“What’s Matthew Kieler’s room number?”
I took advantage of the shift change, so there was
no suspicion from the new receptionist that I had every intention
of sneaking upstairs and defy their little maintenance rules.
“423,” she said, and then went about her busy
work.
Busy work.
I thanked her, paced some more,
and then, when the
busy work
consumed her attention to her
dereliction, I darted into the open elevator, where I paced some
more until the bell rang and the door slid open on the fourth
floor. The place was like a fortress, the nurse’s station looming
over the traffic. No
busy working
nurse here. Instead there
was a hulk — a woman who certainly wasn’t the dietician, dressed in
blue. I caught her attention immediately.
“Yes,” she said. “Can I help you?”
She said this before I lost sight of the elevator
bank. I regained my dignity and marched to the fore.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m here to see Matthew Kieler.”
She huffed, and then perused a monitor, muttering
Kieler, Kieler, Kieler.
“Room 423, but it’s marked
immediate family
only.
Who are you?”
“Martin Powers.”
“I mean, what relationship are too Mr. Kieler?”
“I’m his . . . I’m his partner.”
“Business partner?”
“No. We . . . live together.”
“Sorry. Immediate family only.”
Suddenly, my heart sank. The floor shook and I was
at sea.
“I am his immediate family.”
“I can’t see that you are. I suggest you come again
when he can see friends and acquaintances. Call first.”
I was stunned — stunned and angry. I wanted to cry,
but couldn’t. I turned back to the elevator, pressed the down
button, and then waited. However, when the car came, I couldn’t
move forward. I spun about and charged at the woman, who now was
buffered by two other wardens.
“I told you, sir,” she said, firmly. “Immediate
family only.”
“But I’m his partner,” I shouted. “I’m his . . .
lover.”
This didn’t help my case. In fact, it girdled her
resolve and probably evoked other rules — unwritten ones from the
spleen of clean Christian living.
“I’m sorry, the rules are the rules,” she
proclaimed, her words like daggers. “Immediate family only.”
She stood triumphant.
“Can’t you even tell me his condition?” I
pleaded.
I felt the tears rising. I trembled and thought
perhaps to get on my knees and beg. She wasn’t relenting. In fact,
she seemed to relish her position as the great divider.
“He’s critical,” she snapped.
“Critical,” I muttered. I was falling. I slouched on
the desktop. Perhaps my genuine tears would move her to pity.
“I can’t tell you more. Immediate family only. You
can discuss it with his doctor, but the doctor won’t tell you any
more.”
“But you don’t understand,” I moaned.
I was pathetic; a poor creature brought to these
portals beseeching a simple kindness only to be treated like a cur.
Matt was my love. He was my husband. I had a ring. I vainly
displayed the ring before this snarling beast, but I couldn’t bring
myself to say the words. She would have probably laughed — dance a
jig maybe.
“Uncaring bitch,” I said.
“Sir, if you become abusive, I’ll have you removed
from the premises.”
“No, no,” I said. “I’m sorry. You must know that Mr.
Kieler is my . . . well, we are . . .”
“Sir, that’s no concern of mine,” she said. She made
it to Torquemada at last. “If you are not an immediate family
member, you must wait until the family arrives. Perhaps they will
tell you . . .”
As if on cue, the elevator doors slid open and Mr.
and Mrs. Kieler, with Mary, emerged.
“Martin, Martin,” Mrs. Kieler said, embracing him.
“How is he?”
“We were caught in traffic,” Sam said. “Martin, you
look terrible.”
“He’s not . . .” Mary whimpered.
“I don’t know,” I said, weeping full force now. I
pointed to the keeper of the gate. “She won’t tell me anything. She
won’t let me in to see him. She says I’m not his family. There are
rules. I’m not anyone important . . . important according to them.
I’m not his . . . She won’t let me see him. They don’t understand.
They don’t understand.”
Louise Kieler opened her eyes wider than she
possibly could, her teeth bared. She gazed at the nurse.
“Oh, she understands perfectly,” she said. She
marched to the counter.
“Now, Louise,” Sammy said. “Let’s not make a
scene.”
“What do you mean he’s not his family? You should be
ashamed of yourself. This man is my son’s primary family.”
