Percival Chapter Five

Dr. Stevenson just finished scrubbing the shampoo into his hair when he heard the phone ring. He stepped out and tried to locate the phone that was ringing Beethoven’s seventh symphony. He hoped it wasn’t the hospital but if it was they would have tried his pager on the bathroom sink first. Dripping water all over the tiled floor, he dug into his jean pockets, and flipped the phone open.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi, Philip. This is Percival.”

“Oh, hey, what’s up?”

“I was wondering if we could meet today? Maybe after work?”

“Sure. Is everything alright?”

“Yea. I’m fine. I just need to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?”

“I’d like to talk face to face. “

“Alright. I’m not working the late shift, so let’s meet at the hospital around ten.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

By the time the conversation ended and he got back in, the shower had turned cold. He ducked his head quickly under the water and then toweled himself off.
The conversation on the phone troubled him. Percival wouldn’t call unless something big was bothering him. He was always a little too protective over Percival and considered him like a son. That first time they had met was as clear as it just happened.

He had begun his internship at a small orphanage for sick and dieing children and one day a small three-yea-old boy comes scampering in through his office door.

“What’s your name, little fellow?” Philip said as the child climbed into a chair.

“Percival,” replied the child. He looked back at the nurse who followed him in. “Am I gonna get a shot? I hate shots.”

“I’m just going to take some blood,” he said to the young boy and the nurse left. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Well, it ain’t true,” Percival said. He crossed his arms and his eyebrows scrunched together.

“They say that you’re a miracle.” He pulled out a packaged needle and latex gloves from a closed. “They also say you’re pretty smart.”

“If that’s true then why am I living here? And why do you wear gloves around me? It’s because I’m sick. That’s what this place is for, dieing kids.”

“Let’s see if we can’t make you better then,” he said and slid the needle into Percival’s arm. The young boy’s face winced as he filled the needle with blood.

“I hate needles.”

“Almost done,” he said. “There done.”

Percival hopped off the chair and pulled down the sleeve to his shirt.. On Wednesdays, a special courier from Kermises came by to pick up his samples.

“Can I go?”

“Yes. You can go.”

That memory brought back nostalgia from the orphanage days. Those times were so calm and relaxing compared to his job at the hospital which is so demanding, constantly having to be everywhere at once that it seems he doesn’t have enough hours in the day to do everything. Those days at the orphanage were special. He felt like he was making a difference, changing the world.

Dr. Stevenson paraded around the bedroom of his condominium, looking for a clean uniform for his up-coming shift and stopped in front of his small television on his dresser displaying Channel Three’s weatherman, as the man pointed at a moving jet stream.

“It’s going to be a great day today. Forget your coat because the low pressure system is…..”

He suddenly remembered that he had a bag of old clothes he had meant to give to Percival. He always gave him things he didn’t use anymore and it made him feel good to help him out. A few coats and shirts were stuffed inside a black garbage bag in his closet, so he took the bag and tossed it down the stairs and into the foyer.

Those orphanage days weren’t always a tie of the shoe, there were times when he would lose a child, those hit him more than when he loses a patient now. His guidance came from the senior doctor of Scottsdale, Mr. Othertin, a giant of a man with the softest of hearts. He treated each dieing child with an uncanny ability of becoming a child himself. The most downtrodden child became entranced by the act put on by him. They would sit on the examination table in their gown and Dr. Othertin would stick his head deep within the cupboards.

“Let’s see. Hmm. I know I put my glasses in here,” he’d say and he’d rattle the medicine bottles inside. “I need my glasses. I can’t operate without them. My eyes aren’t the same without them.”

Then he’d twirl around and look at the child with black framed glasses with the eyeballs that bobbed out. The child screamed and jumped. He’d remove the glasses and a huge smile would wash the anxiety from the child.

Susie Atkins, the cutest three-year-old that you could imagine, was the root of his departure from the orphanage. She became orphaned because her family had snuck over the Mexican border to work and she was born a few months after. The doctors discovered that she had cancer. Her parents asked for help but couldn’t prove that they were legal residents. They were moments away from deportation when they dropped Susie off at Scottsdale with a typed letter that explained that she’d have the best chance of surviving here.

Everyday Susie would play blocks near the main doors and when Philip came in, she would be the first to run up and greet him. She lived for three years after she arrived but the cancer killed her.

Dr. Othertin, being the intuitive man, noticed right away that Philip had slipped into depression over Susie’s death, and when they were both alone in Dr. Othertin’s office, he sat him down.

“I’ve been working here for thirty-six years now, and I’ve seen too many deaths. I can remember my first one, Daniel Brasko, a cute kid, bright as hell, came here from the orphanage down in Brassletown when they found out that he had a tumor in his brain. He spent three months here but it overcame him to fast and he died in my arms up at Memorial Hospital. You never really get over the first one, nor the tenth, but soon it starts to normalize. You grow numb.”

“It just seems useless. We’re fighting a losing cause,” he said.

