We reached the door. Another maintenance man was locking it and when
he saw us, he gave a world-weary look and held it open for us.
Stephanie said, “Reduced hours-another budget cut.”
Out in the hallway, things had gotten frantic. Doctors blew past in
boisterous groups, filling the air with fast talk. Families traipsed
through, wheeling doll-sized veteran journeyors to and from the ordeals
wrought by science.
A silent crowd was assembled at the elevator doors, clumped like human
droplets, waiting for any of three lifts that had settled
simultaneously on the third floor. Waiting, always the waiting. .
Stephanie moved through deftly, nodding at familiar faces but never
stopping. I followed close behind, avoiding collision with I.V
poles.
When we entered the basement stairwell, I said, “What kind of crime
problems have there been?”
“The usual, but more so,” she said, climbing. “Car thefts, vandalism,
purse snatchings. Some muggings out on Sunset. And a couple of nurses
were assaulted in the parking lot across the street a few months
ago.”
“Sexual assaults?” I said, taking two steps at a time in order to keep
up.
“That was never made clear. Neither of them came back to talk about
it. They were night-shift floats, not regular staff. What I heard was
that they were beaten up pretty badly and had their purses stolen.
The police sent a community relations officer who gave us the usual
personal safety lecture and admitted that, bottom line, there was
little anyone could do to guarantee safety unless the hospital was
turned into an armed camp. The women on the staff screamed a lot and
the administration promised to have Security patrol more regularly.”
Any follow-through?”
“Guess so-you see more uniforms in the lots and there’ve been no
attacks since then. But the protection came with a whole bunch of
other stuff no one asked for. Robocops on campus, new badges, frequent
hassles like the one you just went through. Personally, I think we
played right into the administration’s hands-gave them an excuse for
exercising more control. And once they get it, they’ll never
relinquish it.”
“6 students getting revenge?”
She stopped climbing and looked down at me over her shoulder, smiling
sheepishly. “You remember that?”
“Vividly.”
“Pretty mouthy back then, wasn’t I?”
“The fire of youth,” I said. And they deserved it-talking down to you
in front of everyone, that Dr. Ms.” stuff.”
“Yeah, they were a pretty cheeky bunch, weren’t they.” She resumed the
climb, but more slowly. “Banker’s hours, martini lunches, sitting
around shmoozing in the cafe and sending us memos about increasing
efficiency and cutting costs.”
A few steps later she stopped again. “C students-I can’t believe I
actually said that.” Her cheeks were aflame. “I was obnoxious, wasn’t
I?”
“Inspired, Steph.”
“More like perspired. Those were crazy times, Alex. Totally crazy.”
“Sure were,” I said. “But don’t dismiss what we accomplished: equal
pay for female staff, parents rooming in, the playrooms.”
And let us not forget free coffee for the house staff.”
A few steps later: “Even so, Alex, so much of what we obsessed on seems
so misdirected. We focused on personalities but the problem was the
system. One bunch of 6 students leaves, another arrives, and the same
old problems go on. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve stayed here too long.
Look at you-away from it for all these years and you look better than
ever.”
“So do you,” I said, thinking of what she’d just told me about trying
for the division-head position.
“Me?” She smiled. “Well, you’re gallant to say so, but in my case,
it’s not due to personal fulfillment. Just clean living.”
The fifth floor housed children aged one to eleven who were not in need
of high-tech care. The hundred beds in the east ward took up two
thirds of the floor space.
The remaining third was set aside for a twenty-bed private unit on the
west side, separated from the ward by teak doors lettered THE HANNAH
CHAPEL! SPECIAL UNIT in brass.
Chappy Ward. Off limits to the hoi polloi and trainees, maintained by
endowments, private insurance, and personal checks; not a Medi-Cal form
in sight.
Private meant Muzak flowing from concealed ceiling speakers, carpeted