Strange
THE ROOM was hot and stuffy, and all the old junk stored there didn’t help matters any. There were two small windows that opened in the direction that didn’t encourage breeze to enter the dark room. With no airconditioning unit, working there was awful.
My job was to clear the room, clean it up, and repaint it in preparation for re-furnishing. Looking at the pile of old chairs, desks, odd-looking machines and equipment and dirty, smelly, condemned linen, I knew this was going to be a tough task.
After the first hour, I had sweated my overall to a sappy, wet mass, so I removed it and hung it on the old beds staked in a corner. The heat would soon dry it out.
My trips from the old wing to the dumping point were long and tiring. The long, poorly lit corridors took me through the building and unto a ramp. I used this ramp to go directly to the area designated for the dumping of all the junk from the old wing of the hospital. Each trip took an effort. The trolley was old, and the wheels malfunctioned, so every time it slowed down or just plain stuck, I had to reverse for a few yards then give it a hard push. This worked every time, but the going was slow.
By midday, I was tired and hungry, so the meal Molly prepared for me didn’t last too long. With a full belly and an hour to kill, I looked around for something to do. I decided to go through the room and check for any good or redeemable item.
At the back of the large room, I discovered a strange-looking machine. It looked like a metal bed with a dome to fit your head or feet. Pulling and twisting all the levers, I somehow opened a compartment and an electrical cord and plug popped out. I immediately checked for an outlet. Maybe this equipment was working, or I could somehow get it to work. If that happened, I was sure to get a promotion from cleaning porter to pushing porter. The wards and morgue would be a step up from old, dirty and stuffy places.
I was in luck. Plugging in the machine gave me a rush. There was a humming sound, then silence. Going through all the switches and levers, I pulled and twisted to no avail. My rush came to an abrupt halt and, bored, I moved away.
Mid-afternoon found me still moving junk. Small items were my priority, because I had no intention of straining myself and becoming a candidate for ‘hydro-seed’. I had to shift things around and brace-stack some along the walls and against each other. I continued working, aware that every two to three hours my boss would be stopping by to assess my progress.   
When he departed around 2pm, I was tired and seized the opportunity for a brief nap. Looking around, I spied the bed-like contraption with all sorts of things stacked around it, and closing the door of the room, I shifted parts of some dismantled beds so that I could reach my goal. Stretching out on the equipment, I closed my eyes. Sleep wasn’t long in coming.
Crash!!! I came out of a deep sleep, groggy and disoriented. I felt sharp pain and opened my eyes. Somehow, I had maneuvered myself until my head rested snugly inside the dome. Some kind of light had come on and was giving me a serious headache. Something heavy was resting on my chest, and my legs felt as if they were pinned down. In panic, I jumped up and my head struck the dome with an ugly thud. Bzzzzzz! A deep hum started. My head felt like it was being squeezed in some kind of vice, and pain and panic took over.  I kicked wildly at the restrictions on my legs, and at the same time pushed the weight from my chest. Clang! Crash!   
I must have inadvertently dislodged the bedposts and old bedsprings, because they all came crashing down on me. Fizzzzzzz! Pop! Pop! Pow! I felt a searing pain, and then saw a blinding flash. The brilliance of the flash seemed to pierce my eyelids and settle at the back of my skull. All I was conscious of was intense pain, and a steady buzz. Darkness and unconsciousness swept over me and brought much-needed relief.
The sound of many voices speaking at the same time greeted me as I regained consciousness. Focusing was difficult, but eventually, I saw someone looking down at me. Doctor or nurse, she was beautiful.
“Hold still. I’m going to remove your bandages.”
I looked down at my hands and legs to see where the injury was; both seemed okay. I frowned and reached up to examine my aching head. It was heavily bandaged, including my eyes. The shock of this discovery caused my head to throb. I felt weak and slowly drifted off into a semi-conscious state.
Someone was attending to my head as I came awake. Bandages were being removed by the same doctor, who was being assisted by an elderly nurse. As she unwrapped the layers of bandage, the real significance of the situation hit me. With a few layers still over my eyes, I could see the doctor clearly.