“These kids lack hope and hope is the most powerful remedy. I’ve seen things that I can’t explain here. There was a child named Samantha…Gerber…no it was Garber. Yes, Samantha Garber. She stayed here from eighty-two to eighty-three and when she came to me she looked like she only had a few days to live, so we transferred her to Memorial. The nurses and I would go over there and fill her room with balloons and buy a birthday cake everyday, and sing happy birthday to her. The doctors there were amazed at the remission of the cancer. After a month in the hospital, the cancer was almost gone. When she left Scotsdale, she said that the reason she was alive today was because when she was in the hospital, she didn’t want to miss her birthday party.”

Dr. Othertin’s advice helped him through that trying time which all doctors have to deal with. He was right though, you never get over it, you just become numb to it.

Pervival Watkins provided the biggest contribution to where Philip was today. He gave hope to everyone at Scotsdale. The nurses took to him as if he was one of their own, and he was. Some of the nurses had their own families but they spent most of their time at Scotsdale, and with that time they built a strong relationship with everyone.

Percival instilled the motivation that drove Philip and when Percival turned fifteen, Philip received an offer from The Memorial Hospital that he couldn’t refuse and took the job. He knew that leaving Scotsdale would devastate Percival, and it did the same to him.

Philips slapped the mayonnaise on the top slice of bread of his ham sandwich, smoothing the slices together. He needed to get something in him before he had to go. He bit off a chunk, opened the fridge and took out the half gallon of milk, popped the cap off, and drank from the container.

He finished off the sandwich. And after fetching a fresh uniform from the hamper next to the basement stairs, he went to his bedroom and put it on. The news blared in the background, but he ignored it as he buttoned up his shirt and hurried out the door.

As he shut his door and turned the knob, to be certain it was locked, he saw his neighbor, Bernard, a retired dentist, on his hands and knees with half his body deep inside a bush nearest his front door. Bernard, at the sound of the door shutting, backed out and looked up at him, through misty goggles.

“Have you heard the mice again last night. I think they’re coming in through the laundry duct.” He’d been going on about mice for over two months now but Philip hadn’t heard or seen a single mouse.

“I still haven’t heard them,” Philip said.

“You did set up those traps that I gave you? If you don’t use those traps, then it’s useless.” A month ago, Bernard knocked on his door and gave him a box of twenty mouse traps, the decapitating ones. He never set them up, because he thought Bernard was a little crazy.

“Oh yes. I set them up all over the house. Don’t you worry. I’ve got to go to work now,” he said, waving to him and Bernard crawled back under the bush.

The reason why he bought this particular condominium was that it was only a few minutes away from The Memorial Hospital and Philip wouldn’t need to feel rushed getting to work. He hated the long hours of the job, working between ten to eighteen hours a day. When he was done with his shift, he felt extremely tired and mentally drained. He wanted to do things that would calm him down that usually found him at home reading a book, he’d get through a book in about a week. He tried his hand at painting but was terrible at it, but he always thought of himself as a non-practicing artist. And in fact, when he was going to college during his first semester, he was thinking about becoming an art major. He hated the idea of college, a civil servant machine that would pop in a free spirited teenager and pop out a cop, or a teacher and if you stayed in the machine long enough out plopped a microbiologist. But his adolescent bubble of resistance vaporized and he went into medical school and popped out a doctor.

Even before he got into his red Honda Civic, Philip focused on the three patients he would deal with today, Mrs. Patty Reynolds who has a brain tumor, Mr. Snyder a long time smoker dieing from lung cancer and Debbie Tenorson who also is diagnosed with lung cancer. The test results should come in today and he had to go over to the mail room and get the results. He prayed for good news, he liked to see them smile and hated having to find the nicest words to downplay the bad news. That was the hardest part of his job, Mr. So-And-So, you’re tumor has remitted itself and now we are going to use, then he’d place in a long technical term for an operation. Let them know that I‘m in control of the situation.

He turned the car on and pulled out of the driveway, knowing full well that he had no control over anything, including his own life.

Pulling into the entrance of the Memorial Hospital, he parked around back where the doctors had their own spots. Philip’s was the third row back, two rows behind the elite parking spots designated with name plates.

Upon entering the hospital, he headed toward the mailroom, where his test results would be. The mailroom was a gathering place for most of the doctors starting their shifts. They’d mill around in groups in the large room, idly chatting with each other about their patients. Dozens of young enthusiastic people in well pressed suits sold handed out brochures of new medicines they were lobbying.

They had stuck his mailbox in the far back of the room, so he had to pass everyone to get there. Halfway there s hand squeezed his shoulder and he turned to see who it was.

“Here is a promising young man,” said Mr. Crawford, the president of the hospital. “He practically lives here.”

The four men Mr. Crawford talked to were typical pharmaceutical employees, dressed in fancy suits and wielding a seven million dollar smile.

“This is Mr. Stevenson. He works in our Cancer division. And he is a very close friend to our own Mr. Watkins,” Mr. Crawford continued.

