Coma

Susan walked up to the front door. Made of bronzed steel, it had no knobs, no openings of any kind. To the right of the door was a recessed microphone. As Susan stepped onto the Astroturf immediately before the door, she activated a recording which told her to give her name and the purpose of her visit. The voice was deep, reassuring, and measured.

Susan complied, although she hesitated about the purpose of the visit.

She was tempted to say tourism, but she changed her mind. She wasn’t feeling very jokey. So, finally, she said, “Academic purposes.”

There was no answer. A rectangular red light beneath the microphone came on. Printed on the glass was the word wait. The light flashed green and the word changed to proceed. Without a sound the bronzed door glided to the right, and Susan stepped over the threshold.

Susan found herself in a stark white hall. There were no windows, no pictures, no decorations at all. The only illumination seemed to be from the floor, which was made of a milky opaque plastic material. Susan found the effect curious and futuristic; she walked ahead.

At the end of the hall, a second silent door glided into the wall, and Susan entered what appeared to be a large, ultramodern waiting room.

Its far and near walls were mirrored from floor to ceiling. The two side walls were spotlessly white and totally devoid of any interruptions or decoration. The sameness was somewhat disorienting. As Susan looked at the walls, her eyes began to focus on her own vitreous floaters. She had to blink and make an effort to focus at a distance. Looking into the mirror at the end of the room had the opposite effect Because of the opposing mirrors Susan saw the image of herself reflected to infinity.

The room was furnished with rows of molded white plastic chairs. The floor was the same as in the hall, the light from it casting strange shadows on the ceiling. Susan was about to sit down when another door slid open in the farthest mirrored wall. A tall woman entered and walked directly up to Susan. She had very short, medium brown hair. Her eyes were deeply set and the line of her nose merged imperceptibly with her forehead. Susan was reminded of the classic features of a cameo. The woman wore a white pants suit as devoid of decoration as the walls. A pocket dosimeter peeped from her jacket. Her expression was neutral.

“Welcome to the Jefferson Institute. My name is Michelle. I will show you our facilities.” Her voice was as noncommittal as her expression.

“Thank you,” said Susan, trying to see through the woman’s facade. “My name is Susan Wheeler. I believe you are expecting me.” Susan let her eyes sweep around the room once more. “It certainly is modern. I’ve never seen anything quite like this.”

“We have been expecting you. But before we begin I’d like to warn you that it is very warm inside. I suggest that you leave your coat here. And please leave your bag as well.”

Susan took off her coat, a bit embarrassed by the wrinkled and soiled nurse’s uniform she still had on. She took her notebook from her bag.

“Now then ... I suppose that you know that the Jefferson Institute is an intensive-care hospital. In other words, we only take care of chronic intensive-care patients. Most of our patients are in some level of coma.

This particular hospital was built as a pilot project with HEW funds, although the actual running of it has been delegated to the private sector. It has been very successful in freeing up beds in the acute intensive care units of the city’s hospitals. In fact, since the project has been so successful, an equivalent hospital is either being built or is in the planning stages in most of the large cities of the country. Research has shown that any city or population center with a population of a million or more can economically support a hospital of this sort. ... Excuse me, but why don’t we sit down?” Michelle indicated two of the chairs.

“Thank you,” said Susan, taking one of the chairs.

“Visiting the Jefferson Institute is strictly regulated because of the methodology we use to care for the patients. We have developed very new techniques here, and if people are not prepared, some may react on an emotional level. Only immediate family may visit, and only once every two weeks on a preplanned basis.”

Michelle paused in her monologue, then she managed a half-smile. “I must say that your visit here is highly unusual. Normally we have a group of medical people on the second Tuesday of each month, and there is a planned program for them. But since you have come by yourself, I guess I can improvise a bit. But we do have a short film if you would like to see it.”

“By all means.”

“Good.”

Without any sign from Michelle, the room darkened and on the wall opposite from where they were sitting, a film began to roll. Susan was intrigued. She presumed that the film was being projected through a translucent section of the wall serving as a screen.