The nurse dabbed the tip of the ink pen with her tongue. Swiping a quick test scratch at the corner of the notepad, she looked at the first patient.
“And what’s your name, my dear?”
“Cinderella.” The patient replied in a dreamy voice. Her eyes were closed. “The Fairy Godmother has turned a pumpkin into a carriage, my mice into footmen, and my ragged clothes into a beautiful ballgown that shimmers in the darkness. Even my shoes are lovely-they’re made of glass, but smooth and comfortable as the finest leather.”
The nurse wrote as the patient talked. It was necessary to the study to transcribe the details as thoroughly as possible. She smiled at the patient. Smiling wasn’t necessary, but she did it anyway. She firmly believed that a smile could be heard in the voice, and would help to keep these unfortunate souls as comfortable as possible.
“That sounds wonderful.” She smoothed a lock of hair from the patient’s sweaty forehead, an action these women were unable to perform for themselves. “Have a good time at the ball, Cinderella.”
The patient nodded as much as she was able, and the nurse stood. Moving on to the next subject, it was the same ritual. Sit down in the chair next to the supine woman, a dab, a scratch, a smile.
“May I ask your name, dear?”
This patient frowned slightly, a crinkle appearing in the space between her eyebrows. “Well…I’m not quite sure. In the cottage with the fairies, I was called Briar Rose. But then I pricked my finger on the spinning wheel, and was placed in a deep sleep in the castle hidden behind thick vines with thorns, I awoke to true love’s kiss. After the prince and I married, and the rest of the castle was freed from the spell, everyone called me the Sleeping Beauty.”
“Well, I’m very happy you have found your true love.” The nurse kept the smile on her face, but the bitterness crept into her voice regardless of her expression. “That’s not something that happens to everyone. You’re a very lucky princess.”
A sudden commotion next to her drew the nurse’s attention. The third patient thrashed her head from side to side, her moans growing louder by the second.
“Someone, help me, please!” The patient struggled against her metallic confines. “I ate a bite of poisoned apple, and now I’m trapped in this box. I can’t move, help, help!”
The nurse put a cool hand—her hands were always cold—on the patient’s feverish forehead to calm her. She called across the room, “Doc—” but he was already at the patient’s side with the medicine. He gently lifted the patient’s head to pour the thick green liquid down her throat. The patient grimaced, yet very quickly calmed.
“My prince.” She whispered, the agonized distortions of her face smoothing into unlined peace.
The doctor gave a terse nod. After she had jotted down a note about the episode, the nurse followed him into the hallway. Closing the door behind her, she withdrew a ragged breath.
“Well, that was exciting.” She quipped without smiling. The doctor was tall, handsome, and charming; indeed, the last patient wasn’t too far off when she called him a prince. But her smiles were reserved for those women in there, and her two sons back home.
“That last dosage was .5 milliliters, which brings her total for the day to 7.5 milliliters.” He said, examining the small cup that had contained the hallucinogenic medication the study was testing.
“That’s exactly what the other two patients are up to now.” The nurse replied. She added the amount to her notes. “I know it’s not essential for the study, but is there anything we can do to improve the taste? It smells awful, and from the look on these women’s faces when they drink it, it must taste even worse.”
The doctor nodded. “Try adding a little sugar. A spoonful ought to do the trick.” His bright blue eyes crinkled at the corners from behind his round glasses. “It’s not exactly a scientific measurement; then again, we’re not just here to test these women like lab rats. The whole study is to improve their comfort, and quality of life.”
The nurse fought back the warmth spreading through her abdomen, the tingles prickling at the back of her neck as they did whenever the doctor smiled at her. It wouldn’t matter if he was an honest to goodness real life prince who offered her a life of luxury and riches in a castle far, far away. She was a married woman, a mother who loved her boys more than anything in the world. She gave her head a shake to dismiss the longing creeping up inside her. The action dislodged the small white cap from atop her dark curls, and she pushed it back into place. Glancing at the door of the room they had just left, she jutted her chin at the sign that said “Polio Treatment Unit. Iron Lungs in Use. Only Authorized Personnel from this Point Forward.”
“Quality of life in an iron lung unit.” One side of her mouth twisted upwards, and she made a chuffing noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a stifled sob. “Carrying a child is hard enough under normal circumstances. I can’t imagine being pregnant, and suffering through polio in a metal case. Unable to move, not knowing whether you will live to see your child born…”
Her voice trailed off. She bit her lip, and stared down at her notepad. The words swam in front of her eyes, tears she would not allow to fall blurring her vision. Clearing her throat, she was grateful when the doctor moved the conversation back to more technical matters.
