The Big Deal

It wasn’t really a big deal. 

I laughed as I emptied the fiftieth trash can into the giant, black one with wheels that I carried behind me. I glanced around the room, noting the change in the dirt, blood, and gore that had been there moments before. Now, it was clean and sparkling, ready for the next patient. 

The nurses and doctors scurried around outside as I finished cleaning the room. The patient had been in a horrific car accident. They moved him from ICU to a regular room, and I breathed a sigh of relief when they did.

See, what I do as a day job isn’t glamorous to a lot of people, but it is to me. 

I stripped off my gloves and tossed them after the trussed-up trash bag in the dumpster on my way out of work. My phone rang from the back pocket of my jeans and I jerked it out. “Yes?” 

My boss shouted through the earpiece, telling me they needed me for another 8 hours. I stared straight ahead. “Jeff, I’ve already worked a 12 — I really just…” 

I sighed. I couldn’t let Jeff down, and he knew that. “Fine. Overtime?” 

Jeff sighed too, but his was one of relief. “Of course, Brian. Always.” 

I shoved my phone back into the pocket of my worn jeans, and headed back into the hospital, not even an ounce of a spring in my step. Walking through the halls had become second nature to me. I dodged carts and frantic nurses and family members running past. I watched the furrow grow between the eyes of a favorite doctor, and heard the excited cries of a family of two that had just become three. I heard and saw it all, and still managed to stay out of sight with my bright blue surgical gloves and bottle of cleaning supply. 

The first wing of the hospital where I would start was Joni’s, and I had never been on this side of the hospital before. I stepped into the room and glanced around. A slim girl lay in a hospital bed at the corner of the room, her chest barely rising and falling. Asleep, I hoped. I tiptoed silently to the trash can, emptying it quietly. I moved some of the papers on the floor to a nearby chair and wiped down the counter. She shifted, but just barely, and I stilled, afraid I had waken her. Her arm, so skinny it was almost birdlike, was hitting the side of the bed. Her dry, cracked lips formed a word, and I leaned closer to hear it. 

“Water.” She said, softly. I pressed the call light and smiled at the young blond girl who appeared before me, wearing bubblegum-pink scrubs. 

“She wants water.” 

Her green eyes popped open wide. “She spoke?” 

I nodded in bewilderment. “I heard her ask for water. Maybe not as clear as day, but she sure did.” 

The nurse pushed past me, muttering something about her not speaking for days. I shrugged and moved on to the next room. I had a job to do. 

The next room was dim, and I could barely make out the figure in the bed this time. I shook my head. Were all of these rooms going to have people in them? Thanks a lot, Joni. I normally got out of dealing with people in every room; I just cleaned and went my way.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness, but I had to squint through the lighting to see the shriveled old man in the bed. His legs were pulled up under him, and he huddled in a fetal position under the thin blanket. I pulled off one of my gloves and set my hand on the railing of the bed, just looking at this poor man. His breath rattled deep in his lungs, and I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the pain of human suffering. The man stirred and his half-closed eyes lighted on me. 

“Do you know Joni?” 

Yes, I did, and I told him so. He smiled a rusty-looking smile, giving me a flash of his yellowed dentures. “Tell her thank you for the brownies.” 

His eyes fluttered closed and I waited for the rattle of breath, but it never came. All that came was the steady whine of the heart monitor. The nurse and doctor that came in rushed me out the same way I had come. This man wouldn’t need the room cleaned now, but I’d be back, later. 

I was musing over the last words of that old gentleman. Thanking Joni for brownies — his last words he ever said in his life was a thank you. I bit my lip, concentrating as I headed for my mop bucket and cart. Someone had spilled water in the hallway, and I was the one nearest it. I flipped out my handy “wet floor” sign, and set to work. 

It amazed me the kind of people in the world. Some people were uppity, too good to look at someone like me. Sanitation worker, cleaner, or even the word I hated — janitor. But, I heard a man’s last words today, and what they were. They were a thank you to another janitor. 

I finished cleaning up the water and had just replaced my mop and “wet floor” sign when I heard the alarm over the intercom. I couldn’t make out the words over the clatter and clamour of doctors rushing past me. It sounded like a trauma patient, but I wasn’t sure. A hospital bed with a man strapped to it — at least, I think it was a man, he was too bloody to tell — rushed past me. A nurse was straddling him, trying to do CPR, and another nurse was shouting orders as they raced through the hall, right past where water had been seconds before. I smiled. I guess I had a small part in saving someone’s life today. 

But it wasn’t that big of a deal. 

I finished my shift without any more incidents and headed for the break room. That last cup of coffee had given me enough of a jolt that I wanted breakfast. I kept an extra set of clothes in my locker, and I changed swiftly, giving my gray locks a little touch up. I glanced in the bathroom mirror, a perfectly respectable gentleman staring back at me in a white shirt and slacks. I chuckled, forgetting I hadn’t brought my normal jeans and sweatshirt. 

The walk through the hallway back to my car was a long one. I passed the hospital chapel on my left and I could hear the sounds of someone crying. I stopped and hovered a little near the doorway. A woman sat in one of the pew chairs, her head in her hands. A man sat near her, rubbing her shoulder, his white-blond hair sticking up in all directions. He glanced up and saw me, hope lighting in his eyes. He motioned with his hand, and bewildered, I made my way into the chapel. He pointed me to his seat beside the woman, whispering that he was going for a coffee. Confused, I sat gently beside the sobbing woman. She looked about twenty, her streaked mascara and frizzy hair the signs of a long night. She turned bleary black eyes my way, and they filled with tears again at the sight of me. “Do you think it will ever get better?” 

I took my time with my reply. “Ma’am, I’ve worked in this hospital for twenty years, probably as long as you’ve been alive. I’ve seen births and deaths. I've seen people beat cancer, and I’ve seen people die of a heart attack. I don’t know what exactly it is that you want to get better, but I can tell you, I’ve seen people that left here crying, come back and leave again. This time, with smiles on their face. I’ve seen a mother who miscarried and watched as she held a laughing baby boy four years later. I don’t know the cause of your pain, but I do know that there is a man back there that loves you. There’s somebody that loves you more than that, and there’s someone here for you in your pain.” 

The tears ran down her nose and dripped from her chin onto her sweatshirt. The young man was back, gripping a styrofoam cup with his left hand. With his right, he rubbed her arm in comforting circles. I patted them and talked for a few more minutes. Handing the girl a tissue, I finally rose to my feet. 

She wiped her eyes with one hand and gave me a weak smile. “Thank you, reverend or pastor or whatever I call you.” 

I gave her a smile in return. “Oh, I’m not the chaplain. I’m just the custodian.” 

She shook her head, her brown curls flying around her face. “You're my guardian angel.” 

The man pressed my hand when I reached it out to shake his. “Thank you, sir. You won’t know what this meant to us.” 

I squeezed his hand in return and went my way back to my car. 

I needed a good nights rest before I came to work again the next day. I had around eighteen hours before I showed up again to empty trash, mop floors, wipe windows, and clean toilets. 

Walking through the swinging doors and into the fresh spring breeze, I jogged the next few steps to my car and opened the door. Ah, the life I lived on the daily. And really, it wasn’t a big deal.