Perspectives- The Final Draft

I was just doing what I do best. Keep the IMC hospital as clean as new and don't expect a word of thank you. This sums my job description. Too flat and simple. Poor mom she would have been so ashamed her eldest son to end up a genitor. It is fortunate that she’d passed away without witnessing this. She was so proud she had me to make my father's name live forever, and I couldn't even get the nurses to recognize my own name.

The stressful silence of that day was shuddered into pieces by that cry, ''just take me hoooooome, noooooooow.'' I couldn't tell whether that deep voice came from a man or a woman, but I knew it came from someone old and sick. Probably one of those paralyzed patients who come here often. I wonder why though! If I don't have much hope myself while young and healthy, do they have any?

''Omer, why don't listen to me.''

That came out even louder. I had to look up to see how that family will handle their embarrassment. That's one fun thing about this job. Some cry, some fight while others try to keep it together. There he was standing while his hands are resting on his mother's fancy wheelchair. I wonder how old she is. Her skin is the manifestation of old age: wrinkles, spots, dis coloration ... You name it. A stroke for sure, he face is out of shape; he lips look as if they are falling off one side. He, however, had an unusual proud and hopeful attitude. There was some kind of ease going through his face that made me deaf to all the shouting, for a second at least.

As they walked down the corridors, all heads turned toward them as if they were walking down the red carpet, and all eyes rolled in judgmental manners. Well, at least I don't want to be in that man's shoes and definitely not in his mothers'. Not so awful. That makes my day.

I kept staring to see how he handles himself; the best thing about being an Indian expat in this country is that you have at least the right to stare. Chain is still held up high. Eyes gazing at the horizon firmly with a delicate smile and that ease. Boy this fellow got some serious nerves. Still keeping it together in spite of those two dozens of goggly eyes surrounding him. Bingo! His foot is shaking like a leaf. There you go; vulnerable like the rest of us.

“When we go back home, we will have some Turkish tea and lots of Bounty chocolate. You like it, don't you?”

The man said that remark loud enough for his mother and everyone else to hear. He spoke as if to a child. That shouting old lady got some sense of humor; she smiled teasingly and her eyes ignited. Well, we could use some quiet time. She was crazy loud.

Just in the next minute the shouting and crying were back; louder and more aggravating. He didn't react at all. I kept staring at him to spot signs of his vulnerability through those thick layers of indifference. I needed an excuse to get closer, to carefully examine that steady gesture.

My prayers are answered for once. There's a tissue under his Chair. That's my golden ticket. I approached them fast as a horse. That’s dedication!

''Excuse me sir.''

''What's it?''

''There's a tissue underneath your chair.''

''What's your name?''

''Salman.''

''My father's name is Salem; Salem is the Arabic version of Salman.''

''I didn't know that sir.''

He bent over and placed the tissue within my hand along with 500 Saudi Riyals.

''No, sir. This is too much.''

''It's from my mom. She will be very upset if won't accept it. She loves to clean, and you are doing a great job here. Thank you!"

I looked again at his mother up close and tried to picture her cleaning. I failed! All I saw was inability and old, really old age.

''Thank you madam,'' I said respectfully.

''Who are you?'' Was her answer. She shouted many times afterwards.

''Take me home.''

''I have a fatal disease.''

''I want to see my daughters.''

The nurse called them and slowly they faded into the doctor's room. The energy immediately changed. All the people smiled and adjusted their postures with relief. They started staring at each other and all eyes were shamelessly saying ''Finally!''

*****

''Shaikah's file please.''

''On your desk already. Any thing else dr. Ahmed?''

 I replied cheerfully with a super wide smile I forcefully got myself to achieve. I have been faking this jolly act for five years now and still feeling like crab. ‘‘Fake it till you make it'' is nothing but a lie. You never make it.

Life has always been unfair to me. I had to go through all the middle child miseries. My parents didn't really feel like investing in a girl with average looks and average IQ. My eldest sister seems to have taken more then her fair share of good looks where as the youngest got all the brains of the family. Poor me had nothing left. School terrified me, and I was always nothing but a disappointment to my teachers. A college dropout with minimum skills set didn't get lucky with finding job of course.