“So, what conclusions can we draw so far about the dosage?” he asked.
“Well, as you know, we started the patients on the same high-level dosage of ten milliliters per hour to induce the hallucinogenic state.” That had been over six weeks ago. “Then we began varying the dosages to ascertain the lowest possible dosage threshold that would maintain delusional stasis without side effects to the patient or their unborn children…hopefully.” She added that last word with her eyes closed. As a mother, she had been more than a little reticent about taking part in an experiment with potentially negative outcomes for children. Yet she had empathized with these women more than the doctor would ever know. She understood what it felt like to be trapped.
The doctor removed his glasses, and cleared a smudge off the lens with the pocket square from his lab coat. “What’s interesting to me is the commonality between the hallucinations. The details vary, naturally, but the fact that all of these women see themselves as these fairy tale princesses is something I couldn’t have anticipated.”
“Can you blame them?” The nurse retorted with a chuckle. “They’re all from impoverished backgrounds. This specific medication is designed to create a hallucination of the patient’s wildest fantasy. A sort of Wonderland where the happiest dreams come true, almost like—”
“Magic.” The doctor finished her sentence.
She swallowed a hard lump of unshed tears. Every time he completed her thoughts, every time he adjusted his bowtie in that adorable quirk of his, it was a stab to her heart. He was everything she wasn’t allowed to want in a man, the exact opposite of the domineering monster her husband turned into every time he disappeared into a bottle of whiskey. He hadn’t been like that when they first married, but years of backbreaking factory work, and lofty, yet unrealized ambitions had slowly transformed him into a hideous beast. A beast she would never escape for the sake of her two precious boys
“I find it fascinating that all of them imagine talking animals as companions.” She murmured, trying to change the subject in her head to something more pleasant. “Birds, mice, patient one even went on a whole tangent about a baby deer who gets lost in the forest.”
“I have a theory that the baby deer represents the underlying protective instinct for the child she is carrying.” The doctor said. “The inherent bravery of the maternal instinct is truly awe-inspiring.”
“I thought the same thing.” The nurse replied with more eagerness than she had intended. “These women—even in their fantasy roles as princesses—they’re not passively waiting for the prince to rescue them. They’re constantly talking about their yearning for lives beyond cleaning for their stepsisters or seven little dwarves. They seek adventure, freedom…more. Their bodies may be weak, but their spirits are indomitable. It’s what being a mother does for a woman. It expands your capacity for love, and for courage. A mother will endure anything for the sake of her child.”
A new kind of appraisal, something almost like a mournful understanding of the reality behind her words, dawned in the doctor’s eyes. Then his eyebrows knit together with concern. “Have we determined yet at what dosage the effects begin to diminish? From my calculations, it appears to be between five and six milliliters per hour.”
“Six and seven, actually.” She corrected him. “Below seven milliliters, obstacles pierce the happiness bubble, if you will. When faced with frustration, they all describe hurling themselves onto their beds, a sign that the reality of being bed-ridden is invading the subconscious. Patient number three was on the lowest dosage we’ve attempted yet, six and a half milliliters per hour. She is the only one to come close to returning to an awareness of the iron lung, although she believed herself to be encased in a glass coffin due to a bite of poison apple.”
“That detail might change after we improve the taste of the medication,” the doctor said. “Excellent suggestion, by the way. All right, I think we’ve got enough for today. The night nurses will take over so you can go home, and get some rest. Thank you for your dedication to this study. These kinds of environments can be extremely taxing for the caregivers participating in them. Make sure you are taking care of yourself as well, Flor—Mrs. Disney.” He bit his lip after correcting the lapse into dangerous familiarity.
The leaden heat of his hand on her shoulder was enough to defrost her entire body from the frigid temperatures required for the iron lungs to run properly. She luxuriated in the sensation for one second longer, than stepped backwards. Away from temptation, away from the more for which her own heart cried.
“I’ll file today’s notes before I go home.” She cast her eyes down from the tenderness of his gaze. “Have a good night, doctor.”
Turning around, she clutched the notepad to the starched front of her white uniform. Her shoulder was still warm even though his hand was gone. Opening the door to the office, she placed the notepad on the desk, and clicked on the small lamp. But she did not file the notes immediately. First, she reached into her bag, and withdrew a leather-bound book from it. A gift from her father on her eighteenth birthday, its cover had originally been a rich reddish-brown. Inside, the blank pages had been intended for the stories she wanted to write, stories of pirates on the high seas, princes in disguise, and always, always a love story with a happy ending. At eighteen, she had imagined herself as a twentieth-century Jane Austen, but with a touch of whimsy, and a dash of excitement. And then she had met Elias.