“Now this is a pleasant surprise. We’ve heard so much about Percival but we haven’t gotten to know you,” said one of the men. “The name’s Bill Ashland. You can call me Bill.” They shook hands.

“Glad to meet you to,” he replied, looking the three men over.

“We’re from Newsburg Corporation. We’re introducing a new drug, that should be passed this month by the FDA. Have you heard about it Dr. Stevenson? It’s called Luthramiatine.”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Of course we’re naming it Luthratine, it’s losing the mia, and it’s going to be called, The Cute Blue Pill,” said the man standing to the right of Bill.

“So how’s Percival doing? Is he still working for Kermises?”

“He’s fine. Nothing new. He still goes to Kermises.”

“Well, if you see Percival, you give him this,” said the third gentleman. He held out a business card and Philip took it, stuffing it into his large light blue doctors coat. “Kermises, has their heads up their own asses.” They all laughed, including Mr. Crawford, which surprised Philip, since he had seen some Kermises employees talking to him just the other day.

“Their drug, Oxicocotin, is being recalled. Did you hear that? It shrinks the brain,” said Bill. “They’re going to get sued so bad, that they’ll file for chapter eleven soon.”

“I did hear something about that but I didn’t know Kermises made the drug, wasn’t it Fresco,” said Philip. They just had a press conference on the news this Tuesday.

“Fresco is a subdivision of Kermises. They were gobbled by Kermises in ninety-two,” said Bill.
“I was meaning to introduce them to Percival, but he doesn’t work today,” said Mr. Crawford. “He has a shift tomorrow. I’m sure that he would be happy to talk with you guys though. Don’t you think, Stevenson?”

“I don’t know. I’m just his doctor,” he replied. He felt bad for Percival. He didn’t like these companies. “I’ll see him in two weeks for a check up. If there is anything you wanted to tell him, I’ll do it then. I do have to go. I’ve got an appointment to get to. Nice to meet you.”

He turned and headed back into the hallway and towards for the elevators. Getting off on the third floor he went to the receptionist’s desk. His office was just down the hall but as he passed by the first office, a female’s voice called out to him, “Philip, are you going to sign those papers I put on your desk?”

He stopped and backpedaled, and ducked his head into Trish’s office. She was a bright pretty woman in her mid-forties. They had a flirtatious relationship and even went out on a few dates. Nothing came from it and they wanted to remain friends, since they work so closely.

“I haven’t even looked at them yet but I promise I’ll get it done today.”

“Alright, but make sure you have them on my desk by seven. I‘m leaving then.”

He wanted to ask her what she had to do at seven but held back. It was weird, when they were together he didn’t feel they had any chemistry but during their current hands off status, he had eruptions of jealousy whenever she talked about other men around him. He was attracted to her, and he adored her green eyes, plush lips and fit built. They never did anything beyond kissing, not that Philip hadn’t pursued. She had shut that door before it had opened. That wasn’t the reason they stopped dating, on the contrary, the challenge to him was the most intriguing thing about her.

They came to that conclusion while having dinner one night, that since they both worked together, that they wouldn’t pursue the relationship. How could he meet anyone if he followed that rule? He spent most of his time at work and wasn’t the type of person that could approach an attractive woman and start up a conversation.

The papers he needed to look at dealt with the new machines coming into the laboratories. Philip had to sit through three boring lectures on the new technology. He just needed to sign on the line that he knew what the machines are for and that he knew the new safety procedures for them.

“They’ll be at your desk within the hour. So what are you up to tonight?” Right after he said it, he wanted the words back. Not that she didn’t know already that he was interested in her, practically the whole floor knew.

“I’ve got a business dinner to go to. Why?” she said with a coy smile.

“No reason really. Well, I got to go and check out some lab work. I’ll see you in an hour or so.” He ducked back into the hall, with his face blushing.

Outside his office door a plastic holder which held his incoming mail was stuffed with three large yellow envelopes. He scooped them up under his arm and opened the door. His small office barely fit his large desk, a filing cabinet that rose to his waist and a bookshelf filled with all the medical books he had accumulated. Everything was kept tidy, which was his habit. He didn’t mind being messy as long as it wasn’t seen by others. His desk held the only clutter but that was impossible to keep clean with the constant ebb of paperwork. He spotted Trish’s papers. A single window in the office was his only view out and it wasn’t a very pleasant view, overlooking the parking lot, but it was nice to have the sun shine in, so he pulled the blinds up.

Taking a seat, he began to read the memos on his desk, getting them done before his appointments. He skipped lines, just wanting to sign the them. He stroked his name on the designated. He then took out the lab results from his mailbox, holding the x-ray in the sunlight.

It revealed a block smudge, the cancer, growing instead of reseeding, which was the worst circumstance he could have received. He ripped open the second one and pulled out several blood test results with more bad news. He hesitated opening the last result and with a deep breath tore it open, looking at the tests results, wishing for good news only to be disappointed.

He had one hour before his first appointment, so he snatched the memo and went back to Trish’s office. She wasn’t there, so he placed it in her mailbox next to her door, wanting desperately to go home.