The Waiting Room

The woman sat in the waiting room, avoiding the eyes of the other female patients around her. Her parents had sent her here to recover after the baby was born. She hadn't met him. They'd told her it was best for her to be unconscious during the delivery, and had taken him away before she'd been woken up. Her room here was small and they insisted she visit with doctors and take medication every day. She wanted to sleep all the time. It had only been two months, or so she thought, since the father had left to go overseas. After finding out her condition, her parents barred the two from speaking to each other. Ever since the birth and the room and the new pills, her perception of time and reality had started to shift but she could still remember a few things very clearly. Like the night she'd spilled the secret. Her mother screamed and wept while her father sat at the table in silent anger. Then the punishment came. There would be no more visits, no more time together, no more planning for the future. No more secret notes left under the porch at night. And later, no waiting for the mail to be delivered, no hope for news of homecoming or letters of love and commitment like so many of her girlfriends received every few weeks. It was a mistake that neither of them in a million years thought was possible. They tried to hide it at first. He promised her that he'd find them a home so they could start a family together. They lived in California-he had steady work and the war effort was calling for women to pitch in too so if need be, she could get a factory job. They'd form a little family together and work toward building the country and doing their part to fight the war on the home front. But then his papers came. She remembered that feeling too. The desperation of knowing there was no way she could do this alone, and the reality that if she abandoned her parents, he would be her only support in the world. And there was a chance he would not make it home. So she tried the only thing she had left-begging for their understanding and forgiveness. They agreed to raise the child as though he was theirs under the condition that she receive help for her "mental illness" and never speak of him as her own. They signed her up for a program in one of the city hospitals. If she agreed to be a part of a small, inconsequential medical experiment that was to take place after the birth of her son, she would receive a stipend from them. Her parents were not wealthy, and knowing the burden she'd already placed on them, she agreed to it.

The doctor had spoken with her parents separately. "People like her" he'd said, "they need guidance. An act like this speaks volumes about her mental state. It would be best for you to let her live here. We have the facilities to take care of her mental and physical needs. We also have ways of making sure nothing like this happens again. Its part of a new wave of psychological treatment. She'll be receiving the best and most advanced care available."

The door to the waiting room opened. In walked a man with 20 or so others in tow, all women. Many wore dirty or tattered clothing and a few were accompanied by children. Some looked Native, others were from the Japanese neighborhood nearby. Perhaps they were here for a new vaccine of some sort. She had always been fascinated by medicine. The idea of curing diseases and nursing the sick back to health had appealed to her since she was a child. She remembered the nuns in charge of the school infirmary and how they'd administer remedies for colds or headaches. The feeling of comfort, of being cared for (even with the looks of disapproval she'd sometimes get after an ill advised adventure left her with a badly scraped knee or elbow) she wanted to give that to others. She'd even thought of going to school so she could enlist as a nurse. That was another memory she'd kept clear. She'd brought this plan up to her father thinking there was no way he would ever approve something like that for his only daughter and youngest child. But his reaction was not what she'd expected. Briefly. his eyes had brightened at the thought of his daughter wanting to do such a thing for her country. In that moment, she'd glimpsed at a possibility-that she may have a future in which freedom to do what she wanted was accompanied by a blessing from her father. But then he'd changed his mind. "War is men's work. We suffer the scars of battle so women can remain safe at home." That was the end of the discussion.

One of the women who had been ushered in with the large group moved to the empty chair next to her. "Do you know why they brought us here?" It felt like she was underwater. She shook her head-no. "Me neither." She couldn't have been older than 19. Dark hair in curls to her shoulders, brown eyes. Jewish, the woman thought. "They've been coming to my neighborhood almost weekly now." The previous day, they'd gone around to a few nearby neighborhoods, asking each of the women where they came from, who their parents had been and what they do. The ones who answered were asked if they'd like to participate in a a new medical program. They were offered a small stipend and promised that they would be brought back in no time to go back to work or their homes. They were given until the next day to go home and discuss it with their families. Most of them came back. Some of them didn't speak English, so one who acted as a translator was asked to tell these women that a mandatory test was being given for a typhus vaccine, and that they were to report immediately the next morning to the town hall. Now they sat silently with each other in this room. The woman picked up a pamphlet. "Pasadena Human Betterment Foundation." She'd read it before. It was the day she'd been outside her doctor's office, waiting for her weekly appointment.

She'd overheard bits and pieces of a conversation that day. She guessed they were talking about medicine, and she'd leaned close to the door with curiosity. They were carrying out medical experiments in Europe. Her doctor had gone to Yale for his education and two of his fellow classmates had been given a large amount of money from a prominent corporation years before, and had moved overseas to continue this work. One of them had been employed at a camp in Poland, doing experimental genetic work with twins. "The Germans have taken our ideas and put them to work. Support for this in America is waning, but we cannot give up what we've started. Too many of us have dedicated our lives to this work. We must insure our genetic future by eradicating the weakest among us today." Vaccines, she'd thought. They must be talking about vaccines.

The door opened and a nurse beckoned the two women sitting closest to the hallway. One of them had her child with her. "Don't worry, we have a childcare facility. They'll be well taken care of during the procedure and your recovery." She leaned down and held her child for a moment before allowing a second nurse to lead him down another hallway.

The doctor removed his glasses and leaned back in his chair. The morning's paper sat on his desk, untouched as he had been inundated with letters and new research information immediately upon arriving to work. He'd read the headline-The US involvement in the war was escalating in Europe now that the draft had been reinstated. But he had to focus on his work. New ideas, new thoughts on how to better the human race that had been born in the American medical community in the decades before were being put to use overseas. How great it was to think that a generation from now, the malaise of the human race could be eradicated and his name would be there, next to the great leaders in medical innovation. Perhaps, he thought, a Nobel prize was not out of his reach.