After starting the study, the stories the patients recounted from their delusional states had been too incredible to simply file away as research data. So, she had dug her notebook, covered in dust, its pages blank and begging to be filled, out of the attic of their small house. As she copied the notes from the study onto its pages, adding her own fanciful, romantic spin on the hallucinations, the cover no longer seemed…enough. So, she had found a gold paint at the dime store, and used adhesive to fix decorative buttons onto the cover like gemstones. Here and there, she painted colorful details from the patient’s stories, cerulean birds, a noble white steed. It was a beautiful fit for the wonderful world that lived only within its leather borders.
Once she was done, she filed the official notes as promised, then slipped the book back inside her bag. She wrapped her thick scarf around her neck, and walked down the corridor, passing greetings to the night shift nurses taking her place. By this time of the evening, it was pitch dark outside. The street lights flicked on as soon as she stepped out of the glass-plated door of the clinic.
Flora snorted in a little chuckle to herself. “Magic indeed.”
The snow did bear more than a passing resemblance to sparkling fairy dust as she began the long trudge home. Her lungs burned with every intake of the acrid cold air. Kansas City in the middle of winter was a far cry from the fantastical paradise her patients mentally inhabited, but as she burrowed deeper into her threadbare jacket, the only thing she felt (besides cold, of course) was gratitude. She might not have a perfect marriage to a prince, or slippers made of glass, yet her lungs could expand and contract without being encased in machinery, and her strong legs propelled her on the solid ground beneath her weary feet. As long as she had her health, and her boys, she felt like a queen of the realm.
Through the bay window of their small two-story house, the lights beckoned Flora with a cheery welcome. A small shadow danced in front of it. Flora wondered if the boy to whom the shadow belonged remained attached, or if the shadow had broken free of its earthly confines, and was flickering desperately by the window in search of an escape. A smile tugged at her lips, partially due to amusement at her own flights of imagination that seemed always to dance on a tightrope between this world and some other place, and also because the small driveway was empty. Elias wasn’t home from the factory yet.
She pushed the door open. “Boys, Momma’s home!”
One little body hurled itself at her waist. Walter, at eight, was still little enough to cuddle unabashedly and frequently. Flora bent to bury her nose in his dark hair. Roy, older than Walter by eight years, sauntered behind him.
“Momma, we built a snowman at recess today!” Walter’s entire body practically vibrated with untapped energy. “I gave him a funny hat, and big ears. His name is Goober, no, Goofy.”
“Mmm hmm.” Flora straightened up, and suppressed a groan as every bone in her spine creaked. “And did you learn anything in school today, or is there another note home from your teacher in your schoolbag?”
Walter’s ears turned a bright shade of pink. “Well…”
Notes sent home from the teacher about Walter’s lack of discipline, and overabundant energy occurred on a bi-weekly basis. Flora knew her son was a handful, a sensitive child that could no more sit still for hours and stare at a chalkboard than a cricket could go silent. But there was something special about him, a twinkle in his bright eyes, and wide smile that none of her three older boys had possessed. For as many grey hairs as this boy gave her, the unadulterated joy that came with him made it all worthwhile.
“How was work with your patients today, Mother?” Serious, polite Roy was the exact opposite of his younger brother. Sometimes Flora thought he had emerged from the womb a middle-aged man with a savings account.
“It was fine, dear.” As she unwound her scarf, and hung it on the rack to dry, a set of headlights beamed through the front window. “Oh dear.”
Elias was home. Judging by the slurred discourse she heard him exchange with the neighbor, he had stopped by the local watering hole for a drink or seven first. Roy had already turned around and headed up the stairs to his room, but Walter continued to bounce on the furniture like he was a tiger with springs for a tail. If Elias was in a surly mood, any noise could set him off into a rage.
Fortunately, she had a little magic tucked up her sleeve.
“Walter, why don’t we go up to your room, and read a story? I’ve added a new one to ‘the book.’”
Pulling the decorative notebook out of her bag, the little buttons sparkled in the light. Walter trampled his way up the stairs, threw open his bedroom door, and leapt onto his bed. His eyes shone with excitement as Flora sat carefully in the rocking chair in the corner. The flutters of a kick from inside her belly reminded her that she needed to start taking it a little easy on her feet. Something told her that this baby, number five, was the long-awaited princess of their little castle.
“Now remember, when Momma’s reading, you have to be very, very quiet, or the storytime magic won’t work,” she said in a hushed voice. Walter nodded with his mouth closed, and his eyes fixed on the book in her lap. She opened the homespun treasure.
“Once upon a time...”
The End