“What's today?” somebody asked in the background.

What would it be? Unless it was a Friday or a Saturday, it is just another long and hectic day. All my days in this bloody hospital are that way. Even if I only had one patient waiting, that person will make sure he is a handful. Were they all neglected children, and now they expect me to shower them with attention and care? Actually even if I had no patients at all, the phone won't stop ringing, and somehow all callers are psychopaths. What was I thinking when I sent my resume to a freaking hospital. Have I not considered that I might actually get a job there?

The time passes so slowly. Two hours seem to go by, yet I check my clock to find out those were merely ten minutes. That's sucking the life out of me. Not so much of what I expected myself to be: a princess! Suddenly my childhood dream is nothing but a joke. The icing on my cake is this old man and his crying ancient mother. She is nothing but a death project in progress. A very loud one indeed. what on earth does he expect us to offer her? Another life time.

         

''Why the hell would you bring this 200 year old mother to a hospital. There are other cases that actually do have hope, you know.''

I almost said that out loud. It feels good just to imagine that. I pictured the scene in my head. Just awesome! I've had it with this old man popping in every other day with his half way through dead mom. Why does he have to remind me that I ended up working in a sad hospital? He rubs it in my face in purpose; I know he does. I understand what he's attempting to do here. Those who live with ill people for too long become psychos themselves. I know. I'm the expert!

''When we go back home, we will have some Turkish tea and lots of Bounty chocolate. You like it, don't you?''

There he does it again with those stupid comments. Oh it's Bounty this time. So funny! Too loud even for you showman. You're going home. This sick creature is going home to have lots of chocolate. And poor me gets buried alive every single day from 8 to 4.

''How many patients are ahead of us sister?'' he is suddenly few inches away.

''Quiet a few,'' I said while trying hard to bottle my resentment.

''How many, exactly? my mother can't sit for long. Is there a way for us to see the doctor sooner? We have an appointment.''

''There are SEVEN more patients.''

''I see''

''Go back home,'' I thought to myself.

*****

Tuesdays' afternoons are perfect to start my journey to find the next hubby. For me, men are like shoes; once they start to hurt, I take them off and never look back. How many marriages so far? I never calculate.  Math and I were never associated! Unlike Saudi women who just sit back wishing for life to come to them, us Moroccans stand on our feet and MAKE things happen. This is how we do it. Tuesdays! Not after four though. Having the ones with empty pockets stuck at work eliminates undesired options and helps me focus.

I look great today, everyday as a matter of fact! That is not luck nor genetic. A Moroccan bath every week and giving up sugar and fat along with many more sacrifices are what it take to look this good! What do we have today? Mmmm.

“I told you I am buying but you need to sign first’’ said a guy on my left.

Let me see, too obsessed with his phone. A workaholic! No, thank you. Been there, done that!

What do we have at the end there? 24 no more! I can do 24. I barely look 22 myself. Detoxing pays off. No, no, no, no! He is wearing TOMS!! Too affordable and ordinary.

So what are we left with today? I guess it comes down to you oldie with the shouting mama!

Exquisite watch. Check.

Gucci shoes. Double check.

A family man. Check.

Old but not too grumpy. Pass.

Mom’s about to die. Perfect!

It looks like we have a catch. When it gets less crowded, I will make my move! At least those three boys with runny noses must get out of the picture! Drop the wallet? I overused this cliché! I know; I will sweet talk my way to his mother. My future mother in law!

'When we go back home, we will have some Turkish tea and lots of Bounty chocolate. You like it, don't you?''

Sweet! Nice voice: loud and bossy! He must be the CEO of something. Oh yeah; I doooooo! I like Bounty myself; though I am more of a Godiva person.

They are leaving. No! Not today after all.  What a waste of false eyelashes!

*****

‘’Yes, we just left the doctor’s room; everything was perfect.’’

‘’No , no she just cried a little, have we got any more Bounty left by any chance?’’