Unmitigated Shrew

I had just left the hospital after performing a seven hour pro bono operation on a child that needed heart surgery, tired to the point of exhaustion. As one of the most respected cardiologists in NYC I felt it was my duty to give back to the community so I did one pro bono operation and a dozen pro bono consultations a month. I got in the back of the limo that the non-profit who had put me in touch with the patient's family provided for me for the twenty minute ride to my house.

Despite my fatigue I fired up my iPad to check a couple of news sites. Scrolling halfway down the headlines I saw it. "Philanthropist Michelle Orton Killed in a Private Plane Crash." I suppose that I read about the details, including how many hundreds of millions of dollars that Michelle had given to charities over the years and how she was one of the most respected women in the country; but they really weren't important to me. The fact that the most influential person in my life before I met my wife was now no longer alive weighed heavily on me.

As my eyes glassed over my mind immediately turned to the summer twenty five years ago when my life changed forever.

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I was a twenty one year old working as a paid intern at a major hospital on the East Coast of the United States between my junior and senior years of college. I was a serious pre-med student who despite my family's middle class background had gotten this prestigious internship for the third summer in a row. While I had a partial scholarship to college I was starting to become stressed about how I would pay for medical school, and if my grades and recommendations would get me into one of the coveted spots in top twenty med schools in the country.

I had been on the job no more than eight or nine days when the chief of medicine at the hospital called me into his office. I had interfaced with Dr. Preston a few times, but never in my wildest imagination could I conceive of why the chief of medicine would call me into his office. I didn't remember screwing anything up - in fact the group of six doctors and ten nurses that I normally worked with seemed to really like the job that I was doing - certainly not something worthy of a meeting with the chief medical manager of the hospital.

I think that I hid my nervousness well as I entered Dr. Preston's office. "Dr. Preston; I'm Bradley Rader; you wanted to see me?"

"I know who you are, Brad," Preston chuckled as he held out his hand for me to shake; which of course I did.

After two or three minutes of chit-chat, Preston got to the point.

"You're probably wondering why I asked to see you today Brad," he started out, with the understatement of the year, "but I've heard about and noticed some good traits that you have that I think will be just what I need to help me out with a real problem."

In my confusion and nervousness I blurted out "What traits are those?" although I was immediately sorry that I did. Preston was unfazed.

"Good question, Brad," he replied. "First of all you're the biggest and strongest employee at the hospital that has the temperament that I need; that temperament is calm, measured, and unflustered despite the situation; and your record indicates that you have done extremely well in your kinesiology classes in college and even worked as a fitness trainer the summer before you started college. While you are also intelligent and personable honestly your physical strength, knowledge of kinesiology, and emotional composure are what I'm really after."

I hoped that Preston was right about my calm demeanor, and I was strong, even for someone 6 feet 3 inches tall and 230 pounds, since I was always in athletics and weight lifted three-four times a week.

After a slight pause Preston continued: "Michelle Orton, the wife of the chairman of the hospital's board of directors, was in a skiing accident in South America a short while ago and is laid up with a broken left leg - a cast from her foot to her crotch. She is a difficult woman - actually she's ornery and demanding - in the best of circumstances and with her cast restricting her movements has gone through at least a half dozen caretakers over the last two weeks. I need for you to be her daytime caretaker."

"Uh...I've never really done anything like that," I replied.

"Nonsense," Preston huffed. "According to all of the doctors and nurses in the group you primarily work with you're a virtual savant in dealing with difficult patients, and you have compassion and earnestness, things that will put you in good stead when as both you and I hope you become a medical doctor."

"Thank you for the confidence in me," I replied, holding back the qualifier "I guess."

"I can assure you that if you can successfully pull off the assignment that I give you that you will get a glowing recommendation from me personally when you apply to medical schools," Preston continued.

That really piqued my interest.

"Here's a confidentiality agreement for you to sign since you're not a medical doctor or nurse, because I need you to review Mrs. Orton's medical records. After you review them I want you to commit to working as her primary daytime caretaker and help her with her rehabilitation," Preston said as he handed me a single sheet of paper entitled "Confidentiality Agreement."

