The Trouble with Polly Brown (72 page)
“Hmm. Some challenges are so much harder than others,” she muttered under her breath while playing with the string of pearls that hung around her neck. She then gave a deep, knowing sigh.
“Doctor, tell me, have you heard the wonderful news concerning your ex-Patient 333?”
“I have, indeed, Lady Butterkist, and I can only say that my colleagues and I, as well as the rest of the staff on this ward, are absolutely mystified as to how all this could possibly have taken place.”
“Well, it is something of a miracle, that's for sure,” she mused.
“Well, whatever. I, for one, am totally amazed, for I must confess that I gave up on the man many moons ago,” he said, scratching his chin.
“Now, doctor, when we find ourselves in that hard place where everything seems lost and hopeless, that's surely the place where miracles are most likely to happen. Don't you think?” she rather poignantly suggested.
“Hmm. I'm not in any position to really answer that one,” the doctor casually remarked as he glanced down at Polly fast asleep in her bed.
“Doctor, how perfectly sad it is to see her lying there like Sleeping Beauty waiting for that seemingly elusive miracle to not only wake her but then rid her completely of this make-believe world she seems happy to believe in.”
“Yes, yes, Lady Butterkist, but please remember I did all I could to warn you,” he mumbled. “Believe you me when I say that at this hospital we all hope and pray every day for that special miracle to take place where this young girl is concerned.”
“Oh really, Dr. Ninkumpoop! So answer me truthfully, doctor, do you really believe in miracles?” Lady Butterkist innocently quizzed.
“What? Meâ¦personally?”
“Yes, you! It's a straight question, doctor, no frills or hidden meanings, so do feel at liberty to fill in the blanks.”
“Well, I can't say I've ever witnessed a miracle, or had one for that matter,” he halfheartedly muttered.
“Well, then how can you pray for a miracle where Polly is concerned when clearly you don't even believe in their existence?” she dared to suggest.
“Madam, quite what do you mean by that?” he snorted.
“Well, you just said you are hoping and praying that Polly receives her miracle, and yet in the next breath you clearly admit to not believing in the existence of such inexplicably wonderful happenings. So which is it to be?” she challenged.
“Well, to be honest, madam, until your unexpected arrival on the scene, I haven't ever given it much thought, for I prefer to see myself as more of an intellectual, thinking man with mathematical and science-based thought processes. So, if I am to be absolutely honest with you, I believe miracles are more for those whose lives are mainly dictated by superficial and emotionally charged, thoroughly illogical feelings.”
“Oh, by that you mean mushy, ooey-gooey feelings, rather than by solid and sound reason?” she interjected.
“Precisely.”
“Well, I only have two words to reveal my thoughts regarding your thoughts on this matter.”
“Oh, and pray, tell me what those two words might be.”
“
Absolute bunkum!
Yes, total twaddle, Poopy, my boy! Miracles are not only timeless, but they are for everybody,” she exasperatedly lashed out. “Yes, miracles care nothing for class or creed, or intellect for that matter. They just happen for those who expectantly watch and wait for them, which must surely mean they are not for the fainthearted or those who refuse to believe or give up hope that their miracle will ever come.”
“I have to confess to knowing nothing of such things,” he reluctantly admitted.
“Well, doctor, maybe, just maybe, you've had a few miracles in the past, but like many others, you have failed to recognize them for what they truly were,” she gently dared to suggest.
“Well, no, madam. But without wishing to cause any offenseâ”
“None taken,” she mischievously interrupted.
“Well, as I was about to say, I think I'd be the first to know if I had ever witnessed something one might rightly term supernatural or otherwise a miracle,” he said, looking more than a little concerned. “I mean, I'm not exactly a religious-thinking man.”
“Who said anything about religion? I am talking about certain wonderful, unexplainable events that defy all reason and logic.”
“Hmm. I'm still not entirely sure I like where all this conversation is headed,” he furiously muttered.
“Well, can you give me any reasonable explanation as to why the patient who occupied that bed for the past twenty years and who by all accounts sat motionless, staring into space, has just minutes ago left this institution perfectly clothed in his right min? Now, explain that one if you dare.”
“Well, to be perfectly honest, Lady Butterkist, I have absolutely no idea what is going on around here at present, for in truth since I got out of bed this morning, my otherwise well-ordered and preserved world has become quite topsy-turvy, and against all rhyme and reason it seems to be quickly spiraling hideously out of control. Also, as I am not at liberty to discuss any patient's medical history, then sadly I am also unable to give a satisfactory answer to any of your seemingly impertinent questions.”
“Look, Poopy, dear boy, stop being so evasive and thoroughly disagreeable,” she remonstrated. “I am well aware that you are bound by ethics to withhold information regarding your patients, and I understand that today has been very trying to say the least. But can you not just agree with me that for the patient who has responded to absolutely nothing for over twenty yearsâthat is, until Piddles, my precious little pooch, turned up and shows him some love and affectionâwell, surely this in itself is something of a special miracle?”
“Well, I guessâ¦.”
“Don't just guess, Ninkumpoop. Tell me straight whether you see this as a miracle.”
