Baby Talk

In the medical profession, there remains a small group of well-meaning professionals that speak to their patients as if they had not aged past three.

Baby Talk



Matt blinked his eyes hard; focusing on the road ahead seemed impossible. The oncoming traffic vanished behind a huge black ball highlighted with dancing sparkles of bright light. He shook his head again hoping the vigorous action would make the traffic ahead reappear---and it did; only now there was two of everything. Matt's brain couldn�t tell him which side of the road the oncoming traffic was on. Taking his foot off the accelerator, Matt gently applied pressure to the brake hoping he could slow down before slamming into something. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw both images of his pretty young wife stiffen up in preparation for the crash that seemed inevitable.

When Matt awoke, the first thing he saw was a lady dressed in white, but without angel-wings. He remembered that he had been in an accident and thought maybe he hadn�t survived; however, he would be fairly certain where he was when he heard the lady in white speak.

�And how are we feeling today Mr. Cronin? Do ya know where ya are?�

Matt looked up at her thin face, pointy nose, streaked gray hair, and was thankful that he saw only one of her. He started to speak but his mouth wouldn�t move, and after experimenting, he found that most of his appendages were immobile. Matt wasn�t positive, but he thought that he must be in a hospital. With his mind reeling from pain, and the uncertainty of his situation, he questioned his ability to think and comprehend.

Through a bandaged tight jaw Matt slurred, �Enlighten me.�

The lady in white spoke in the singing baby talk fashion used by many people in her profession. �Now, now, Mr. Cronin, do we remember that we were involved in an automobile accident? Getting upset might prove to be counter productive. Just lie still and try not to move around very much---we�ll feel better in a couple of days. Besides, we�ve got one of the best doctors in town, and he says that we�re gonna be just fine. Take it easy and enjoy your stay. If you need anything, just push that button and somebody will check on ya.�

After she left the room, Matt's stomach started to churn and he felt as if he might get sick. While he was still fighting the urge to expel the churning liquid from his guts, an older man in a knee length white lab coat entered the room. Without looking at Matt, or even saying howdy, the pudgy little man sat on the lounge chair beside the bed. Lifting the top sheet of paper from a clipboard, he read from the one under it and repeated aloud the information that he found there.

�I�m--Dr. Kopp, I have the results of your MRI. You have lesions in the optic nerves, some in the brain, and in your neck at the T-5 level.�

The good doctor stood to leave and Matt called out through his closed mouth stopping him just short of the door. Speaking as clearly as possible Matt asked, �What the hell did you just say? Can ya say it again, only this time in English?�

Dr. Kopp turned and looked at him for the first time saying, �We think that you might have MS. More tests are needed to be certain, but don�t worry about it, your insurance will cover most of the costs.�

Matt hadn�t even thought about money---he needed to learn what MS was and what could be done about it. He slurred the question, �What is MS?�

With an annoyed tone in his voice the doctor answered, �Multiple Sclerosis.�

Still not understanding the diagnosis or possible long-term effects, Matt had another question that needed an answer. �Is there a cure, or is it terminal?�

With a smile not born of understanding or compassion the doctor sidestepped the direct answer with, �Life is terminal�, then turned and left the room.

Being left alone with his thoughts might have been a good thing under different circumstances, but not now; for now Matt was scared. Had he correctly understood any part of what he thought he had heard, or had pain and confusion interrupted his ability to comprehend? Matt lay there trying to make sense of the blob of information that was mulling around inside of his head. Suddenly, he saw the black spot in his vision returning. He was aware enough to know that he should tell someone--but who? He remembered the button clipped to the corner of his pillow and pushed it hard several times expecting that a nurse would come running. To his surprise there was no response--nothing at all happened. Matt waited for a few moments and tried it again thinking that maybe they had not noticed the first time.

This time a voice entered Matt's room via a speaker somewhere behind him saying, �Can I help you Mr. Cronin?�

Between the drugs and his jaw being fastened shut, the only response he could muster was a groaning, grumbling, growl that sounded like nothing he had intended to say. Not giving him the time needed to try again the voice interrupted his slurred stammering.

�OK Mr. Cronin, the nurse will be with you shortly.�

Matt lay back and watched everything in the room become darker as the black spot grew larger hiding the world from his view. After a seemingly long time of waiting for the nurse, he again pushed the small button this time feeling for it in the blackness that had encompassed his world.

There was another long wait before the voice came over the speaker; �Yes Mr. Cronin, I know that you want the nurse, and I have already notified her. Just be patient, she is on her way.�

Ok, but on her way to where was the question. How long could it take to walk down a hall? Matt was scared and needed some reassurance from someone; anyone at this point. A real answer would be helpful any time now. Matt waited in the growing darkness and realized that he was going blind from either the accident or from the lesions (whatever they were). He had a question that needed an answer: was this a permanent situation or just a passing thing that would go away all by itself?

