"I would like to place an order, please. Are you ready? It's a big one." Once I had confirmation that the person on the other end of the line was ready for me, I began reading out loud, "five large pineapple pizzas, two large bulgogi pizzas, one seven-cheeses pizza and one kimchi pizza."
"Tae?" Came a hoarse voice from the other room and I tried my very best to ignore it.
"TAE!" A coughing fit. "I know you heard me."
Darn. "Hold on a moment, please," I covered the speaker of my phone and then turned to Frieda, who stood in the doorway to her room on a pair of shaky legs. That stupid woman and her forty-two degree fever didn't have any business to be out of bed.
"Frieda, dearest, please go back to your nest. I really don't want to be mean but you look like a ghost that just died for the second time." I looked her up and down, "actually, in fact, a ghost that died two times over easily would win a beauty pageant against you. You don't have bags under your eyes, you have entire drawers there. If you happen to run into anyone working for Ikea, they may even give them hard-to-pronounce Swedish names. In fact, you look like a human that was sold by Ikea and was put together by someone who has no idea what a human is supposed to look like. Now shush!" I removed my hand from the receiving hoping that the person on the other of the line hadn't given up on me in the interim.
"My apologies," I sighed, skimming my list, "Can I also have two carrot cheesecake cookies, a box of Oreo cookies, two strawberry doughnuts, a …"
"TAE!" Frieda's yell was interrupted by yet another coughing fit. No wonder that woman didn't get any better. She did a horrible job looking after herself.
I rolled my eyes, mumbled an apology to the person on the line and placed my hand back over the mouthpiece. "Off you go. Back to bed. I know what I'm doing, okay."
"Are you quite sure? What in the world are you doing?"
"It's called ordering food. Now, do I need to repeat myself? SHOO!"
"Why are you… " More coughing… "We're not suppos…" Frieda's throat continued to be tortured.
"I'm ordering food because people in general require three meals a day."
"But pizza, Tae? I don't think our residents…"
"Most of them never had a pizza in their entire life. Or an Oreo cookie. Can you imagine that? This needs to be rectified immediately. Now, if you kindly let me go on with my order. We're already running late and I got shouted at twice."
Technically, I hadn't lied to Frieda. Dinner was an hour late. And most residents indeed never had a pizza in their life. However, this wasn't the main reason I decided to place an order. The problem was, that we no longer had a functioning kitchen, but Frieda in her current state didn't need to know that. As much as I would have loved to confess the exploded oven and the cracked cooking field right away, I could not bring myself to trouble poor Frieda any more than absolutely necessary.
The atmosphere in the group home wasn't any less sombre the following day. As expected, Frieda was much worse, and was placed into intensive care. It also meant I was now completely left to my own devices looking after the residents.
And it look me a total of only five minutes to realise that I did an absolutely crappy job. It was not even seven am when I discovered yet another victim to the current covid curse. Mr Garfield had stopped breathing overnight and already felt cold and stiff when I entered his room. And to make matters worse, I had entered the room, and started my usual routine, of getting the washing basin and shaving equipment ready, happily blabbing along about this and that and nothing, like I always did, and I was done changing his diapers before I even noticed that anything was off.
"Mr Garfield? Please." I begged, but it didn't help. Not even poking his toes, something that always severely annoyed him, aided in resurrecting him. "NO! NO! NO"!" Refusing to accept what happened, I tried chest compressions for another ten minutes or so, feeling one brittle rip cracking after the other in their fragile cage.
"Just who in the world allowed you of all people to die today? Just stop it!" I yelled, and yes, in hindsight, I understand how stupid this sounded. People didn't need anyone's permission to die, but at the moment, I simply couldn't deal with another one of my residents being gone. I dreaded the task of calling the nurse, to fill the necessary paperwork. Death in a care home was first and foremost a highly bureaucratic affair. There was no time to mourn or to share the burden with another person at least. It was just another task on the agenda.
I washed the body as was part of the procedure, put Mr Garfield into his favourite and final clothes, and then made the relevant entry in the care diary. I would also have to update the group sheet, call the nurse, who would then sent the doctor to complete even more paperwork. Because technically, I did not have the qualification to officially declare anyone dead, despite the lack breathing, the body feeling cold and stiff and a visible blue to purple skin being rather clear indicators.
"Mari-dearest," I yelled, in a surprisingly normal and almost cheerful voice, "I will be with you in a few minutes, but I'm running a little late. I'm terribly sorry." Then I rushed past the room. Mari's was another one of these too-quiet rooms, and my stomach churned. I hoped Mari simply wasn't in a communicative mood. After all, she had not been speaking for the last couple of days, not that I blamed her.
I legged it to the office and closed the door. By now, I knew the nurse's number by heart, dialled it, then transmitted the information without having to be prompted even once. I knew what information they needed in which order to make the proceedings as efficient as possible. A doctor would be coming by the end of today, and I was supposed to leave the body in a cool room until then. This was fine. The heating for Mr Garfield's room was already switched off. Like I said, I was an expert by now.
This one was an easy case. There were no relatives to inform, and I actually felt glad about only having to do the minimum amount of work. Within ten minutes, all was done.
I had Mari's hair washed and had her clothed, and even changed the bottle on her feeding tube before it was eight o'clock. No disruption to the normal morning routine whatsoever.
