training exercises when I went in that afternoon.
"I don't know," she said, "I was planning to test them on head injuries today."
"But I think this is a real pain," I said.
"Are you sure it isn't in your head?" she asked me.
When she brought the interns in, the first one shone a light in my eyes. "Are you feeling any pain or nausea?" he asked. The question was directed at me, but he was looking at the doctor.
"I have a pain in my stomach," I said.
"You mean your head," he said.
"No," I said, "it's in my stomach."
He looked at the doctor. "I thought we were doing head injuries today."
"But I'm not acting," I said. "I'm really in pain."
"I didn't study for abdominal pains," he went on. "This isn't fair." One of the other interns laughed.
The doctor checked her watch. "Let's move on," she suggested.
"But I think there's something really wrong with me," I said.
----
THE NEXT TIME we went back to the room with all the babies, the sick baby was still in its incubator with all the tubes hooked up to machines. It didn't look any bigger, and it didn't cry or wave its arms and legs like the other babies. It just lay there, looking up at the fluorescent lights overhead.
"Do you think it's going to live?" Rachel asked.
"I don't know," I said.
"Where are its parents?" Rachel asked, looking around. "What it needs are parents."
"Maybe they're sick too," I said. "Maybe they're in their own special incubators somewhere."
Rachel looked at me, then back at the baby.
"It'll grow if it thinks it has parents," she said. "It just needs to feel loved."
"Well, what can you do," I said.
"We'll be its parents," she said. She tapped on the glass. "Hello, baby," she said.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Wave to baby," she told me. She kept on tapping the glass, and the baby looked in our direction, as did one of the nurses.
"That's not our baby," I said.
"It doesn't know that," Rachel said. "It's still young enough that maybe it'll imprint on us."
"It's not a chicken," I said.
"Wave to baby," she said, "or it'll think you don't care."
I looked at the baby. It stared back at me, unmoving except for its shallow breaths. I lifted a hand and waved.
----
A FEW MONTHS after I started working as a victim, a pharmaceutical company hired Rachel and me for some drug trials. It took place in an old wing of the hospital that wasn't used any more. The hospital had sealed off the wing because it had been scheduled for demolition and rebuilding, but then the funds for the project had been cut off, and the wing had been left to collect dust, until they moved us in there.
There were maybe a dozen of us in total, all in one big room so the doctors could keep an eye on us. We lay in beds along the walls and watched a television they'd put in the middle of the room. All it played was commercials. Some of the others were normal people like me and Rachel, but some were actually sick. The guy in the bed beside me told me he was dying of cancer.
"Shouldn't you be in another ward then?" I asked him.
"They can't do anything about it," he said. "It's in my head. They'd have to cut out most of my brain to get at it. Then where would I be?"
"Is that a rhetorical question?" I asked.
"I'm hoping maybe these new drugs might do something," he said, but then he sighed and shook his head.
The trial ran for the weekend, and they gave us pills every four hours. They even woke us up if we were sleeping to make sure we took them. The pills all looked the same, tiny and blue, but the doctor in charge said that some of them were placebos.
"Please don't give me any of those," the man beside me said. "That's the last thing I need."
"I'll take his placebos if he doesn't want them," I said.
"That's not the way it works," the doctor said. "It's all random."
"Don't I know that," the man beside me said.
The water had been turned off in this part of the hospital, so we had to go back to one of the other wings if we wanted to use the washroom. One of the women in
"I don't know," she said, "I was planning to test them on head injuries today."
"But I think this is a real pain," I said.
"Are you sure it isn't in your head?" she asked me.
When she brought the interns in, the first one shone a light in my eyes. "Are you feeling any pain or nausea?" he asked. The question was directed at me, but he was looking at the doctor.
"I have a pain in my stomach," I said.
"You mean your head," he said.
"No," I said, "it's in my stomach."
He looked at the doctor. "I thought we were doing head injuries today."
"But I'm not acting," I said. "I'm really in pain."
"I didn't study for abdominal pains," he went on. "This isn't fair." One of the other interns laughed.
The doctor checked her watch. "Let's move on," she suggested.
"But I think there's something really wrong with me," I said.
----
THE NEXT TIME we went back to the room with all the babies, the sick baby was still in its incubator with all the tubes hooked up to machines. It didn't look any bigger, and it didn't cry or wave its arms and legs like the other babies. It just lay there, looking up at the fluorescent lights overhead.
"Do you think it's going to live?" Rachel asked.
"I don't know," I said.
"Where are its parents?" Rachel asked, looking around. "What it needs are parents."
"Maybe they're sick too," I said. "Maybe they're in their own special incubators somewhere."
Rachel looked at me, then back at the baby.
"It'll grow if it thinks it has parents," she said. "It just needs to feel loved."
"Well, what can you do," I said.
"We'll be its parents," she said. She tapped on the glass. "Hello, baby," she said.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Wave to baby," she told me. She kept on tapping the glass, and the baby looked in our direction, as did one of the nurses.
"That's not our baby," I said.
"It doesn't know that," Rachel said. "It's still young enough that maybe it'll imprint on us."
"It's not a chicken," I said.
"Wave to baby," she said, "or it'll think you don't care."
I looked at the baby. It stared back at me, unmoving except for its shallow breaths. I lifted a hand and waved.
----
A FEW MONTHS after I started working as a victim, a pharmaceutical company hired Rachel and me for some drug trials. It took place in an old wing of the hospital that wasn't used any more. The hospital had sealed off the wing because it had been scheduled for demolition and rebuilding, but then the funds for the project had been cut off, and the wing had been left to collect dust, until they moved us in there.
There were maybe a dozen of us in total, all in one big room so the doctors could keep an eye on us. We lay in beds along the walls and watched a television they'd put in the middle of the room. All it played was commercials. Some of the others were normal people like me and Rachel, but some were actually sick. The guy in the bed beside me told me he was dying of cancer.
"Shouldn't you be in another ward then?" I asked him.
"They can't do anything about it," he said. "It's in my head. They'd have to cut out most of my brain to get at it. Then where would I be?"
"Is that a rhetorical question?" I asked.
"I'm hoping maybe these new drugs might do something," he said, but then he sighed and shook his head.
The trial ran for the weekend, and they gave us pills every four hours. They even woke us up if we were sleeping to make sure we took them. The pills all looked the same, tiny and blue, but the doctor in charge said that some of them were placebos.
"Please don't give me any of those," the man beside me said. "That's the last thing I need."
"I'll take his placebos if he doesn't want them," I said.
"That's not the way it works," the doctor said. "It's all random."
"Don't I know that," the man beside me said.
The water had been turned off in this part of the hospital, so we had to go back to one of the other wings if we wanted to use the washroom. One of the women in
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