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Doctor Valerie Wiseman scratched and shook her weary head.
The patient had seemingly been responding to treatment. Although the elderly gentleman had suffered a coronary, things had been improving quite nicely. Last night, Valerie had even told the relatives that the worst scenario had passed. He had a maze of tubes attached to him, but the
prognosis was good.
Late last night the worst had occurred, and she had instructed the ward sister to contact the relatives...he had slipped away.
This morning, the bed in room four had a new patient in it.
A young girl who had been going through a rough patch with her partner had taken an overdose of tablets. Her worried parents had rushed her to hospital, where she had undergone a vigorous stomach pumping session.
Dr. Valerie Wiseman had told the worried parents that their daughter had been lucky...she would be wired up for a couple of days, but she would pull through.
Early the next day, the unthinkable happened. The young girl...with so much to live for passed away. Another phone call was made to parents, who hours earlier had been told to go home and get some rest, parents who had been reassured that their beloved daughter was going to make a full recovery.
Dr. Wiseman was beside herself . How had this happened...she shouldn't have
died!
The dead girl's father was livid and grief-stricken. He would, he shouted, go to the national papers and demand an investigation. This was the second time that a death had occurred in the same hospital and in the same room!
By midday, the hospital was besieged with hungry reporters...this obviously caused immense distress to the patients and the doctors alike.
The headlines in the evening paper read
"End Your Days In Death Valley Hospital" and
"Most Doctors Extend Lives...We Shorten Ours!"
Dr. Wiseman and her colleagues were absolutely dumbfounded. Yes, obviously they could be rational and argue that these people had suffered relapses...but what was it about room four?
Going back in their records, they noticed that nine months ago, two people...an elderly man and a young boy had also died whilst in room four. Both had been rather poorly, but again, both had not been expected to die from their ailments. Like the two recent deaths, they had been wired up to machinery, but three different types...again, there was no common denominator.
For a good few days, machinery from the hospital was given rigid tests. Top surgeons and professors from the area held meetings to discuss the
situation. Relatives lobbied parliament, and troubles multiplied for the hospital.
It goes without saying that room four stayed empty. After all, who would want to come into a hospital room that was 'cursed' or 'haunted'?
Dr. Wiseman gathered together all the hospital staff and discussed the ongoing problem.
The electrics in the hospital had been checked, as had the gas supply. It had been suggested that the huge boiler's fumes were maybe gassing
patients, but that theory was overruled.
It was nearly Christmas, and the staff generally got together to celebrate. This year though, festivities didn't seem very appropriate.
However, Dr. Wiseman insisted that at the very least, they should all meet in the pub along from the hospital for a drink.
Everybody seemed heartened at the prospect of being together and not speaking about room four.
Doctors, nurses, orderlies...even the cleaners all mingled and shared a drink or two. For a while at least, problems could be pushed to the back burner for a while.
Mrs. Weeks was a cleaner of long standing. She was nearing retirement age and had started to slow down a bit now.
About eight months ago, she had undergone surgery for a slipped disc...this had meant a break from her cleaning duties.
She had returned to her beloved job a couple of weeks ago and was indeed finding things a great deal more difficult.
Mrs. Weeks knew that she should leave the cleaning now; it was more suited to a younger person. There was a great deal of lifting, pushing and pulling of heavy furniture and apparatus connected to hospital cleaning. Unfortunately, poor old Molly Weeks couldn't stand the thought of having to leave all of her friends. It had been bad enough when she was on sick leave.
No, she had found a few short cuts that were making the job a little easier, and for the moment that could continue.
The next day was Christmas Eve, and the five cleaners were going for a fish and chip supper straight from work.
The other four were a lot quicker than Molly, and she knew that she would have to put her skates on.
Elsa Wickens had done rooms one, two and three. As cleaners went, she was the fastest around, and Molly always felt a little in awe of her.
As she entered room four, the faint sound of carols hung in the still air. Molly liked the hospital this time of the evening. Most patients had settled down for the night, and the lights had been dimmed.
There was a strict rule that the plug sockets behind the beds should never be touched by anyone except a doctor. But with her bad back, Molly felt it necessary to do just that. If she used the sockets near to the door, the Hoover didn't reach the other side of the room, and it meant that her job took a lot longer to complete. It was so much easier to remove the 'out of bounds' plug ...saved a lot of time and effort.
Molly had been doing this for a few weeks before her long period of sick leave...and since she had returned to work.
Obviously, with patients being in the room and wired to important machinery, she had always traced the machine leads back to the sockets. It would never do to remove the wrong plugs. Molly Weeks, having completed her chores made her exit.
She had heard that a new patient was coming in tomorrow. It would be nice to have some life in the room again.
'Drat'. She walked straight into her cleaning trolley and stubbed her toe. Honestly, her eyesight was starting to deteriorate fast. She really must have them checked soon...it wouldn't do to mix up the plugs now, would it?
Molly chuckled to herself. Her health would be the death of her!
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