Part of the assignment was to do research to make the scene feel believable. Since my story is in the future, I had the fun of reviewing what experts think hospitals will be like decades from now. Then I tried to extend that vision into future centuries. Happy reading!
The boy recognized the combination of scents and sounds. Cedar, with a hint of lavender. Wind rustling the leaves of a forest, with a few frogs and birds chirping. His parents always selected this ambience package for their hotel room when they traveled. Zach knew without looking that the walls would be programmed to the misty green of fir trees in the fog, and that the ceiling would be the muted glow of sunlight through the mist.
Something was off, though. He didn’t remember where he was, for one thing. They hadn’t been planning a trip anywhere. Besides that, the distinctive smell of a rubber floor — he thought it smelled like balloons — was something he associated with facilities like schools or his dad’s office, not a hotel room.
When he opened his eyes, he saw a clutter of beige devices with blinking lights on the ceiling above him. One made a slight hissing noise as it extended black, spidery legs and crawled across the ceiling to a corner of the room. When it was out of the way another device took its place. The new one had a lens that moved back and forth as if studying Zach.
The wall in front of him had several monitors embedded, but instead of showing his favorite cartoons, they displayed the type of information he saw in the medical dramas his mother watched. He glanced around, wondering if this was what a hospital room looked like. To his left he saw his dad asleep in a dark brown recliner, snoring softly. To the right was a sleek, white quartz table surrounded by four white dining chairs.
The room’s frosted glass door opened and a woman walked in. She wore a sky blue tunic over sandy yellow leggings. “Good morning, Zach,” the woman said. “The MDA told me you were waking up. How are you feeling?”
His mom woke with a sharp breath. “Zach?” she said. She blinked a couple of times and then stood up.
“Who’re you?” Zach asked the stranger.
“My name’s Alba. I’m your patient advocate. Do you know what that means?”
Zach shrugged. He hadn’t paid much attention to those shows his mom watched.
“You’re in the Rockport Healing Center. The paramedics brought you here last night because you weren’t responding as they expected after they mended a broken ulna in your right arm.”
Automatically Zach reached out to his lower right arm, remembering the sharp pain of the break. He flexed the arm and it seemed fine. Mending bones only took a few minutes, and the recovery was just waiting a few hours to put stress on the bone. No one went to the healing center for such a minor procedure.
“As your patient advocate, I’m in charge of your experience here. I heal my patients, making sure they’re comfortable both physically and emotionally. I’ll also keep you informed of what’s going on and what your options are. I’ll ask for your consent to take various actions, and I promise I won’t start any course of treatment without your permission. Or your mother's permission, if you’re unable to communicate with us.”
Zach held up his arm, looking pointedly at the dark gray sleeve covered in a colorful rubber-ducky pattern. No self-respecting twelve-year-old would wear something like that. He narrowed his eyes and turned to glare at his mother.
Zinnia cleared her throat. “Yeah, I wasn’t paying much attention to the options they showed me for pajamas. You were unconscious.”
“How are you feeling?” Alba asked again.
Zach thought that over. “Hot?”
“We noticed that your temperature has been elevated. We gave you a dose of paracetamol, and that’s been bringing it down. Do have any pain?”
“No.” If anything, he felt numb. “When can I go home?”
“I’m not sure yet. You’ve presented a mystery for us, Zach. Our scans of you sent our diagnostic programs into a tizzy. I’ve called in a specialist who’s looking over the data, and he’ll be here soon to talk to you.”
“Do I have to stay in bed?”
“It should be fine for you to walk around here in the room, if you take it slow.” She glanced toward the monitors as if to confirm his condition was stable and said, “MDA, lower the bed by three feet.”
The medical digital assistant sent the command to the bed, which slid down until it was low enough that Zach could hop out. As he explored the room, he noticed one of the machines on the ceiling followed, always staying above him. He tried running to see if it would keep up.
His mom stepped into his path, putting an end to the experiment. “Take it easy, remember?” she admonished.
When this scene is extended for the novel, we'll see the shock of Zach's mother and medical professionals, as they realize that Zach has developed a psychic ability.
