Baby Talk

In the medical profession, there remains a small group of well-meaning professionals that speak to their patients as if they had not aged past three.


Baby Talk
Word count
1,563




Matt blinked his eyes; trying to focus on the road ahead seemed impossible. The oncoming traffic vanished behind a huge black ball that was highlighted with dancing sparkles of bright light. He shook his head again hoping that the vigorous action would make the cars ahead reappear---and it did; only now there was two of everything. His brain couldn’t tell him which side of the road the oncoming traffic was on. Taking his foot off the accelerator, he gently applied pressure to the brake hoping that he could slow down before slamming into something. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw both images of his pretty young wife stiffen up in preparation for the crash that seemed inevitable.

When he awoke, the first thing he saw was a lady dressed in white, but without angel-wings. He remembered that he had been in an accident and thought that maybe he hadn’t survived; however, he would be fairly certain where he was when he heard the lady in white speak.

“And how are we feeling today Mr. Cronin? Do ya know where ya are?”

He looked up at her thin face, pointy nose, streaked gray hair, and was glad that he saw only one of her. He started to speak but his mouth wouldn’t move, and after experimenting, he found that most of his appendages were immobile. He wasn’t positive, but he thought that he must be in a hospital. With his mind reeling from the pain, and the uncertainty of his situation, he questioned his ability to think and comprehend.

Through a tight clenched jaw he slurred, “Enlighten me.”

The lady in the white uniform spoke in the singing baby talk fashion used by many people in her profession. “Now, now, Mr. Cronin, do we remember that we were involved in an automobile accident? Getting upset might prove to be counter productive. Just lie still and try not to move around---we’ll feel better in a couple of days. Besides, we’ve got one of the best doctors in town, and he says that we’re going to be just fine. Take it easy and enjoy your stay. If you need anything, just push that button and someone will check on ya.”

After she left the room, his stomach started to churn and he felt as if he might get sick. While he was still fighting the urge to expel the churning liquid from his guts, an older man in a knee length white lab coat entered the room. Without looking at him, or even saying howdy, the pudgy little man sat on the lounge chair beside the bed. Lifting a sheet of paper from the top of a clipboard, he read from the one under it and repeated aloud the information that he found there.

“I’m--Dr. Kopp, I have the results of your MRI. You have lesions in the optic nerves, some in the brain, and in your neck at the T-5 level.”

The good doctor stood to leave and Matt called out stopping him just short of the door. Speaking as clearly as possible he asked, “What the hell did you just say? Can ya say it again, only this time in English?”

Dr. Kopp turned and looked at him for the first time saying, “We think that you might have MS. More tests are needed to be certain, but don’t worry about it, your insurance will cover most of the costs.”

Matt hadn’t even thought about money---he needed to learn what MS was and what could be done about it. He slurred the question, “What is MS?”

With an annoyed tone in his voice the doctor answered, “Multiple Sclerosis.”

Still not understanding the implications or the long-term effects, he had another question that needed an answer. “Is there a cure, or is it terminal?”

With a smile not born of understanding or compassion the doctor sidestepped the direct answer with, “Life is terminal”, then turned and left the room.

Being left alone with his thoughts might have been a good thing under different circumstances, but not now; for now he was scared. Had he understood correctly any part of what he thought that he had heard, or had pain and confusion interrupted his ability to comprehend? He lay there trying to make sense of the blob that was mulling around inside of his head, and noticed that the black spot in his vision had returned. He was aware enough to know that he should tell someone--but who? He remembered the button clipped to the corner of his pillow and pushed it hard several times expecting that a nurse would come running. To his surprise there was no response--nothing at all happened. He waited for a few moments and tried it again thinking that maybe they had not noticed.

This time a voice entered his room via a speaker somewhere behind him saying, “Can I help you Mr. Cronin?”

Between the drugs and his jaw being fastened shut, the only response he could muster was a groaning, grumbling, growl that sounded like nothing he had intended to say. Not giving him the time needed to try again the voice interrupted his slurred stammering.

“OK Mr. Cronin, the nurse will be with you shortly.”

He lay back and watched everything in the room become darker as the black spot grew larger hiding the world from his view. After a seemingly long time of waiting for the nurse, he again pushed the small button this time feeling for it in the blackness that had encompassed his world.

There was another long wait before the voice came over the speaker; “Yes Mr. Cronin, I know that you want the nurse, and I have already notified her. Just be patient, she is on her way.”

Ok, but on her way to where was the question. How long could it take to walk down a hall? He was scared and needed some reassurance from someone; anyone at this point. A real answer would be helpful any time now! He waited in the growing darkness and knew that he was going blind from either the accident or from the lesions (whatever they were). He had a question that needed an answer: was this a permanent situation or just a passing thing that would go away all by itself?

He lay quietly in his bed thinking of the things he had looked at but had never really seen. He remembered the vivid colors of his wife’s flower garden, the sun setting over the lake---wife!!! He nearly sat straight up in his bed when he remembered for the first time that his cherished wife had been in the car with him. Why hadn’t someone mentioned her? Didn’t he have a right to know? It was now more important than before that he talk to someone. A caring, understanding, truthful person that would tell him everything he wanted to know. His imagination was running wild with the what ifs and the scenario that unfolded in his mind was a haunting rendition of something he had seen in a bad movie. The part about him being blind was no longer the most important thing in his life. He needed to hear news about his wife--real information. He couldn’t allow any more questions to go unanswered or ignored. He was startled when he heard a voice near him and he realized that he wasn’t alone.

“OK Mr. Cronin, what do we need?”

He recognized the singing voice as belonging to the nurse with the streaked hair and felt hopeful that she would answer his questions. Taking a deep breath, and summing up all of the courage he could find, he asked the questions that were burning a hole in his soul. “Where is my wife? How is she?”

The answer came but he didn’t believe it to be truthful. He couldn’t look into her face for signs of truth, but he noticed a slight hesitation in speech that convinced him that she wasn’t saying something important.

“Uh, we don’t know. We haven’t heard anything about anyone else involved in your accident.”

“Then go find out something. I hav’ta know if she’s alright.”

Listening to her leave was hard because he knew that he needed help to understand this twist of fate. The most important thing at this time was his wife. He had firmly decided that he was going to hold people accountable for their answers and accept nothing less than the complete truth.

His thoughts were interrupted by a voice saying “OK Mr. Cronin, we have some medicine for ya. This will make us feel better so we can rest. At least I won’t hav’ta stick ya again, I’ll just put it in the IV--OK?”

He wanted to say something, ask more questions, maybe even get some answers, but he had instantly become too tired. He couldn’t fight the chemicals that were flowing through his veins on their way to numb his brain. The last thing in his mind’s eye was a vision of his wife, and the last thing he heard was a singing voice telling him “good night” in baby talk.