left."
"Self-inflicted gunshot," Rachel said of the same woman. "There was no boyfriend."
Rachel liked the intensive care ward the best. This is where they kept all the critically injured people, and we were only allowed in there during visiting hours. Most of the people in here were young, and many of them were dying from wounds they'd sustained in accidents and that sort of thing. They had a whole other wing for people who were dying of old age or disease.
"Imagine," Rachel said as we walked through here one day, "the lives of all these people are still going on."
I looked into a room at a man who appeared to be in a coma. He'd been asleep for as long as I'd worked at the hospital, and there were tubes going into both his arms. "I don't know about that," I said.
"I don't mean in here," Rachel said. "I mean outside. All these people have lives waiting for them out there. They have family, jobs, houses, cars, money, everything you can think of, just waiting for these people to get better and come back."
"But some of them aren't going to get better," I pointed out.
"Imagine if you could take their place," she said. "Just step into their lives and take over from them."
"I think there are laws against that sort of thing," I said.
"You could be anybody you wanted to be."
----
ON ONE OF OUR WALKS, Rachel and I found ourselves in the part of the hospital where they keep the babies. There was a room full of them on the other side of a glass wall, each one in its little incubator. Nurses wandered around the room, making sure they were all right. The babies closest to the glass waved their arms and feet at us.
"It's like we're their parents or something," Rachel said.
"But we're not," I pointed out.
"If it wasn't for the nurses, we could just probably take them and go, and they'd never know the difference."
"There are easier ways of getting children," I said.
"Are there?"
We watched as a nurse lifted one of the babies from its incubator and took it into a back room. There was a woman in a bathrobe sitting in a wheelchair back there, and before the door closed, we saw her hold out her arms for the baby.
"What do you think we'd be like if we were the parents of some of these kids?" Rachel asked.
"What do you mean?" I said.
She pointed at the nearest baby, a dark-haired thing with a face that looked as if it had been pushed down with sandpaper. "Who would we be if we were this kid's parents?"
I looked at the baby for a moment. "I'd be a lawyer," I finally said. "Corporate. You'd be ..."
"An accountant," she said. "We'd have a big condo downtown."
"And two cars," I said. "New ones."
"And a cottage on a lake somewhere," she said.
"And we'd vacation in the Caribbean every winter," I said.
She pointed out a baby that wouldn't stop crying. "What about that one?"
"With lungs like that," I said, "I'd have to be some sort of musician. Maybe even a rock star."
"I'd be your manager," she said. "We started out working together, and then we fell in love."
"On a tour of Europe," I said.
"We live in an estate outside the city," she said.
"I have gold albums and everything."
"We have maids and people who do our lawns."
"And more money than we can ever spend."
Rachel pointed to a baby at the back of the room. This one was tiny, half the size of the others, and it was in a different kind of incubator, one that was all enclosed in glass and had tubes running into it from machines. The nurses checked on this baby every few minutes, and they stopped smiling whenever they did.
"What about that one?" Rachel asked. "Who would we be if we were that baby's parents?"
"I'd be worried," I said.
----
I WAS ACTING OUT so many deadly diseases and conditions that I couldn't even tell when I was acting and when I was really sick. Once, I woke with what I thought was a real pain in my stomach. I'd been researching stomach cancer that week, and I knew all about the low survival rate, so I mentioned it to the doctor in charge of the
"Self-inflicted gunshot," Rachel said of the same woman. "There was no boyfriend."
Rachel liked the intensive care ward the best. This is where they kept all the critically injured people, and we were only allowed in there during visiting hours. Most of the people in here were young, and many of them were dying from wounds they'd sustained in accidents and that sort of thing. They had a whole other wing for people who were dying of old age or disease.
"Imagine," Rachel said as we walked through here one day, "the lives of all these people are still going on."
I looked into a room at a man who appeared to be in a coma. He'd been asleep for as long as I'd worked at the hospital, and there were tubes going into both his arms. "I don't know about that," I said.
"I don't mean in here," Rachel said. "I mean outside. All these people have lives waiting for them out there. They have family, jobs, houses, cars, money, everything you can think of, just waiting for these people to get better and come back."
"But some of them aren't going to get better," I pointed out.
"Imagine if you could take their place," she said. "Just step into their lives and take over from them."
"I think there are laws against that sort of thing," I said.
"You could be anybody you wanted to be."
----
ON ONE OF OUR WALKS, Rachel and I found ourselves in the part of the hospital where they keep the babies. There was a room full of them on the other side of a glass wall, each one in its little incubator. Nurses wandered around the room, making sure they were all right. The babies closest to the glass waved their arms and feet at us.
"It's like we're their parents or something," Rachel said.
"But we're not," I pointed out.
"If it wasn't for the nurses, we could just probably take them and go, and they'd never know the difference."
"There are easier ways of getting children," I said.
"Are there?"
We watched as a nurse lifted one of the babies from its incubator and took it into a back room. There was a woman in a bathrobe sitting in a wheelchair back there, and before the door closed, we saw her hold out her arms for the baby.
"What do you think we'd be like if we were the parents of some of these kids?" Rachel asked.
"What do you mean?" I said.
She pointed at the nearest baby, a dark-haired thing with a face that looked as if it had been pushed down with sandpaper. "Who would we be if we were this kid's parents?"
I looked at the baby for a moment. "I'd be a lawyer," I finally said. "Corporate. You'd be ..."
"An accountant," she said. "We'd have a big condo downtown."
"And two cars," I said. "New ones."
"And a cottage on a lake somewhere," she said.
"And we'd vacation in the Caribbean every winter," I said.
She pointed out a baby that wouldn't stop crying. "What about that one?"
"With lungs like that," I said, "I'd have to be some sort of musician. Maybe even a rock star."
"I'd be your manager," she said. "We started out working together, and then we fell in love."
"On a tour of Europe," I said.
"We live in an estate outside the city," she said.
"I have gold albums and everything."
"We have maids and people who do our lawns."
"And more money than we can ever spend."
Rachel pointed to a baby at the back of the room. This one was tiny, half the size of the others, and it was in a different kind of incubator, one that was all enclosed in glass and had tubes running into it from machines. The nurses checked on this baby every few minutes, and they stopped smiling whenever they did.
"What about that one?" Rachel asked. "Who would we be if we were that baby's parents?"
"I'd be worried," I said.
----
I WAS ACTING OUT so many deadly diseases and conditions that I couldn't even tell when I was acting and when I was really sick. Once, I woke with what I thought was a real pain in my stomach. I'd been researching stomach cancer that week, and I knew all about the low survival rate, so I mentioned it to the doctor in charge of the
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