Cleaning

Susan stared out the window of her father’s office.

“I’ve babied you kids too much, and you most of all, Susie.”  His voice was stern.  “I had to work to get to the top and there’s no reason you shouldn’t have to.  It builds character, you know.”

Susan had heard endless variations of this lecture all her life.

“But, Daddy, a janitor?  Couldn’t I do something else?”

Susan hated the whiny tone in her voice, but she hated more the idea of working as a janitor .  And she especially hated the thought her friends discovering it.

“If you really want to be a surgeon, you’re going to have to get your hands dirty.  I want you to see what’s involved before I throw any more money into your education.”

Susan turned to face him for a moment, responding in the most pitiful tone she could muster, “But night shift at County?  Do you really want me around there in the dark?”

 “Damn it, Susan, the world is a tough place, and you’ve got to get tough or you’re not going to make it.”  After a pause, he added,  “It wasn’t easy to get you this job.  I suggest you either take the job, change your major or start paying your own way.”  He turned away from her and back toward his desk. 

“You’ve sold me into slavery,” Susan whispered.

Her father turned to looked at her, the ghost of a smile passing his face, but Susan didn’t see it. His face became grave again as he gathered up some papers and turned to leave the room.  “If you’ll excuse me, Susan, I have a lot to do.”

~

The mask made it hard to breath.

“Ironic,”  Susan thought,  “that something made to save lives makes me feel like I’m losing mine.”

She tugged on it as she entered the surgical unit.  Pausing, she wrinkled her nose at the smell — antiseptic and some unidentified odor.

“Death,” she thought, raising her eyebrows dramatically.

She laughed at herself as she continued down the long, steel-sink-lined hallway, passing countless steel doors with little round windows.  At the end of the hallway, an older, black woman was bent over, slowly mopping the floor and humming an old gospel song in a deep, rich voice.  The sound echoed eerily down the long hall.  Susan stopped a moment, listening, unwilling to let the moment pass. 

The woman stopped humming and straightened wearily. Susan bounced up to her.

“You must be Grace,”  Susan said breathlessly.  “They told me you’d show me what to do.  I’m Susan.  Susan Green.”

Susan smiled radiantly as she extended her hand.  Grace looked at the proffered hand skeptically and back up at her face.

“I’m s’posed to do what with you?”

Susan’s smile faded as she flushed to a bright red.

“I thought you were supposed to train me.”

Grace narrowed her eyes and gazed at the young girl.  Susan tried to read the older woman’s face, but the mask half covering it made it impossible.

 “How old’re you?”

 “Nineteen.”

Grace rolled her eyes, shook her head.

 “Ever work in surgery before?”

 “No.”

 “Work in a hospital before?”

Susan paused, flushing again.  “No.”

 “Don’t know why they sent you.  I need help.”  Grace glared at Susan significantly.  Susan stubbornly maintained her silence.  Grace resumed shaking her head, grabbed the mop and pulled it down the hallway.  Susan stood uncertainly, watching her go.

Grace spoke over her shoulder.  “Don’t s’pose you can help me out just standin’ there, do ya’?”

Susan followed tentatively behind as Grace rolled the bucket down the hallway.  Grace arrived at a closet, opened the door and handed Susan the dirty mop.

“Change the mop head and fill the bucket.”

Susan looked puzzled. 

Grace sighed.  “It’s not rocket science, you know.”

She snatched the mop from Susan, removed the mop head and tossed it into a container partially full of dirty rags and mop heads.  She grabbed a clean one, attached it to the end and handed it to Susan.

“You can, I presume, empty that bucket in the sink and fill it up again from this tap?”

“I’m not stupid, you know.  I don’t even know why I’m here.  I’m going to be a surgeon.”  Susan straightened and jutted out her chin as she said this.

Grace looked amused.  “Are you now?  Seem like this a good place to be, then.”

Grace reached down and turned on the water, picked up a bottle from the shelf and squirted some liquid in the basin.  Susan watched, dumbfounded, as the bucket filled with suds.  Her mind reeled.  “Who the hell does she think she is?”  Susan thought.  “The old, ignorant hag.  I can’t work for her.”  She had almost resolved on leaving Grace to finish the night alone, when the thought of her father stopped her short.  He would never understand.

Grace filled a small bucket and grabbed some rags.

