Small Talk

She looks rather frail, lying there on the hospital bed, a fresh gastrostomy tube in her abdomen. The dispatch notes merely said, "chronicaly bedbound due to quadriparesis" as the justification for stretcher transport. That's not enough information.

"Mrs. Richard, can you tell me a bit about your health problems?" I inquire gently as we make our way back to the nursing home.

I'm beginning to think she hadn't heard me, when after a long moment, she answers, "What do you want to know?"

"Just the general stuff," I smile. "Have you ever had a  stroke, for example?" My smile goes unnoticed because she has her back to me, staring dully at her reflection in the plexiglass cabinet doors.

"Never had a stroke."

"Okay," I allow, wondering if I'm going to be forced to pull her history out of her, one nugget of information at a time. "Well, what has you confined to the bed?"

She waits a long moment, then shrugs. "Nothing, really. Just can't get out of bed."

"Was it a gradual weakening, or was it a sudden event?"

"Something sudden," comes the flat, listless reply.

"What, exactly?" I prompt.

"My husband died."

We pass the rest of the trip in silence, nothing left to say.