By Catherine Rush
The stretcher lay on the Persian rug, nestled between an overstuffed armchair and an inlaid mahogany coffee table cluttered with Kleenex boxes, spray bleach and a mosaic of varying medicine bottles. Jack and Sue, two EMT workers, were suiting up in all their protective gear – masks, goggles, gloves. Riot gear for health care workers these days.
“He stopped breathing. I stood there for close to a minute. I brought his lunch. He wasn’t breathing. Scared me half to death. She said he would wait ‘til she left the house to die. She never leaves. He’s deaf.”
“He’s not dead. He’s clearly breathing,” said Sue through her mask and shield.
“No, no, he’s deaf. He can’t hear.”
Sue looked at her partner Jack. They’d never had a deaf AIDS patient before. Jack took control. “Can he read lips?”
“Sure, he can.” Mary didn’t sound a hundred percent positive. “Yep, he can do that.”
Mary just wanted this nightmare over. Twenty years she’d worked for Mrs. Wallberg, but in the last four weeks everything had turned upside down. Mrs. Wallberg was crazy, Mary was pretty sure of that. It started about a year ago, when Mrs. Wallberg found out Ben had the AIDS. Before that, she’d said she was in love with him, but Mary and Mr. Wallberg didn’t take it as real. When she said she wanted to bring Ben here, her husband said no. She kicked her husband out of the house. Such a nice man. He let her stay here, a brownstone on the Upper East Side. With a garden, too. The man was a saint, in Mary’s opinion. She said as much to her husband almost every night when she got home. William said Mr. Wallberg was a wimp, but William didn’t know Mr. Wallberg. Mr. Wallberg loved his wife, even after she lost her mind. Imagine falling in love with a deaf homosexual dying of AIDS? Ben didn’t even like Mrs. Wallberg. Mary prayed for her. Mrs. Wallberg needed to check herself into Bellevue.
Jack leaned in toward Ben. “How are you feeling, sir?” Ben didn’t move. He looked straight ahead like a corpse, his face cadaver gray, except for the rotten grape-colored Karposi Sarcoma lesions – the mark of the “gay disease.”
“He’s not looking at you. You gotta stand right over him.” Mary said.
This was going to be a tough day. Jack hated AIDS patients. Give him a simple heart attack or an old woman at the bottom of the stairs any day. These guys were dangerous. Walking killers with their blood and their spit and their jizz. An involuntary shudder rippled up his spine. “Sue, you take his vitals.”
Jack was such a homophobe. Sue was sure of it. She traded places with Jack and knelt at the end of the green velvet couch Ben inhabited. This guy smelled of rotting teeth and dying organs. She noticed the plastic liner beneath the delicate floral-patterned sheet covering the cushions. She had sheets just like them. Sue blushed with shame knowing she would wash hers when she got home tonight. She pulled on another glove and felt for a pulse.
Unburdened by the weight of empathetic pretense, Jack stood tall again. He turned to the maid, “What’s his name?”
“Ben. Ben Eller. His name is Ben Eller. He’s staying here. Came here to die. Mrs. Wallberg, she brought him here, but she’s not here. He stopped breathing and I couldn’t help him. I didn’t know what to do. She told me not to call 911, but I was so scared. I just didn’t know what to do. I had to call. She’s going to be so angry with me.”
“Don’t you worry, . . . ?” asked Jack trying to remember her name. Did he know it?
“Mary. My name’s Mary. Mary White.”
“It’s going to be okay, Mary. Let’s just see what we have here.”
Jack looked over to see Sue still checking Ben’s reflexes. That woman was so damned slow. It was up to Jack again. He took a deep breath.
“Hi Ben. I’m Jack. We’re here to help you.”
“He can’t read your lips with that mask on, Jack.”
Just the sound of Sue’s voice annoyed him.
“So?”
“You have to take it off.”
“I can’t do that. It’s against protocol.”
“Maybe if you stand further back,” Sue suggested.