Matt lay quietly in his bed thinking of the things he had looked at but had never really seen. He remembered the vivid colors in his wife�s flower garden, the sun setting over the lake---wife!!! Matt nearly sat straight up in his bed when he remembered for the first time that his cherished wife had been in the car with him. Why hadn�t someone mentioned her? Didn�t he have a right to know? It was now more important than before that he talk to someone. A caring, understanding, truthful person that would tell him everything he needed to know. Matt's imagination was running wild with the, what ifs, and the scenario that unfolded in his mind was a haunting rendition of something he had seen in a bad movie. The part about him being blind was no longer the most important thing in his life. Matt needed to hear news about his wife--real information. He couldn�t allow any more questions to go unanswered or ignored. He was startled when he heard a voice near him and he realized that he wasn�t alone.

�OK Mr. Cronin, what do we need?�

Matt recognized the singing voice as belonging to the nurse with the streaked hair and felt hopeful that she would answer his questions. Taking a deep breath, and summing up all of the courage he could find, he asked the questions that were burning a hole in his soul. �Where is my wife? How is she?�

The answer came but Matt didn�t believe it to be truthful. He couldn�t look into her face for signs of truth, but he noticed a slight hesitation in speech that convinced him that she wasn�t saying something important.

�Uhhh, we don�t know. We haven�t heard anything about anyone else involved in your accident.�

�Then go find out something. I hav�ta know if she�s alright.�

Listening to her leave was difficult because Matt knew that he needed help to understand this twist of fate. The most important thing at this time was his wife. Matt had firmly decided that he was going to hold people accountable for their answers and accept nothing less than the complete truth.

Matt's thoughts were interrupted by a voice saying �OK Mr. Cronin, we have some medicine for ya. This will make us feel better so we can rest. At least I won�t hav�ta stick ya again, I�ll just put it in the IV--OK?�

Matt wanted to say something, ask more questions, maybe even get some answers, but he had instantly become too tired. He couldn�t fight the chemicals that were flowing through his veins on their way to numb his brain. The last thing in his mind�s eye was a vision of his wife, and the last thing he heard was a singing voice telling him �good night� in baby talk.

Author's Note

Is this publishable? Does it hit hard? Too hard?

Reviews

[Nicole (Carpe Diem)]

i hate the way doctors do that... talk baby talk or think that they are just so much smarter that there is no other way for the 'common man' to understand unless it is dumbed down. That's not the case, if you are a caring doctor that will take a minute and explain the situation and not use some off the wall scrabble of letters - anything and everything can be explained without talking to me like i am 3.

fantastic piece - i think you did a fantastic job with the story --

[Sara Muschweck]

Wonderful write, bringing into focus the way the medical profession talks down to us and ignores the person behind the illness or injury. There are a few doctor's and nurses that I would love to have read this. Well done.

[John Fitzgerald]

Truly tragic; your story captures the helplessness felt when your life is placed in the hands of the officious
medical profession and its institutionalized care.
This is the theme of the two works I've read of yours so far.
The social worker in your latest piece is a variation on this 'care morphed into cold and clinical job.' Maybe it's the sheer number of cases that people are faced with; but I can't help but feel that the 'jobs' are callings, which when taken by people as a source of income, become routine excersises.
Once again you've given your readers a concrete scenario of a societal problem and left, me for one, contmeplating what Cornel West calls our "Hotel Society."

[Carrie Montgomery]

vivid, powerful, and sadly accurate: we are often talked down-to by medical professionals. Quite a story.
"With a smile not born of understanding or compassion the doctor sidestepped the direct answer with, "Life is terminal", then turned and left the room. " - gives a detailed image of this Dr and his nedside manner. Exceptional lines. I think you're a remarkable writer.

[julian3]

Like a sucker-punch from a lead-filled glove! I think anyone who has had to watch a loved one suffer due to the often impersonal care provided in some of the 'big business' style health care facilities can relate to the overall attitude. I've seen this in many places; my beloved wife , who is now on disability, spent over 30 years as a degreed Med Tech, so I know what first class medical care looks like. But when she'd had to undergo a few major surgeries herself, I witnessed so many events of sloppiness, apathy and incompetence as to make me wonder how anyone made it out alive. Grace and mercy, I suppose!
Very good work.

[Kathleen Marie]

It hits hard but not too hard. It hits home...been there in several different ways, as a patient, as one who worked in a hospital and a family member of several who have been in similar circumstances.

You write very well. You grab the readers attention. Thanks for a great read.

[THE BLACK SEAL]

i rather liked it. i myself had my little stint in the healthcare industry and i found it tobe something i have thought before. yet i never thought of writing about it.
You hit pretty hard and still manage to keep things rather upwards. i liked it good work..
as for publishing it. i would consider it for the archaic gnome if it were submitted