“You bring the mop,” she said to Susan, then turned to enter the nearest operating room.  Susan followed.

“Blood is the enemy here,”  Grace said as she handed Susan the disinfectant.  “You got to get every drop.  And I mean every.”  Grace held Susan’s gaze for a moment before turning away.

Susan started wiping down equipment.  Grace wiped another piece of equipment, then returned to inspect Susan’s work.  As Susan watched Grace peer at the equipment, she had a passing sensation that there was some hideous deformity hiding behind Grace’s mask.  She shuddered slightly.

“You missed a spot,”  Grace announced in a tone that sounded triumphant to Susan.  Grace pointed out the spot.  Sure enough, there was dark brown circle of dried blood.

“Fine,”  Susan retorted.  She grabbed her rag and scrubbed it hard until the spot disappeared.

“Maybe you think I’m too picky, but I ain’t gonna have no patient die of an infection because my OR wasn’t cleaned right.  So do it right or go somewhere else.”  Grace turned and continued wiping down equipment.

Once again Susan felt like leaving and, once again, her father’s image interfered.  They continued cleaning and this time Susan was careful to remove every bit of blood.  She was doing it for the patients, not for Grace, she told herself.

This time she passed inspection, and they returned to the closet to silently replenish their supplies.

Suddenly the door to an operating room burst open and a doctor emerged.  A loud continuous beep could be heard through the door.  He threw his mask and gloves into a trash can and continued down to the men’s locker room.

“Damn, I love my job,”  a nurse said to another as the two exited the room.  They walked to the sink and began to undress and scrub.

“Lost one?”  Grace asked .

“Yeah.  The funny thing is, he should have made it,”  The nurse looked at Susan.  “Had one a few days ago that should be dead now, but he made it.  Now this one’s doing fine and we lose him out of nowhere.”

She shook her head and went back to scrubbing.  “Sixteen years old.  Damn kids.  Took a knife in the chest and shoulder.”

The two nurses finished scrubbing and exited the hallway.

Grace gathered her cleaning supplies in a small bucket and headed toward the recently vacated OR.

“Grab that,”  Grace called to Susan, indicating the mop bucket.

Susan followed Grace into the room, then stopped cold.  A young man, almost a boy, lay on the table with a bloody gauze pad on his shoulder and chest.  Blood oozed out from under the gauze, dripping down the side of the table and pooling on the floor.  She had never seen so much blood.  It was like some nightmarish movie scene.  The blood looked fake—a bright red.

Susan sank down into a crouch, staring at the blood. She counted eleven empty pints of blood abandoned on the floor. 

Grace glanced at the corpse and shook her head.

“Mmm-mmm-mm.  They gettin’ younger and younger.”

She pulled her mask down and let it hang below her chin.

“You can breathe a minute now, if you want.  We’re not givin’ this baby no infection.”

She turned and handed the broom to Susan.  “You take care o’ that,”  she said, indicating the blood puddle.  Grace began wiping down the equipment.

Susan stood up and walked over to the dead boy, gazing at his face, so peaceful, immobile as stone.

“Who are you?”  Susan thought.  “Where is your family?  Why am I here sharing this intimate moment with you?”

An orderly came to move the patient out of the room. Susan slowly began mopping.  The mop reddened quickly.

Susan felt a sudden rush of hopelessness.  What is life about anyway?  One minute you’re worrying about how to achieve your hopes and dreams and the next you’re gone.  Susan stopped mopping and just stood, staring at her reflection in the blood.  An entire life soaked up in a mop head.

“You loafin’?”  the harshness of Grace’s voice dispelled her reverie.  “Look, if I gotta keep my eye on you all the time—“  She stopped short as she met Susan’s forlorn gaze. A tear welled over and slid down Susan's face. They looked into one another’s eyes for a long moment.  Grace’s eyes softened.

“It’s break time now, honey,”  She said gently.  “You go on get a cup of coffee.  I’ll finish up here.”

Susan continued staring at Grace as the older woman came forward.  They stood face to face—young and old, light and dark, inexperienced and mature—and gazed at one another a long time.  Grace took the broom from Susan’s clinging grasp and gave her a gentle push.  “You go on, now.”

As Susan obeyed,  Grace stood looking pensively at the door for a few minutes.  Then she shook her head thoughtfully, and bent down to finish mopping.