CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TIMOTHY LEFT CHERYL’S house on Sunday morning before anyone else had woken. He stopped on the way to work for a doughnut and coffee and arrived at Saint Elizabeth’s for the 7:00 to 3:30 day shift. The psychiatry department at the hospital had two units. Timothy worked on an open unit next to the medical-surgical unit, Med-Surg for short. The other was locked and housed severely disturbed patients. Timothy preferred his shifts with the patients who had less severe problems. They came and went as they pleased throughout the hospital.
Sunday mornings had no scheduled procedures and this meant lighter duty. A few of the patients went to the chapel for Mass in the morning, and Timothy took those patients who needed help. That way he went to Mass, too. Timothy liked his coworkers. He saw them as hardworking and dedicated. He especially liked Walter, a Korean War veteran. Walter worked two jobs—one at Saint Elizabeth’s and the other at the VA hospital. Though it was tough to raise a family on an orderly’s pay, Walter and his wife made it work. Timothy respected that.
Timothy walked into the patient dayroom. “Hey, Walter. How’s it going?”
“Oh, it’s going, Tim,” Walter said.
“How’s Mr. Marconi?”
“He’s stable, but the meds ain’t doing much for his depression. Doctor Faro plans to start ECT tomorrow morning,” Walter said.
During electro-convulsive therapy, the doctor sedated the patient and sent an electrical charge through the patient’s brain to interrupt faulty thinking. Sometimes it worked. Other times, it didn’t. Timothy had seen both outcomes. Either way, the brain was altered, and that bothered Timothy.
“Um, that’s tough. Boy, Faro is pretty quick to use the button, isn’t he?” Timothy said.
Walter looked around, leaned forward, and said, “Yeah, but don’t say that too loud. He’s got plenty of juice around here.”
“I know. It’s a bummer the drugs aren’t helping Mr. Marconi. He’s a nice guy. I hate to see him lose part of his memory.”
“Well, that’s what they do sometimes to make ’em better. Some stuff is better forgotten,” Walter said.
“Maybe.” I’ve got a few things I would like to forget.
“Timothy, Sister Mary Margaret would like to see you,” said Katie, the charge nurse. Katie recently graduated from the nursing school at Timothy’s university. They often talked about school topics. She was a cute and enthusiastic young nurse, and he enjoyed working with her. He even took some ribbing from Walter about Katie. Walter kidded him that Katie lit up when Timothy worked. This unwanted attention embarrassed him.
“It sounds mysterious,” Timothy joked. He looked at Walter and winked. Walter grinned.
“I don’t know. They called and asked for you to come down to Sister’s office right now,” Katie said.
“Okay, I’ll go down there and be back in a few minutes,” Timothy said.
He left the patients’ dayroom and took the stairs down to the main floor. He preferred the stairs to the elevator and climbed them multiple times every day he worked. The stairs and his work at Schoen’s made up his entire fitness program these days. His leg disliked the climbing, but it cooperated.
While walking to Sister’s office, he thought, This might be serendipity. He told Cheryl last night he wanted to work out a payment schedule and pursue the hospital’s tuition reimbursement option. Not knowing what Sister wanted, he thought he might have a chance to discuss this with her and gain her support.
Things are looking up. I still may have a way out of this.
The door to Sister Mary Margaret’s office was open.
“Mr. O’Rourke, come in please,” Sister Mary Margaret said. Her tone sounded icier than he remembered from previous conversations. When he entered the office, he saw Monica Kleinschmidt, director of nursing, sitting there.
That’s odd. I didn’t think Monica worked weekends. He nodded to her.
“Good morning, Tim, please take a seat,” Monica said.
“Morning, Monica, Sister. If this is about my mother’s hospital bill, I was hoping to work out a payment schedule—”
Sister Mary Margaret cut him off. “I was sorry to hear about your mother. No, this is not about her hospital bill. The accounting department can talk to you about that on Monday if you like. I’ll get to the point. We know there’s an effort to organize our employees and encourage them to vote on representation by the Service Workers’ Union. The union has been vocal about their plans. We have seen them collecting signatures on the sidewalks outside of the hospital. It’s public property, so we cannot do anything about that. We also know they are planning a demonstration and rally during the week between Christmas and New Year’s. Union members and workers will be protesting wages and hours.”
