fiction/hospital thoughts...

Finally, the morning routine was over.

Shitty asses have been wiped, washed and clothed for the morning. Mouths stuffed full of food in their required consistency pureed for the toothless yobs who long since lost their teeth falling down from seizures or worse still, the ones old enough who got their teeth yanked for being a bit too nippy. Thicker food for those clients up for the challenge but even then, statistically speaking youd have to leap across a table and fish out a hank of egg at least once a month.
Those were the worst. The "smarter ones", but they would sit silently as they choked on something. You would be in a frantic state trying to set down food and accost others who were trying to steal more never really feeling as though you were keeping up with things and in a pissed off mood because no doubt your apartment partner was picking their nose in front of the tv.
"Oh I put my time in little one. Time for the new staff to work a little."
I could have stomached it if they actually did something occasionally.
You would be supervising the whole mess Thinking in the back of your mind, Thank fuck [insert consistent asshole name here] isnt acting up. What a relief.
And thats when panic sets in and you look at the asshole and realize thats not normal or am I just paranoid? Asshole sitting there, calm and looking at you with wide eyes, fork in hand and no trouble on the horizon.
You get back to work and try to read a little in the log book to see what trouble everyone had been in on your days off. Still, that persistent little twinge, somethings not right here kemosabe. Aunt Wendy called it Indian sense, I just looked at it as common sense, Indian shit be damned.
You turn back and theres six clients at the table. Then the other 3 in wheelchairs looking at you with bovine eyes as their feeding tubes filled up their bellies and eventually into a slick shit pile in their diapers that smells no different than when I poured it out of the can.
Petey is still sitting like a good boy, not trying to steal from anyone, not even attempting to make a scene. Something is terribly wrong.
As I walk towards him Petey's head makes a thwack noise as it hits the plate in front of him. Hes been chocking this entire time and hes been too stupid to let you know. His silence was from a piece of stolen toast turned in his throat and more food stuffed in to try and push it down. Never a good solution, but they're all living in a mental institution, so what do I expect?
Petey slid to the floor and I caught his shoulders to ease him down. I looked up to see the other clients reaching for his plate and yanking food off to eat.
"Fucking vultures! Back! GREG! Get the nurse! Petes chocking."
"Oh gosh darn. Not Pete."
He wasnt even running. he didnt even notice my hands in Petes hepatitis infested mouth trying to keep it open and not biting my non-gloved hand. Got it!
Gahk! Gahk! Gahk!
Phew I sat back and let Petey catch his breath. The nurse can take over from here. Dopey faces peered over the table to look at Pete, most of them still chewing the food they took off his plate and a few bold ones leaned over to dunk bits into the ketchup cup given to him specially.
The nurse clopped in at an alarmingly slow pace and didnt even bend down.
"Well for the love of god Can you please get this patient off the floor?"
No one offered to help me, and Petey, full of life and oxygen had reverted back to his normal dickish ways went limp and turned into a 160 pound lump for me to lift and put into a recliner.
"Aw poor Petey." Damn you, you obese cow with a stethascope! You can't even check his blood pressure because your gel nails are too long to actually manipulate medical equipment. "Must have had quite the scare!" Petey nodded and pointed at me.
"I no supposed to have toasts I almost die from toasts!"
Tisk tisk tisk from the nurse and I grabbed the accident report sheets from the desk and went out to the deck before I killed someone.
My heart beat fast and I tried to talk myself down enough to stop shaking. I turned over my hands to look for bite marks and felt a little surge of calm when there was nothing there. I fumbled around in my pockets for a small bottle of sanitizer to slather my hands. In the process I got a dollop of it on the accident report sheets. Fuck!
The faint sound of synchronized foot steps approached. Bliss. After all this I could at least take the time to watch the police cadets do some laps around the grounds the hospital rented out to the school. It was summer and their shirts were gone by the second lap. Bliss.
My hands quivered still as I parked a cigarette in my lips. The accident report could wait as hard bodies galloped past.
"Haaaaaaaaaaaay beeeeeh-beeeeeee!"
Anthony ran with them every day out of spite. He could out-run any of them, but mostly that was because hes too stupid to know what exhaustion is. I waved to him and yelled back, "Hi behhbee!"
"Woo wooo!! Cahm on behbees! Wun wun wun!"
The cadets looked stunned at Anthonys surge of energy and sprinting past the group. I pulled my sunglasses down over my eyes and gawked at sweaty men. Shit, I deserve something nice after all that bullshit. At least the mornings over.