“Oh God! Am I dead?” I wondered.
Part of my head still remained bandaged, and the doctor explained the reason for this.
“You have received electrical shock, radiation and burns to the head and eyes by the electromagnetic field on the old MRI machine. Scans have shown some unusual brain activities, so we will be running a few more tests to make sure you are okay.
“How long have I been here?”
Three weeks. We were worried about you for a while.”
I tried to relax and absorb this information but couldn’t. Electric shock? Radiation?
Burns? Thinking about this brought renewed pain, and the many voices seem to fill my head and increase in volume. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.
Two months later, I was discharged after undergoing a battery of tests. By this time, I had become restless, so my relief at being released was palpable. No more smelly wards, tasteless food or noisy people.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Molly glanced sideways at me as she drove along the East Coast Highway to our home at Melanie Damishana. She looked worried.
“How did it really happen? Is the hospital trying to cover up their negligence?”
“No.” My reply was slow. “It was an accident I actually brought on myself.” I told her about the incident in detail, and she listened keenly. When I had finished she said, “The girls miss you.”
This, in reference to Jane and Stacy, my two beautiful daughters.
“I’m okay. Just need some more rest.”
“What about the bandages?” She looked at the thick wrapping of bandages that covered my head, leaving only my eyes, mouth and nose exposed.
“It’ll be removed in two weeks. Have to go back for a checkup then. I might even remove it myself,” I said with a grin.
She looked startled for a moment, then burst out laughing. I joined in, and the rest of the ride home was less tense.
The next week passed and I felt better and better. My only concern was that at certain times, the loud voices would invade my head. I kept this to myself, knowing that voices in your head meant to some people insanity. The voices increased whenever I was in the presence of two or more people. Going into town was a challenge. This exercise would leave me feeling mentally exhausted and close to a nervous breakdown. Splitting headaches, coupled with a chorus of voices, kept my head busy. I had many friends at the hospital and managed to get a prescription for sedatives. This helped me to cope with it, and I began to  move about more freely.
I eventually resigned from the hospital and went to work at a supermarket. The sedatives allowed me to work comfortably every day. I kept the voices and treatment to myself. No sense in causing my family unnecessary worry; they had gone through enough already.
It soon became apparent that I was a hit at anticipating customers’ needs. Before they could ask, I would smile and point to the aisle.
“Cheese in Aisle Four.”
Expressions varied from pleasant surprise to suspicion and doubt. Even my colleagues found it amazing, and promptly dubbed me ‘Neil the Gestapo’. This name had nothing to do with Adolph Hitler, but more with my ability to guess right. Suresh was a good friend and worked in the packaging section. One midday during lunch, he sat next to me and seemed unable to contain his excitement.
“Which horse you think will win today’s derby?”
I looked at him in surprise. He knew quite well that I had no knowledge of horseracing, or the slightest inclination for the sport. The last time he had posed such a question, I had flung the first and craziest name in my head at him. When he discovers that there was no such horse, he’d leave me alone, I thought. Somehow, this didn’t work, for here he was again. This time, he could barely contain his excitement.
“Make a wild guess like last time.”
I burst out laughing.
“You must be mad. After the last name I gave you, you still want to ask me about horses?”
“Yes!” He was emphatic. “Your last horse came in first, and I won twenty thousand dollars.”
I groaned. Me and my big mouth! And in this case, faulty logic. By some insane coincidence, I had called the name of a winner. I knew that it was a once-in-a-lifetime strike of fortune for him, but if he wanted to lose his money with my crazy and impulsive guessing, I would indulge him.
“Well!” He was waiting expectantly.
I felt a malicious sense of triumph when I told him the name of the next winner. It came straight out of nowhere, and would get him only there. He’d be back, sulky and bitter and blaming me for making him lose his money. I prayed that he would bet a substantial amount and see it all go down the drain. Maybe then he’d stop bothering me.

Find out next week what happens next…