Joseph Levy Escapes Death. Rick Strassman

if Levy needs additional reasons to escape this room.

      She notices him on her way out. Slowing, and then finally delaying her exit, she approaches the side of his bed.

      “Hi. It looks like you have a friend here with you.” Meaning: You don’t want me to help you, do you?

      As if reading his mind, she next says, “Do you need anything?”

      Levy is still processing his roommate’s condition and can only reply, “Like what?”

      She thinks for a moment and says, “Would you like to see a priest?”

      That’s a strange response, but he likes the idea. Talk Scripture and God with someone. The meaning of life, sin, repentance, the nature of healing, and the power of the Psalms.

      His face, despite its pallor, brightens. She asks, “What’s your faith?”

      “I’m Jewish. But don’t worry. Anyone who is kind, relatively devout, and can carry on a biblical conversation.”

      She looks doubtful. Why, he wonders? Is it his Jewish faith, or something else about his answer? She tries a little harder to sound helpful. “Anything else?”

      “I forgot to tell anyone I’m vegetarian. Could you please let the kitchen know?” He’s not a vegetarian but doesn’t want to second-guess the nature of the meat they might serve him.

      Before she steps out, he adds, “One more thing. I don’t see myself moving much in this state. Could physical therapy come by? They’ll force me to move.”

      “Okay. I’ll talk to your nurse.” She hurries out before Levy thinks of anything else.

      He calls Karen. “I’m in the hospital. I have pneumonia. This may be an ordeal.”

      Silence.

      He says, “I’ll call you after I’m back home and then we can reschedule.”

      She insists. “No. I will come out and visit you in the hospital. I will sit by you in a chair. If I can sleep in your room, I will do so.”

      He barely knows this woman. He got sick visiting her. She’s not his girlfriend, nor his wife. She’s a stranger, and he doesn’t want a stranger around. It’s a hostile and confusing environment already. He’s vulnerable, and doesn’t need anyone else ignoring his wishes, which Karen’s already doing. Nor is this the time or place for a courtship.

      He can’t change her mind. Laboring, he nearly gasps, “Okay.” Again, he crumbles. Then, “My friend Leonard is here. The two of you could work out the details.”

      The staff move him into a single room. He hears one of them say, “This is the smallest room in the hospital. I hate it. It makes me claustrophobic.”

      Q: Why put me in it?

      A: To punish me. I complained about their putting me in with Mr. Saenz.

      He imagines the conversation at the front desk: Who does he think he is? So what that he’s a doctor? We’ll show him who’s in charge.

      Levy meets his physician. Dr. Hashmi, a pretty young East Indian woman. She’s not wearing a wedding ring. They discuss “their” choice of antibiotic.

      She lilts, “Have you ever taken Levaquin before?” He loves her voice. And her pullover sweater reveals a hint of cleavage.

      Mrs. Levy, Joseph’s late mother, had, and often, taken Levaquin for recurring pneumonia. Somehow he’s reassured by the prospect. His mother and he may be together in this.

      “No. But I had pneumonia in my 20s and got tetracycline as an outpatient. My fever broke in three days. Can you use that?”

      Dr. Hashmi melodiously answers, “We don’t use tetracycline anymore for first-line treatment of community acquired pneumonia.” She smiles. “That’s what you have.”

      “My mom used to get pneumonia and did fine on Levaquin.”

      “Oh,” she murmurs approvingly. “Then let’s start you on that.”

      Levy remembers his wish for opiate oblivion. “This all began with a crown replacement that went bad. My tooth still hurts. My lower back, too. Could I get routine Vicodin?”

      Hasn’t he already run through this malpractice-laced scenario with Dr. Thompson? But his wish to sleep, to escape this impending apocalypse, overrides everything else.

      “That…would…be…all…right,” she says slowly and uncertainly.

      So much for the wisdom of directing his own care. He’s Dr. Hashmi’s senior and look what he’s suggesting. And look what she’s agreeing to.