"I should be more emotionally involved, shouldn't I?" I told Mr Sinatra once I reached his room and started treating his bedsore. This one was my fault, and I had already apologised a million times. And I would apologise for another million more. Instead of moving him every two hours as I was supposed to, I had accidentally let him lie on the same spot for almost five, and there was now an open wound near his tailbone. And the stupid reason for this was that I forgot to set myself the correct overnight reminder. I was supposed to wake up every two hours to shift our residents, but twice, I had pressed the snooze button instead. I wouldn't get in trouble for this, the nurse had assured me when I called and send the picture reference, as if this was the main issue.
My neglect had caused another individual to get hurt. Again.
I bit my lip, soaked the washing cloth into the washing basin and ensured the temperature was to Mr Sinatra's liking. Then I started washing him from the upper body down.
"I mean, I talked to Mr Garfield, sorry—Jung Hyeson-ssi—I'm really not good with names, about everything, you know. I mean, the man was kinda like a diary—only in people form." I cocked my head at Mr Sinatra, who didn't show any sort of reaction. The only part of his body that was moving where his lips, where he quietly whispered the lyrics to My Way again.
"I'm rambling, aren't I? And it's really bad because you can't even communicate whether I'm annoying you. And I don't even want to be annoying, you know. I just…" I gulped. There was a clot the size of Jupiter stuck in my throat. "I just… I should be crying and morning Mr Garfield. There should be liquid in my eyes and ugly snot drooling down my nose. I should be trembling and I should feel sorry, but instead, I'm only fucking glad that there weren't any relatives to call and any more paperwork to do. And now look at me. Now, I'm loading all my emotional bullshit onto you. People are right, I'm a selfish idiot."
Mr Sinatra still didn't show any reaction, not that I expected him to. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but feel hurt. I clearly was losing my mind.
Another thought came to my mind…"I once had a cat called Garflied, you know. Not that it really was my cat. It was some sort of stray. Poor little thing. So I bought him a little house." I closed my eyes, remembering how Jin was upset with me at the time. This purchase was the one leading to my credit card being cut.
"Jin was rather fishy when I asked him about the house, you know. Because I have no idea if he sold the property, or if it's still in my—or rather his—possession. Not that I care about the property all too much. But I really would like to know what happened to the cat."
Perhaps once the quarantine was over, I would go and find out.
Once everyone was washed, fed, and received the at least minimal amount of care required, I locked myself in the toilet. I needed to pee, but more than that, I needed a few minutes to myself. Please don't get me wrong. I did love caring for these people, but running the group all by myself 24/7 took a toll on me. Everyone dying didn't make things easier.
"I don't think I can do this," I told the dreadful looking reflection in the mirror. All the comments I made to Frieda about her appearance hit true for me as well. I looked like a sack of potatoes pretending to be human.
You have a key to the medicine cupboard now. Putin reminded me. Whatever you need to cope you'll find in there.
I reached into my back pocket where said key was being kept. Putin was right. The hospital was extremely short of staff these days and could no longer send a nurse to aid with the medication administration. Therefore, the task now laid with me. Former drug addict and all. Not that they knew about this. They never asked and I never volunteered the information. Because at the time, I really thought I could do this.
Past me had been a fucking idiot.
I was still staring at the innocent looking key. I was weak, I knew. But I guess any doctor and therapist would agree that I deserved some stress relief after the mess I had been going to.
Tae, I get where you're coming from, Hermione sounded resigned, but why don't you try calling your brother or friends first? I think talking to someone may still be the better idea.
And what are these friends going to do? Putin interrupted. They're not here, they have no clue what it's like dealing with surrounding death. Plus, they have their everyday life to keep them occupied. Trust me. None of them will have time for your shit.
Try at least, Hermione urged and dutifully, I reached for my phone.
But I only reached my brother's voicemail, again. While I continued to suffer here, life in the real world simply went on keeping everyone I know busy.
Told you so, Putin sounded all too cheerful.
I bit my lip and opened the toilet door. Not even Shin Hyeseok stood outside, telling me off for blocking the room for too long. All residents had become so quiet, locked away in their beds that I actually had been looking forward to being yelled at by him. Because really, any kind of human interaction was much better than none at all.
The medicine cabinet key felt heavy in my hands. There is a reason junkies are not usually trusted with medical work. Because by nature, we are shitty and weak individuals. Because I had opened the door, and immediately went for the good stuff. Morphine pill still in my palm, I contemplated. If I broke it up and injected it straight into my vein, I should start feeling better within only a few minutes.
But what about the residents? Who is going to look after them while you're out? Hermione screeched inside my head.
"They're all lying in their beds. No one will miss me when I'm out for like an hour or two." I mumbled, still staring at the pill like I was in a fever dream.
But these words sounded all wrong even in my head. I couldn't be out for an hour or two. Not now. But the pill was already in my hand, offering sweet relief. I wouldn't have to inject it. If I'd just swallow it like a normal person, the effect would be much slower…
My fingers started to shake with sweet anticipation.
Come on, take it already. You know you want to. I opened my mouth and…
…there was an odd sound coming from the hallway. Pill clutched in my fist, I legged along the corridor where I saw Shin Hyesoek lying on the ground, flailing like a fish, one time, two times, and then he got way too quiet. There was no movement, no more coughing. Both hands remained clutched to his chest.
Another resident to wash, clothe, then follow the procedures. He was another resident with no family that I needed to contact.
I gulped hard. These people were dying anyway, one after the other, whether I was looking after them or not. I took another deep breath, then took another look at the innocent-looking pill that promised an immediate escape from everything. What did I have to lose anyway?
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