“I can't say for sure,” Dr. Ninkumpoop cautiously replied, as for the first time in his long life he found himself stammering like an awkward child.
“Well, putting your thoroughly belligerent attitude to one side, let's take the case of your dear brother Andrew. Now then, answer me this: did he not fall into a river when he was a small boy? And even though you did all within your power to rescue him, you sadly were not strong enough to drag him from the river.”
The doctor was so thoroughly shocked by all she was saying that he remained tongue-tied with only the occasional and barely audible gasps escaping out through his visibly trembling lips.
“Hmm. And, doctor, I believe he was eventually fished out of the river by a very kind gentleman who, I believe, went by the name of Captain Codswallop, or something similar sounding.” The poor doctor was now so paralyzed with shock that he felt incapable of responding to her question.
“Cat got your tongue, Poopy, my boy? Well, never mind. Just feel free to nod your head if all I am saying is irrevocably the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. There, that's good,” she cheerfully encouraged. “See, a little nod of the head requires very little in the way of effort.”
“Yes, Captain Codswallop did all in his power to resuscitate Andrew.”
“And is it true to say, dear doctor, that your dear younger brother was, sadly, pronounced dead on arrival at Hope in Your Heart Hospital?”
The perplexed doctor was now looking extremely ashen, for quite rightly he was left seriously wondering as to how she could possibly know anything regarding this very private and personal tragedy that had taken place some previous forty or so years ago.
“Remember how stunned you were when a few hours later a Dr. Loveheart came running down the ward to say that Andrew had somewhat miraculously come back to life?” she reminded.
The poor doctor could do nothing but nod his head up and down as a show of affirmation.
“There, this nodding business is getting easier by the minute, isn't it, Poppy, my boy? Well then, I do believe that today of all days you may well be in for another treat, as you will have the honor of sitting in the front seat to witness the third miracle of your lifetime.”
“Third?”
“Yes, doctor, your third. Now, lift up your fingers, and we will count together. Now, remember that the first was your brother; the second was your former patient, who has now gone off to swim with the dolphins, taking my precious pooch with him; and I do believe you are about to be fortunate enough in witnessing your third miracle, for when Polly wakes up in an hour or so, you, my dear, will be in for a mighty big surprise,” she confidently stated as she stood directly in front of him, playfully pretending once more to formally straighten his already dead-straight tie.
“Uh?”
“So let's wait and see, shall we?” she mischievously whispered in his ear as she then patted his chest in a friendly, if not all too familiar manner that took him completely off guard.
All this talk left the now poorly fragile doctor firmly believing that he was on the verge of an extreme nervous collapse, as from the moment he left his crossword to innocently make his way up to the canteen and shake hands with this unusual lady his safe, introspective little world had been severely turned upside down, leaving him feeling more like most of his patients, yes, something of a nervous, jangled train wreck.
“Forgive me, Lady Butterkist, but I am suddenly feeling extraordinarily queasy and unwell.”
“I'm not the least bit surprised, doctor dear. After all, miracles are supposed to turn our little cocooned lives upside down, and today has been a very unusual and most demanding day for you. Here, take one of these pills. I call them âMother's little helpers,' because just like a nice cup of tea, they quickly perk you up. I'm told that film stars like to take them all the time,” she said, taking a small bottle from her purse to hand over to him.
The doctor looked horrified, as he immediately declined her offer. Failing to hide his utter disgust, he quickly handed the bottle back, shaking his head as if to say pills were designed for everybody else to blindly take but were certainly not meant for him. Oh, no. He only wrote out endless prescriptions for medication; he did not believe in actually taking any form of medication himself, and even if due to unexplainable sickness he were forced to resort to some form of medication, well, even then he would err on the side of caution until he was suitably informed as to all harmful side effects that might well occur as a result of swallowing down the medication in question.
“Madam, the only medication I ever care to digest comes directly from the herbs that are placed in fine teas.”
An unphased Lady Butterkist placed the bottle back in her purse and then came up with another bright suggestion.
“Now, then. Speaking of tea, all this talk has made my throat as seriously arid and parched as the Arabian Desert at noon, so I don't suppose you, old boy, have a morsel of quality loose tea secretly stashed away in your office? I happen to believe that a strong and rich cup of Assam would not only moisten my lips but would most willingly slide down my dry throat a treat.”
A
S THEY WERE
still standing by the bedside discussing many of the therapeutic qualities of tea, one of the nurses anxiously rushed down the ward toward the doctor.
“Forgive me for interrupting, Dr. Ninkumpoop, but we have a most unusual situation developing. We urgently need your sound advice to deal with it.”
“Yes, nurse. I'm all ears.”
“Well, doctor, you might find this hard to believe, but a coach load of lovely old dears has just broken down right outside the front gates of the hospital.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really, doctor! Apparently, having been on the road for quite a number of hours, many of them found themselves in dire need of an urgent visit to the small room, if you get my drift, and with most garages closed due to this being a holiday weekend, the driver was forced to find some alternative but appropriate place that he could safely take them to. Having studied his map, he decided that we were the closest place en route that would surely have a number of male and female toilets that they could all happily use.”