“And who are you?” the nurse said, still probably
imagining she had the upper hand.
“I’m his mother.” Louise slammed her fist on the
counter. This brought all three nurses center court as if they were
the fates that cut the string in some Greek play. Louise cuffed me
about the shoulders drawing me into her arms. “And this is my
son-in-law, Matthew Kieler’s life-partner. How dare you! How dare
you!”
“I’m doing my job.”
The nurse quickly paged the doctor.
“The doctor will see you in a minute,” she said, no
remorse in her voice. “As for this young man, whatever the
relationship, he cannot see the patient unless he is immediate
family as . . . as defined by the laws of the State of New
Jersey.”
“Look at him, you bitch!” Louise shouted.
“Louise, not so loud,” Sammy said.
I trembled. I was proud of her, but was also afraid
we would all be kicked out. Louise rapped on the desk, the papers
and pens rattling with each pound.
“This is suppose to be a place of healing. Of
caring. What right have you to judge? What right have you to
inflict pain in a place of healing? He is closer to my son and more
important to me than I am sure you are to anyone so unfortunate to
call you a relative. Now, take us to my son!”
“Mrs. Kieler,” the nurse said, finally with some
alarm. “Please calm down. Doctor.”
The doctor had arrived, and just in time. I thought
Louise was going to seize a pen and stab Nurse
Bitch and a
Half
in the jugular.
“What’s the problem?” the doctor asked, looking up
from his clipboard. “This a hospital, not a wrestling match.”
“I was explaining Hospital policy about immediately
family only . . .”
The doctor raised his hands.
“I’m here now. I’ll handle this. You are Mr. and
Mrs. Kieler?”
“Yes, Doctor,” Sammy said.
“Doctor Farrell.”
“How is my brother?” Mary asked.
“My son?” Louise said.
“Your son is resting,” Doctor said. “But we had to
put him in an oxygen tent.”
“Oxygen tent?” I cried. “Doctor, is he . . .will he
. . .”
“He has pneumonia —
pneumosistis
carinii
.”
“Just like Luis,” Louise stammered, her lips
trembling.
“Then,” the Doctor continued. “You realize that he
is in a great deal of danger with this episode.”
“AIDS?” I said, for the first time. The word hung in
the air before me. All the air was driven from the room and I felt
faint.
No,
I thought.
It’s mountain sickness. He’s been
in the Rockies and the blood thins up there. It does. You can’t
catch AIDS from thin mountain air.
“He never told you?” Mary asked, and then covered
her mouth. It was a
poor Martin
move. Was I the only one who
didn’t know this shit?
“I’m afraid,” Doctor Farrell continued. “I’m afraid
your son has serum converted. I’d say about a week ago.”
A week ago. In the mountains. He . . . he did what?
I shrugged a hopeless shrug.
“It means, his blood converted in response to the
HIV infection. Are you his significant other?”
I shook my head slowly. A sudden recognition loomed.
I was the significant other and Matt had serum converted — whatever
the fuck that meant, and I might be the next morsel on the virus’
menu.
“You need to be tested immediately. Have you been
safe?”
Safe?
I didn’t believe this. I heard Louise
crying and Sammy comforting, but still this attention on my sexual
activities in such a clinical manner in an open corridor before
Mary was just too much for me.
“What are you saying?” I snapped. “Am I . . .”
“I just asked you a simple question, Mr. . . .”
“Powers,” I snapped.
“Have you and your partner used protection when . .
.”
“Yes, yes. I don’t believe this.”
I was in a tailspin.
“May we see him now?” Louise asked.
“Yes, come now,” the Doctor said.
“Can Martin come?”
The nurse lurched forward — her moment of
vindication.
“Why, of course. Come now. All of you.”
I should have danced a victory dance on that bitch’s
face, but I was too devastated and confused to think of much else
now. In fact, thoughts of Matt were churning to deeper and more
brooding thoughts . . . thoughts of me.
I clung to Mary as we entered the room like
mourners, only we weren’t mourners or watchers. We were
the
immediate family
. The doctor interrupted a nurse, who had
reached beneath the oxygen tent to prick Matt’s arm. My cowboy was
pale in his quarantine and surrounded by a mass of tubes and
dripping bags and flashing monitors. I trembled, especially when
Mary wept.