The agreement was simple and straight forward, and not in legalese, primarily simply acknowledging that I was receiving Mrs. Orton's medical records and would not share the information in them with anyone except hospital licensed medical professionals. I signed and dated the agreement, Preston did the same, and then he handed me a fairly thick folder.

"Review this file carefully, and within two hours come back in here and let me know your answer. I really need you," he sternly said as he again shook my hand.

There was no doubt that unless I said "yes" I was cutting my own throat, professionally.

I smiled grimly and exited.

************

The file indicated that Micelle Orton was forty years old, 5 feet 9 ½ inches tall, 132 pounds, and had been married to sixty year old Joseph Orton - a well-known and highly rich and successful business man whose name adorned the maternity ward of the hospital - for twelve years. She had had a miscarriage about two years earlier, after which she had a partial hysterectomy. That led to depression and treatment for a number of other issues. I couldn't believe that Dr. Preston had given me a file also with several psychologists' reports including the latest one which said since her operation she hadn't been intimate with her husband. TMI! Reading between the lines she apparently turned from a fairly normal (for being rich her entire life) person to an unmitigated shrew after her miscarriage and operation.

After review of the file I sought out one mid-level hospital administrator that I knew, as well as the doctors and nurses that I normally worked with - all of whom had been clued in to my meeting with Preston, but not about the details - to see what they knew about Mrs. Orton's reputation. The administrator, two doctors, and one nurse (two males, two females) all knew of Mrs. Orton from direct contact and most of the others by reputation. My reading between the lines of her medical records appeared to be spot on - unmitigated shrew.

I knew that my summer was going to get difficult, but given Dr. Preston's words and demeanor I also knew that I had no choice; so I grinned and bore it as two hours and six minutes after leaving Preston's office I returned and smilingly accepted the assignment. A gleeful Preston robustly shook my hand, told me to get the keys to a hospital van from the motor pool and to get the Orton's home address from his secretary, and to show up there at 7:00 a. m. the next day.

When I arrived at the Orton mansion at 6:51 a. m. I was greeted by the butler who led me to Joseph Orton's study. He was dressed for his work day, sans tie. He was distinguished looking and appeared to be in good shape for someone sixty. He greeted me warmly, said some nice things about me that Dr. Preston had obviously told him. Then he got a serious look on his face.

"You have to understand that before her miscarriage and operation Michelle was a good woman. Now, however, she is difficult, made more so by her skiing accident and having to fly home from Argentina in a medical transport plane. Eight daytime caretakers, one nighttime caretaker when I was out of town, and three daytime assistants have quit in the last ten days," he said.

"Is that what Preston meant by 'at least half a dozen?'" flashed through my mind as I inwardly groaned "understatement of the month."

"I hope that you can succeed where others failed. If you do I assure that you will earn my undying gratitude," Joseph continued. "Let me introduce you to Michelle; and please call me Joseph and her Michelle, not Mr. and Mrs. Orton."

As we walked toward Michelle's convalescent room Joseph said "Oh, one more thing; Michelle can't fire you, only I can, and I'm not going to unless you murder her - in which case I'll have no use for you anyway;" he laughed at his own gallows humor before continuing. "You'll have to quit to get away from her and I beg you not to do that."

I simply nodded at his desperation.

When I was introduced to Michelle as she sat up in a special hospital bed set up for her in one of the many first floor ornate rooms of the mansion, I couldn't fucking believe it. The woman was drop dead gorgeous.

My first thought on seeing Michelle was that not one person who I talked to about her mentioned her physical beauty; that was a sign that her personality was even worse than I thought, because normally at least the males would have commented on her looks.

My second thought was sexual. Although she was not at Michelle's level a divorced friend of my mother's who was seventeen years older than I was taught me everything about how to please a women starting with the night of my 18th birthday and continuing through the entire summer between High School and college. My immediate recall of the stupendous sex that summer caused my little friend to unconsciously salute and tent my pants.

