Eyes closed, long body supine on her lawn lounger, Moira planned her solitary camping trip, moving only to yawn unself-consciously and stretch luxuriously. A light breeze swayed the thick, green leaves overhead and gentle sunlight dappled Moira and everything around her.  She felt pretty good, the best she had felt in a long time. After fifteen years of putting in massive overtime and anxiously plotting her campaigns in the subtle war which is corporate politics, Moira had found herself jobless. As lower-middle management in a well-known financial planning concern, she had felt snugly castled, until the big, angry hand of a maniac world economy had swept across the company chessboard, displacing Moira and meting out the same fate to almost everyone she knew.
     However, few had met that fate with such equanimity. Moira had felt free, had felt years younger within a month of losing her job. Although her personal investment portfolio had evaporated instantly, she still had her severance and her savings. Moira had to ask herself, "Why not enjoy life a bit? After all, I'm only thirty-six, and I've worked so hard all my life." She postponed jobhunting and made more interesting plans.
     Moira decided to go out and play. She booked a cruise to Antarctica. She saw the crown jewels in the Tower of London, the April chestnuts in Paris, and the shrivelled nether member of an elderly exhibitionist in Prague. She tried her luck in Las Vegas. (Not for long. It reminded her of the stock market.) She soon had gone through most of her severance and her savings.
     Then, she decided to explore Nature, which seemed to charge much less for accommodations and so on. Moira borrowed camping gear from a friend and set off for a few days of relaxation at Mulesbutte National Park.

Last edited by wf (2009-06-17 14:00:19)

Dr. Philip Roland, test results in hand, frowned in deep concern at the news. It turned out that the health insurance card found in Moira Langden's wallet was no longer valid. He sat and thought deeply about this. Better send someone to talk with the Langden woman about the various documents she would need to produce in order to qualify for the hospital's indigent program. He reached for his desk phone.

Very good back story on the woman.  What's with your last entry in first person, it it the thoughts of the doctor or what.  Besides that, it is brilliant so far!

Blue, I think you need to stop with the smilies.  They're everywhere!!!!

"Ms. Langden? Ms. Langden? You need to sit up now and take these antibiotics."

     Moira reluctantly opened one eye, then both eyes. She dragged herself into a sitting position, wobbling a little.

     "Here, now. Let's use this remote and adjust your angle that way," a fortyish African-American woman in a crisp nurse's uniform advised soothingly. She plumped up Moira's pillow and eased it back behind her. "Here are the last of your antibiotics, and here's a fresh cup of water."

     Moira accepted the pill cup and water cup and prepared to swallow the dose. She studied the nurse's name tag, "Thanks, Nurse Johnson." Then, Moira scowled, "Uh! This water smells like a swimming pool."

     The water did smell overpoweringly of chlorine, fluorine, ammonia, and a few other, less identifiable, chemical scents. Moira sceptically examined the ordinary-looking liquid, "Are there medications in here, too?"

     Nurse Johnson tipped a curious glance at Moira, "No, Ms. Langden. It's just water."

     "Well, I don't think I can drink this," Moira explained. "It smells awful."

     "Tell you what, then. We've got a vending machine with bottled water by the nurses' station. I'll get you some of that, okay?"

     "Thanks! And...would you call me Moira?"

     "Only if you call me Teresa," answered the smiling nurse.

     "Done," Moira grinned back and offered her hand for a shake.

"A whiff of unpleasant water odors does not constitute hydrophobia, Ms. Langden," lectured Dr. Roland, as he lovingly stroked his ginger mustache. "What's more, you have received a full round of rabies shots and various tests. You are clear of infection of any kind, and in a day or two, you should be sufficiently recovered to return home for the remainder of your recuperation. I've written some instructions here for homecare, mostly common sense warnings not to lift anything heavy and not to get your bandages wet...that sort of thing." Roland placed the instruction packet on the bedside table as Teresa entered with Moira's water.

     "Nurse Johnson, the hospital tap water hasn't run dry, has it?"