“He’s awake,” the nurse said to Doctor Farrell.
“Visit for a little while,” he said to Louise and
Sammy. “Let’s not tax him. Don’t let him talk.”
That was hard, because when Matt spied Louise, his
eyes lit up.
“Mama,” he croaked. “Dad.”
“Shhh, Lamb,” Louise said. “The doctor says you’re
not supposed to talk.”
“Sis.”
Mary spluttered out at a
Newt
, but it was a
half effort. I didn’t know how I’d survive it. I suddenly felt
misplaced. I wasn’t his
immediate family.
I was an outlaw.
How could I have presumed to be more?
“Pumpkin.”
“Hush,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Pumpkin.”
“Hush now,” I said.
Louise pushed me forward. The plastic wall between
us annoyed me. I felt like ripping it down and taking him in my
arms, but as I observed his face — his ashen cheeks and those
sky-blue eyes swimming without reference now, I couldn’t imagine
that I had come so far with this man only to slam into this wall of
plastic. The monitors were beeping, while the bags of crap that
were attached to him were a sure reference that my cowboy was sick
— very sick. He was in danger, but I knew nothing about this
plague. Nothing other than what I read in the papers or heard on
TV. There, everyone was in a panic mode. The TV reported how men
with AIDS were shunned. Schools tossed classmates out the door.
Mass hysteria broke loose in quiet suburban towns when the local
queer was reported ill. I realized that I knew nothing about the
disease except that the villagers ran the ill out of town with
pitchforks.
Shouldn’t we be masked and enclosed in protective
clothing,
I suddenly thought. Then a voice — a medical voice
pecked on my brain.
You need to be tested immediately. Have you
been safe?
What kind of test? Probably a big needle in the
stomach. And who could say what was safe? Matt was always
clean
, or so I thought, which always fit into my thoughts of
him as a gentleman. He certainly wasn’t trying to prevent
pregnancy.
Safe?
“Pumpkin,” he wheezed.
“Shhh. You’re going to be just fine, now that you’re
under a doctor’s care.”
He blinked. I realized then that he no more believed
me than I believed me. Still, I remember praying a silent prayer.
Please God, let me survive this moment.
It was all about me.
I couldn’t lose this man, and yet, I was hurting so bad that I just
wanted this to pass.
“Lamb,” Louise said. “Well get through this
together.”
I suddenly realized that she was speaking to me. I
smiled, and then buried my head on her shoulder. I didn’t deserve
any of this. Matt began to cough.
“Easy now, son,” Sammy said.
“Dad.”
“Listen to us. Don’t speak. Whatever it takes to get
you out of here, we shall do it.”
“Just like Luis,” Mary muttered.
“None of that,” Louise said.
Louise had held her composure better than any,
especially me. She turned to the doctor.
“There are new treatments. I heard Tom Brokow say
there are drugs now.”
“AZT and other treatments. Herbals and diet.”
“We’ll take them,” Sammy said.
Doctor Farrell shrugged. He pulled Louise aside.
Sammy followed. I came as baggage.
“Trouble is,” the doctor whispered. “We can try to
brace the immune system, but when the contaminates take advantage,
our battle is with each invader. Some infections are just
uncomfortable, while others, like
carinii,
are downright
dangerous. Any pneumonia is dangerous, but this one is usually
reserved for cats. Today I’m your son’s veterinarian.”
“Get him well.”
“We’ll try our best.”
“When will you know?” Sammy asked.
“Hard to tell. His lungs need to sustain a proper
oxygen level, but he’s basically strong. But . . .”
“But what?” Louise said.
“I don’t want to instill false hope. Youth has many
advantages with most diseases, but with HIV that advantage is
sapped in many cases with each passing episode.”
“So you are not giving him good odds?” Sammy
croaked. I thought he’d burst.
“Not so loud,” Doctor Farrell said. “I’m saying I
can treat him and he could last for years. Or I could battle each .
. . each monster that invades him and do my best.”
Sammy spit, but Louise touched his arm staying
him.
“I appreciate your candor, Doctor,” she said. “Our
family are fighters, so you will have an army behind you.”