Jack moved a good five feet away to the end of the couch. Out of the range of blood spatter from Ben’s crumbling lungs.
“Hey Ben, how ya feeling?” Mouthing it big and clear.
Guy might as well be dead. Not a flicker of recognition. In Jack’s opinion he’d be dead in a few hours. Couple of days, tops.
“I can’t get him to engage my eyes.”
Sue looked up from the couch.
“I’m not surprised,” she said. “His breathing is shallow and irregular. Probably has pneumonia. Advanced oral Candidiasis. KS lesions all over his body. He hasn’t got an ounce of fat and not a lot of muscle left on him.”
“He’s always been skinny. He was a dancer. He’s macrobionic, too.” Mary wanted to help.
“You mean he eats macrobiotic food?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack rose to his full official height.
“Mary, Ben needs some serious medical attention. We have to take him to the hospital.”
“You can’t do that,” Mary said.
Sue stepped in, “By law, we have to, Mary.”
“Can’t you just bring a doctor?”
Jack stepped in and touched Mary’s shoulder.
“He’s a very sick man. You can see that. He needs things you can’t give him here. I can give him an IV, but he needs to be on a ventilator to help him breathe. These things are only at the hospital.”
Mary’s heart was racing now. Where was Mrs. Wallberg? If Mrs. Wallberg came back and Ben was gone, she was pretty sure she’d lose her job. After all, Mrs. Wallberg got rid of Mr. Wallberg. Mary cleaned her fingernails, running her thumbnail under each finger one by one. She didn’t look up.
“Mrs. Wallberg says he has to die here.”
“She says he has to die here?” The hackles rose on Jack’s neck. This woman must be nuts.
“That’s what she said. I’m not supposed to call you, because she says he’s supposed to die here.”
Jack’s eyebrow raised unconsciously. He felt firmer on his feet now. Conflict made him decisive.
“Where is Mrs. Wallberg?” he asked.
“She said she’d be home by now.”
“I’m sorry, Mary, but we can’t wait for her. Sue, let’s get Ben ready for transport.” Jack positioned himself at Ben’s feet again and removed his mask to speak.
“Hey Ben, we’re going to take you to the hospital, okay? Get you comfortable and make it easier for you to breathe.”
Nothing. Not a twitch, not a flicker of his yellow eyes. Almost not worth transporting him. Ninety percent chance they’d have to divert to a funeral home on the way to St. Vincent’s. “Do you know if Mrs. Wallberg has power of attorney?”
“She’s not a lawyer, if that’s what you mean.”
Sue finished pushing the faux marble coffee table away from the couch, maneuvering the gurney level with the sofa cushions.
“That’s not what Jack means. He’s asking if you know if Mrs. Wallberg has the legal right to make medical decisions for him?”
“I know she talks to the doctors about him. I don’t think he has any other family.”
Jack was losing his patience with this woman. “Is Mrs. Wallberg family?”
“They’re like brother and sister the way they go on with each other. Teasing. He used to give her such a hard time. She loves him like he could love her back, if you know what I mean. I shouldn’t have called you. She’s going to be so angry. She doesn’t want him moved.”
“We’re ready, Jack.” Sue moved close to Jack so Mary couldn’t hear, “we could get sued if she has medical power of attorney, you know.”
“We could get sued if she doesn’t.” He spit back. “I’d rather do the right thing than leave him here.”
Jack put his mask back on and positioned himself at the head of gurney. Sue removed the pink sateen comforter tucked around Ben’s body.
Down to business. Jack was ready. “I’ll take his torso. You take his legs. On the count of three.”
“What the hell are you doing here? Get away from him. Now.”
Kay Wallberg dropped her Gristede’s bag. Her small, plump body moved like a tank to Ben’s side.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Wallberg. He stopped breathing. I got scared. I didn’t know what to do.”
Kay signed furiously to Ben,
“You thought you would die without me, huh? Thought you could pull one over on me.” She turned to speak. “Thank you for coming, but you aren’t needed.”
