Remember Bicycles?
S.Q. Lapius’s
blimp-like figure was hidden by a white hospital sheet that was tucked under
his chin, exposing his head only. The side-rails were up on either side
of his bed. He inspected the plastic bracelet on his right wrist
carefully, reading his name slowly, and enunciating carefully the name Gelfand.
He peered up at me, “Is Gelfand ill?”
“No,” I said, “it’s you
who are ill. Gelfand is taking care of you.”
“Gelfand
is a heart doctor. Have I had a heart attack?” He queries, with
some degree of concern.
“No, you have not had a
heart attack. Now take it easy. Don’t be alarmed.”
“Harry, I am not
alarmed, simply inquisitive. What am I doing in the hospital?”
“You are not doing
anything of importance. As a matter of fact I brought you here myself.”
“Why?”
“You probably won’t
believe this, Simon, but you fell off your bicycle.”
Lapius pondered this for a moment. “Impossible,
Harry. The fact is I can’t ride a bicycle.”
“That’s precisely the
point, Simon. You can’t. As a matter of fact I was trying to teach
you how to ride.”
“Strange. I don’t
remember a thing.”
“I shouldn’t expect you
would. You had a bad spill. But you had insisted that I teach you
to ride so you would have a method of exercise to help you lose weight. I
promised. You met me at the front door on a chilly fall morning, decked
out in a blazing red sweat suit, hardly the proper attire, I might add.
We drove to the park in a taxi and rented a bicycle for you. Do you
remember any of this?”
Lapius looked blank. “You are pulling my leg, Harry.”
“Not
at all, Simon. I
held the bike for you while you mounted, and gave you a series of small pushes
to teach you how to maintain your balance. On one such push you actually
went for a hundred feet or so.”
“That doesn’t sound too
dangerous.”
“It wasn’t, but it gave
you unwarranted confidence. You demanded that I push you once more and
leave you to your own devices. I tried to warn you, but you would have
none of it. I didn’t want to argue. So I gave you a push.”
“What happened?”
“Well, you went along
reasonably well for a few hundred feet, but weren’t able to stop at the crest
of the hill. The bicycle gathered speed, and you disappeared from
sight. There was a resounding crash. When I arrived you and the
bike were tangled in a clump of briars. They account for the scratches on
your face. You were conscious, but unaware of your surroundings, and asked
that I mix you a drink. I got some of
the park attendants, and with long poles we disentangled you and the bike from
the briars. However, there doesn’t seem to be anything seriously wrong
with you except for a concussion and loss of memory. You’ll be out of the
hospital in a day or two.”
“Where am I
now?”
“This is the intensive
care unit. However, you’ll be moved to a semi-private room this
afternoon.”
“Don’t rush that
Harry. I quite like it here.”
I surveyed the ward-like
atmosphere, the several nurses hovering around, the cardiac monitoring
machines, the complete surveillance, the close
quarters. “How can you like it here? You look like a basket case.”
“I like it here because
I feel safe here, Harry. Look at all the nurses available to keep an eye
on me, to help me in a moment if I need it.”
“But there’s no
privacy.”
“But there’s care.
When I want privacy I’ll go to a hotel. The purpose of a hospital is
care, and the intensive care unit seems to provide it in abundance. No I’m
quite content.”
Later that afternoon,
they moved him, despite his protestations, by wheel chair, to a semi-private
room. They moved him during visiting hours, and had a hard time squeezing
him into the room because of the visitors that crowded the bedside of the other
patient.
As a form of protest, Lapius went limp so they had to get two orderlies to
transfer him to bed. He didn’t regain either his memory or his usually
ebullient spirits till he returned home a day or so later.
“I’m glad I had the
experience, Harry,” he confided. “It reaffirms my belief that the
American public has been conned by the concept of the semi-private room.
They really mean semi-public.”
“Do you remember anything
of what happened?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“I remember trying to
stop that infernal bicycle. I pressed my feet on the brakes but nothing
happened. The brakes were faulty. You should have checked them
first before you allowed me to use the bike.”
“But the bicycles today
don’t have foot brakes, Simon.”
“Where are the brakes,
then?”
Holy smokes, I had
forgotten to tell him that they are attached to the handlebars. He would
never forgive me. I changed the subject.
“Did you think the
overall care in the hospital was adequate?”
“Surprisingly,
yes. Except the food. They served hot food and cold
food. The coffee was cold and the ice-cream was hot.”
“Simon, you were a
pleasanter man before you regained your memory,”