Read more posts about Prime
Visit the Prime page for the latest status
The boy recognized the combination of scents and sounds. Cedar, with a hint of lavender. Wind rustling the leaves of a forest, with a few frogs and birds chirping. His parents always selected this ambience package for their hotel room when they traveled. Zach knew without looking that the walls would be programmed to the misty green of fir trees in the fog, and that the ceiling would be the muted glow of sunlight through the mist.
Something was off, though. He didn’t remember where he was, for one thing. They hadn’t been planning a trip anywhere. Besides that, the distinctive smell of a rubber floor — he thought it smelled like balloons — was something he associated with facilities like schools or his dad’s office, not a hotel room.
When he opened his eyes, he saw a clutter of beige devices with blinking lights on the ceiling above him. One made a slight hissing noise as it extended black, spidery legs and crawled across the ceiling to a corner of the room. When it was out of the way another device took its place. The new one had a lens that moved back and forth as if studying Zach.
The wall in front of him had several monitors embedded, but instead of showing his favorite cartoons, they displayed the type of information he saw in the medical dramas his mother watched. He glanced around, wondering if this was what a hospital room looked like. To his left he saw his dad asleep in a dark brown recliner, snoring softly. To the right was a sleek, white quartz table surrounded by four white dining chairs.
The room’s frosted glass door opened and a woman walked in. She wore a sky blue tunic over sandy yellow leggings. “Good morning, Zach,” the woman said. “The MDA told me you were waking up. How are you feeling?”
His mom woke with a sharp breath. “Zach?” she said. She blinked a couple of times and then stood up.
“Who’re you?” Zach asked the stranger.
“My name’s Alba. I’m your patient advocate. Do you know what that means?”
Zach shrugged. He hadn’t paid much attention to those shows his mom watched.
“You’re in the Rockport Healing Center. The paramedics brought you here last night because you weren’t responding as they expected after they mended a broken ulna in your right arm.”
Automatically Zach reached out to his lower right arm, remembering the sharp pain of the break. He flexed the arm and it seemed fine. Mending bones only took a few minutes, and the recovery was just waiting a few hours to put stress on the bone. No one went to the healing center for such a minor procedure.
“As your patient advocate, I’m in charge of your experience here. I heal my patients, making sure they’re comfortable both physically and emotionally. I’ll also keep you informed of what’s going on and what your options are. I’ll ask for your consent to take various actions, and I promise I won’t start any course of treatment without your permission. Or your mother's permission, if you’re unable to communicate with us.”
Zach held up his arm, looking pointedly at the dark gray sleeve covered in a colorful rubber-ducky pattern. No self-respecting twelve-year-old would wear something like that. He narrowed his eyes and turned to glare at his mother.
Zinnia cleared her throat. “Yeah, I wasn’t paying much attention to the options they showed me for pajamas. You were unconscious.”
“How are you feeling?” Alba asked again.
Zach thought that over. “Hot?”
“We noticed that your temperature has been elevated. We gave you a dose of paracetamol, and that’s been bringing it down. Do have any pain?”
“No.” If anything, he felt numb. “When can I go home?”
“I’m not sure yet. You’ve presented a mystery for us, Zach. Our scans of you sent our diagnostic programs into a tizzy. I’ve called in a specialist who’s looking over the data, and he’ll be here soon to talk to you.”
“Do I have to stay in bed?”
“It should be fine for you to walk around here in the room, if you take it slow.” She glanced toward the monitors as if to confirm his condition was stable and said, “MDA, lower the bed by three feet.”
The medical digital assistant sent the command to the bed, which slid down until it was low enough that Zach could hop out. As he explored the room, he noticed one of the machines on the ceiling followed, always staying above him. He tried running to see if it would keep up.
His mom stepped into his path, putting an end to the experiment. “Take it easy, remember?” she admonished.
When this scene is extended for the novel, we'll see the shock of Zach's mother and medical professionals, as they realize that Zach has developed a psychic ability.
Read more posts about Prime
Visit the Prime page for the latest status
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