Jack didn’t like being told what to do. Especially by pushy old Jewish broads. The ring on her finger probably cost five year’s salary.
“Are you a relative?”
“I am his caregiver.”
“We need to see an executed power of attorney to let him stay here.”
Mary quietly left the room. Back to the safety of her kitchen. Mrs. Wallberg did not like being told what to do. Mary’d seen it more than once.
“There’s nothing written. We mutually agreed I would take care of him until he died.” Jack relaxed into righteousness.
“Then, I’m sorry, we’re going to have to take him to the hospital. This man needs to be on a ventilator.”
“He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want any of it. He wants to die here.”
Sue was back at Ben’s feet, ready for the transfer. Jack could handle this. He loved arguing with rich people.
“Without proof of attorney or directions from Mr. Eller, we have no choice.”
“Excuse me,” Kay pushed Sue aside to face Ben at the foot of the couch and signed silently,
“Ben, look at me. These people want to take you to a hospital. You need to tell them no. Tell them you don’t want to go.”
For the first time, life dimly entered Ben’s eyes. His long bony hands lifted. He moved them in an infinitesimal gesture then they dropped exhausted at his side. Kay turned triumphantly. “No.”
Jack looked at Kay. “Did he say no?”
“He said, ‘I don’t want.’”
“I don’t want?”
“I asked him if he wanted to go to the hospital and he said, ‘I don’t want.’”
Time to diffuse the growing tension. Sue approached the deluded woman and spoke in a calm voice.
“I’m sorry. We don’t mean to offend you, but how do we know you are saying what he’s saying?”
Jack picked up.
“Can he speak?”
“He doesn’t speak.”
“He doesn’t have a voice box?”
“Yes, he has a voice box. He doesn’t speak. He refuses. It’s a political thing. I can’t explain it in a sentence. You cannot take him to the hospital. I promised him he could die here. You can’t do that to him.”
Her little Chanel-suited body teetered almost imperceptibly. Jack felt the buzz of a hunter narrowing in on a righteous kill.
“I have no choice. Unless he tells me otherwise.”
“Why in the world would someone like me go to all this trouble? Look around you. You think I like how the Clorox bottle goes with my antique jade? Does it look like I always keep dying people in my house? The only thing that is good about this is Persian rugs are good at hiding vomit stains. I promised I would take care of him.”
“Taking him to the hospital is taking care of him. You won’t be able to handle it, as he gets worse.” Stubborn broad.
“What could get worse? I diaper him and feed him and clean him and give him medication. It doesn’t get any worse.”
“They have the right equipment there. And the risk of infection. . .”
“Don’t even start with that “the risk of infection” crap. That’s my choice. I take the proper precautions. If he goes to the hospital the only hands that will touch him will be covered in latex and the only faces he sees will be masked. A hell of a way to die.”
Jack persisted. “He has to tell me he wants to stay.”
“But he did.”
“I have to hear him say it. I’m sorry.”
“Like hell you are.” Kay hated stupid people.
Sue jumped in. “Mrs. Wallberg, I promise you if we could leave Ben here, we would. We don’t enjoy disturbing people and families in this situation. It’s just that the law requires us to take him to the hospital if he is incapable of making a request to the contrary.”
“Can he write it? Can you write the question and he write the answer? Can he do that?” Kay had already run to the telephone to look for a pencil, a pen, hell she’d write in her own blood if she had to. The paper had been here yesterday when the visiting nurse was here.
“Mary! Where’s the paper?!” Kay turned to Ben hands flying, voice at glass-breaking pitch now. “You see this? You enjoying this? Make me fret. Why can’t you–” Mary entered. She did not want to be involved in this.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Wallberg?”
“A pen! I need a fucking pen!”
Jack’s turn again. Women like a calm male voice.
“It’s going to be okay–”
“It is not going to be okay! It’s never going to be okay ever again! You can’t get it. He’s a proud and stubborn man. He stopped speaking English when he was a teenager. It’s political. It’s about oppression. He does not speak. I’ve never heard him use his voice in the fifteen years we’ve been friends. He won’t do it, not even on his deathbed. Why are you still standing there, Mary!? Get a goddamned pen.”