     "No, Doctor, but--"

     "But you've decided to prescribe bottled water in Ms. Langden's case?" Roland huffed, " Isn't it enough that the nurses here get so many days off at odd times? You know, that myth about there being MORE WORK to do in emergency rooms on the full moon is just a bunch of hooey, so why do so many of the nurses at Soliere insist on taking time off during that moon phase? Are there menstrual issues here? Is it a strange cult? Is there a big full moon party going on every month at some Burnetteville roadhouse , or what? I mean to bring up this general avoidance of perfectly wholesome tap water AND these excessive nursing staff demands for time off at the next departmental meeting."

     Roland turned back to Moira and adjusted his hornrims with a flick of his middle finger. "There's little more we can do for you here, Ms. Langden. The tender loving care of family and friends must do the rest," he sententiously declared, pausing only slightly before striding out the door.

     "Why that arrogant little god-for-hire!" exclaimed Moira.

     Teresa chuckled, "You said it, not I. Now, let's get the last of those pills in you. I guess we still can do that much for you around here."

Last edited by wf (2009-06-22 18:40:35)

"Ms. Langden, are you aware that your insurance member number is no longer valid?" Janine Duran, senior  clerk in Soliere's Billing Department, demanded to know.

     "Uh, well..." Moira ventured.

     "Then I suppose you have a new health insurance provider through another employer?"

     "I'm afraid not. After the layoff, I just... I mean, I couldn't keep up with my Cobra payments."

     "So you have no insurance at all?" Duran prodded.

     "No," whimpered Moira.

     Actually, Moira had intended to keep up her medical coverage, but what with all the travel, as well as the total collapse of any routine which job loss generally brings about, she had inadvertantly skipped a couple of those payments.

     "You will need to have someone bring in all the documents on this list. I don't know if you will qualify for the indigent program or not, but you must either arrange to receive coverage under the indigent program or pay the owed amount upon release from Soliere Medical," declared Duran.

     "I see," lied Moira, as the door firmly closed on the ever indignant billing clerk.

Last edited by wf (2009-06-23 16:43:53)

I love the description of Jeb's keyboard skills.  I don't really like Jeb much, he needs to find another job if he's ignoring women in distress like that.  Again....brilliant story!

Though virtually a part of the machine when poised before his office computer, Jeb prided himself on his very human qualities. Specifically, he made sure to look his sharpest when preparing to dump a girlfriend. Therefore, Jeb presented himself as for a final inspection at Moira's hospital bedside. He had brushed the biscotti crumbs from his goatee and dressed himself in something unstained by lattes, but casual and summery.

     "Say Moira, uh--God, this is so hard! You know, you were gone all that time in Europe, couldn't wait until next year, when I could've gone too. I just feel like we've drifted apart. I think I need more time to myself to figure it out."

     "But Jeb," Moira pointed out," I haven't seen you in months."

Sunday morning, Teresa helped Moira find the small glass cubicle where the weekend Billing clerk hunched and pecked at a keyboard. Teresa gave  Moira a careful hug, "You take care now. No heavy lifting."

     "Don't worry. Hey, maybe I'll pass through Burnetteville again sometime," Moira automatically said, thinking, "Nevermore."

     "I wouldn't be surprised," Teresa answered, peering oddly into Moira's face and then at her bandaged shoulder. "Good luck, Moira."

     As Moira turned to the Billing booth, Teresa stepped several paces along the corrider, took one glance back, and whispered, "Walk away from the thorns, Moira honey."

cool this is turning out good.

"What about that indigent program?" Moira pleaded, "I was laid off a while back."

     "Records show you don't qualify. Too much income."

     Moira didn't know what to do. The appearance of a green-and-gray uniformed NPS ranger at her elbow broke into her confusion, "Ms. Langden? I'm Tim Oakman. I work for the National Park Service. Would you mind answering some questions about the animal attack you experienced at Mulesbutte National Park last week?"

Last edited by wf (2009-07-16 16:33:45)