On the Inside

2. The Karans

To be fair, I am more than a simple janitor. If you knew about the training that went into my on-boarding when I first joined this job 2 years ago, you'd understand why my position is labeled 'Environmental Services Technician'. 

Sure, I sweep the floor and mop it, clean the toilets and pick up the trash, in each of the patient rooms in the hospital. But its how I do it that is highly specialized, and critically important. 

I start off by wearing a mask, gloves and gowns to protect myself. Then I gather all the trash: regular stuff goes into a simple trash bag, soiled diapers and dirty or bloodied gauze etc. go into the biohazard bag, and any needles etc. go into the sharps container. 

Next is the decontamination step: either with bleach or other cleaning products that leave the surface just wet enough for the disinfectant too work. Leave it too dry, you haven't used enough disinfectant to kill all the germs. Leave it too wet, and the room can't be used for a while interrupting patient flow through the hospital. 

We were always cautioned to clean everything, but especially the high-touch areas like bed rails, bedside tables, and call buttons. We were expected to work quickly, efficiently, and thoroughly. Not a single missed step or else, we were told by the supervisor, you never know which patient would get the bug we had failed to clean from their room and die because of it. 

I had probably looked like a fool taking notes during onboarding, but I was determined to get the cleaning process exactly right. No man, woman or child would die because of me. I told myself repeatedly. 

It was those exact steps that I was repeating in my head when I heard the soft sobs of a woman from the corner of the room that I was in at that moment. She seemed embarrassed when I looked up at her, and quickly wiped her tears. 

"Oh, I uh - I am so sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," I quickly told her. 

"No, no. Please, no problem at all," the woman tried to smile, but the agony in her eyes overshadowed even the fake joy she tried to conjure up. 

If I had to guess about the reason for her tears, I would have to pick the young girl who lay in a comatose state on the bed, with tubes coming out of every where. My own mother would have cried buckets, if she were alive. Perhaps, it was her memory that made me approach the woman again. Softly and respectfully, prepared to back off if she indicated my presence was unwanted. 

"My name is Deion Anderson," I told the woman. "I work here in environmental services, as is evident by the mop in my hand. Believe me no other fool would come to a random person's room and start cleaning up otherwise."

The beginnings of a smile broke through her despair. "Priyanka Karan, is my name," she replied, quietly. 

I glanced at the child again, "Must be tough to see your daughter like this."

"Its torture." Her voice cracked. 

"I bet," I sighed. Then curiosity got the better of me, "What's wrong with her?" 

"She can't eat at all now. The doctor said she'll die if she did."

Oh wow, I thought to myself of all the times I had enjoyed Ma's cooking before she passed away. Just like this child must have, before she got sick. 

"What did she like to eat before she got sick?" I found myself wondering out loud. 

"Dosa was her favorite, and biryani as well," her mother replied, this time that slight smile graced her face her again. 

"Homemade or store bought?" Don't even know why I asked her that, but I was so glad I did. Because Ms. Karan's face immediately lightened up. 

"Only homemade," she said proudly. "I make them with my own two hands. Even my husband and other children love them."