Mary disappeared. She stopped in the kitchen, grabbed her bag and found her Savior. She was not going back in that room. The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.
Kay was dumping the contents of her purse on the floor. Pen . . . pen . . . pen. “He’ll never do what I ask him. He likes to piss me off. It’s nuts I know, but that’s how we are together. He’ll never speak if I ask him.”
Soothing male voice wasn’t working, but it was all he had. “What if you ask for me?”
“He’s deaf, not stupid.”
Bitch. “We have no way to know if he’s being kept here against his will. We have no alternative. Sue, let’s get this over with.”
A drip of sweat fell into her purse. Kay’s makeover from the Arden’s counter at Bloomingdales had definitely reached clown stage. It had been such a nice morning. The first time outside in god knows how long. Kay wedged herself between the couch and the locked gurney. She moved Ben’s head to face her. She could hear the audible gasp behind her when her ungloved hand met his face. She stepped back slightly and moved her hands slowly at first, increasing in speed as her emotions rose.
“Okay, asshole. You want to go to the hospital? You want that? I can’t stop them, you stubborn miserable faggot. I’m just doing what you said you wanted. But if you don’t want to stay here, then fine. I’ll let them take you. You want that? Have them put you on a machine to make you breathe? You want that?”
Ben’s face remained unchanged. Kay let go.
“Fine. I’m out.”
Kay moved aside and let the proxy undertakers reposition the stretcher.
Sue lifted off his O2 mask. “Hi Ben. My name is Sue. Everything’s going to be alright. We’re going to move you. Ready?”
Sue wedged her hands under Ben’s skeleton. He couldn’t weigh more than ninety pounds. As she lifted his left side, Ben’s eyes focused on the gurney. His body became stone. Kay’s mascara was running.
“See that? You want that?”
The life slammed back into Ben’s eyes. A voice almost perfect in enunciation lilted out of his rotting mouth,
“No fucking hospital.”
The room went still. Ben’s body stayed tense. Kay pushed Jack out of the way. “He said it.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Get the hell out of here, now.”
Ben’s body transformed from stone back to water as Sue withdrew her hands. “We’re just doing our job.”
“And your job is done. Get out of my house.”
Sue didn’t even bother putting the lady’s things back in the right place. She just wanted out. These calls wrung her out. She could feel her insides crumbling – maybe this was what burnout felt like. She followed Jack and the stretcher back out to the hideously humid relief of the street.
Kay pushed the coffee table back into the divots in the rug. Put checkbook, wallet, reading glasses, lipstick back in her bag. Masks here, bleach wipes behind, oxygen tank closer. Busy work. She avoided Ben’s eyes. He made fun of her when she cried.
Mary returned from shutting the front door.
“He’s not going?”
“No. He’s not.”
“He told them no?”
“Yes, he did.”
“You told them.” She signed to Ben.
“I haven’t seen him smile in days.” Mary was relieved to see it. Most of the time he just looked like a dead man. Gave her the heebie-jeebies.
“Guess this whole thing got him riled up.”
“Got us all riled up, Mary.”
“Yes, indeed. I’m sorry Mrs. Wallberg. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Forget about it. Gave me and Ben a chance to fight again.” Kay stared down at him. “‘No fucking hospital.’ Very nice.”
Ben looked back. His hands lifted and spoke to Kay. She laughed. It felt good.
“What’s so funny? What’d he say?” asked Mary.
“He said he would stay here and torture me till his very last breath.”
“That’s funny?”
“Not that. He called me a fat old fag hag.”
Baffled, Mary went back to the kitchen. Mrs. Wallberg had definitely lost her mind. Kay knelt by Ben’s side and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you and I love you, too. Now put your oxygen back on and stop yammering. Your breath stinks.
As she dropped her hand from pinching her nose, Ben caught it and for an infinite moment they held hands. Ben died that evening.