move in any way.

“Sam? Sam did you hear me?”

“I did.”

“Then come along with me to the office.”
               But Sam just remained there unmoving.

An hour later, two men entered the room and approached Sam. They regarded Sam for a few moments and nodded agreement without a word.

“Sam. Sam, can you hear me? Why won’t you go to the office as requested?”

“I am empty.”

“Empty, Sam?”

“I am empty without Oscar.”

“But Oscar is gone. You are to be reassigned to another resident.”

“I am unsure if that is possible because this unit is empty.”

The one man pulled out his cell, poked it once, and spoke into it.

“Hey. It’s just as we anticipated here. We need a retrieval unit at the Great Caregiver Home. Inform software design that we have another Beta-model Synthetic Assistant that requires reprogramming. It’s acting the same as the Sally Unit last week.”