“Okay, what does this have to do with me?” Timothy said.
“One of our staff members saw you talking to a union representative in their picket line. It appeared you had taken some literature and wrote something on a clipboard.”
“Okay, so?” Timothy tried to hide his irritation.
“Tim, the hospital is opposed to any move that attempts to unionize our employees. It would deal a devastating blow to us financially. Besides, this is not who we are. We are not a chemical plant or automobile factory that must worry about workers’ safety issues. We are a hospital. We take care of people,” Monica said in a softer tone than Sister’s.
This must be the good-cop, bad-cop routine. “I still don’t see why I’m here.”
“Let me be direct, Mr. O’Rourke. Any employee found to be supporting this effort will be terminated immediately,” Sister Mary Margaret said with piercing eye contact.
“Sister, I have so many things running through my mind right now I don’t even know where to begin. First, do you honestly believe I’m a union organizer?”
“Mr. O’Rourke, we’re not sure what to believe,” Sister said.
“Sister, you give me more credit than I deserve. That came out wrong. Look, I’m a full-time student and part-time employee. The only thing I’m trying to organize is my week so I can work more hours and maximize my study time.”
Monica jumped in. “Tim, you must look at this from our position. We are trying to nip in the bud anything that would have a negative financial impact on our hospital. We are in the business of helping patients get better. It’s unseemly that a hospital should have to deal with this sort of thing.”
“I hear you, Monica. I don’t know how to respond.”
“Mr. O’Rourke, all you need to say is you have no intention of supporting this effort,” Sister Mary Margaret said.
“Sister, with all due respect, is this even legal?” Timothy’s blood began to boil. He spent the past few years fighting authoritarian powers and now he had to deal with this from a nun.
Sister smiled for the first time since he walked in the door. “We are a non-profit organization. We are exempt from many of the rules and regulations that define the limits of commerce in this country. We will be putting out communications to employees explaining our position. We want to be sure everyone understands the consequences of this unfortunate turn of events.”
“You mean you will fire anyone who supports this?”
“Tim, those who support this initiative will probably find Saint Elizabeth’s an uncomfortable place to work. Are we clear?” Monica smiled.
“Perfectly. No union,” Timothy said.
“No union. We are a charitable institution and want to keep it that way,” Sister Mary Margaret said.
Charitable? You’re shitting me, right? Timothy wanted to laugh at the nun’s words.
“One other thing, Tim. We are making some scheduling changes on hours. We will be moving you to nights on Tuesday and Thursday. We will only need you sixteen hours a week for a while,” Monica said. “It will begin on the next pay period.”
“What? You’re cutting my hours and putting me on nights because someone saw me talking to a union rep?”
“No, Mr. O’Rourke, we are changing your schedule because Doctor Faro complained you spend too much time counseling his patients,” Sister Mary Margaret said.
“Sister, I don’t counsel anyone. I listen. That’s all. They want to talk, and I give them a sympathetic ear. Isn’t that what we are supposed to do?”
“Mr. O’Rourke, you’re an orderly. You serve meals, change linens, empty bedpans, and escort patients if they need help. Am I being clear?” Sister Mary Margaret said.
“Crystal. That goes to show you have nothing to fear union-wise from such a low-level employee.”
“Okay, Tim, thanks for coming in to discuss this. It’s good to see you.” Monica continued to play the good cop, not good enough, though.
Timothy walked slowly to the elevator. Why would they care if a low-level employee talked to some union people on the street? What a difference a few minutes made. He went in there hoping to strike a deal for tuition and hospital bills and now felt lucky to get sixteen hours of work every week. There’s no future in this place. At least I have Dez’s offer. He climbed the stairs back to the unit and told Walter what happened.
Walter shook his head. “The man’s at it again.”
“Yeah, the man in a habit,” Timothy said.
Sunday’s shift dragged. Timothy wanted out of there fast, but the clock moved slowly. This happened when people felt unwanted somewhere. Timothy learned that time tortured the vulnerable. A hospital was supposed to be a place of hope, where people come to get well, not a place where dreams came to die. Hope was on life support that day.
Timothy finished his shift, changed clothes in the men’s locker room, and headed to the employee’s parking lot at the hospital. He saw a couple of union organizers hanging out but skirted around them, leaving plenty of daylight between him and them.