My third thought was "Give her tough love; it's the only way to survive," when the first words out of her mouth after Joseph introduced us were "You look too young and too dumb to know what the hell to do to help me." My quick response was "Thank you for sharing that with me."

After mildly chastising Michelle for her comment Joseph gave her a peck on the cheek and then made himself scarce.

I picked up the chart at the end of her bed and perused it while she stared at me. "Looks to me, Michelle, that you haven't been given enough to do since you've arrived here. That's going to change as of now. You need exercise, and you need to get out of the house. Let's start with some torso twists and light dumbbells - I assume that a home as nice and large as this has an exercise room."

"Call me Mrs. Orton, not Michelle, asshole. Plus how do I know that you have any expertise at all with what I need to do and not do," she snapped.

"Actually, Michelle - M - I - C - H - E - L - L - E," I calmly retorted, "your husband told me to call you Michelle and since he's paying the hospital for my time, not you, I think that I'll follow his instructions. As for my knowledge of exercises you'll just have to trust me - and my big dumb biceps (I flexed them for her in my short sleeve shirt) - since you've alienated everyone else who's wanted to help you."

She let out a string of swear words.

As she berated me I calmly went to the in-house intercom and asked the butler where the exercise room was. When I got the information I needed I went to the exercise room, picked out the equipment that I wanted, and brought it to Michelle's room.

After a few more choice words from her and refusal to do any exercises I said "It's obvious that you don't like me Michelle - I don't know why because I'm really charming and have a soft spot for good looking older women," that comment raised her eyebrows, "so I'll make you two proposals for a deal."

"What?" she snickered.

"Deal #1; you try your best to make me quit and if I'm still here after a week you do whatever exercises I suggest, and go on any outings I recommend. Or, deal #2, you do all of the exercises I suggest and go on the outings I recommend for the next week, and then I'll quit. Joseph told me that you can't fire me so those are the only two ways out for you. Which do you choose?" I asked with my own snicker.

"I don't have to choose," she sneered, crossing her arms.

"Yes you do, because if you don't I'll pinch your toes and tickle your uncast foot until you do."

"You wouldn't dare, asshole," she scoffed.

I pulled up the bottom of the top sheet of her bed, grabbed her right foot, and started tickling it. She started yelling when she tried to pull her foot away but I wouldn't let her. Apparently the house staff had been told by Joseph not to interfere because no one came running. After tickling didn't work I started pinching her toes actually bringing tears to her eyes until finally she said "Deal #2."

I immediately released her foot and tucked the sheet back in. then I started having her move her arms with the light dumbbells, then I had her do torso twists, than I had her do leg lifts with both her good and cast legs. After forty minutes and her calling me every vile name in the book, she was sweating. "OK," I said "Good job. You need a shower now, however, while I replace the sheets on your bed. I'll call the daytime assistant to help you with the shower once I carry you to the bathroom."

She had a surly look on her face, but didn't say anything more as I called the female daytime assistant on the intercom and told her to meet us in the bathroom. I picked Michelle up as she growled "What the hell are you doing - how dare you touch me."

"Carrying you is a lot easier than negotiating a wheelchair through the house," I deadpanned, although my real reason for lifting her was to let her know that I was in charge. I carried her to the large bathroom on the first floor which had about the largest shower area I had ever seen. It had no door but because the open entryway was at least eight feet from several water nozzles on the far wall water would not exit the area through the open entryway.

I set Michelle down on a bench specifically for that purpose. I inspected the shower area as I waited for the assistant. "I need to put some hand-holds for the shower for safety," I told Michelle just as the assistant walked in with a large clear plastic tube, obviously to cover Michelle's cast, and a roll of tape. The assistant - who looked large enough to support Michelle in the shower - and I talked briefly and then I left, closing the door.

I called a local medical supply store and had a salesman and technician come out that afternoon with a number of safety grips and bars for a shower stall and then redid Michelle's bed. When the assistant called me on the intercom to say that Michelle was done I grabbed a pajama bottom and top and bra - she couldn't really get panties on in view of her cast - and handed them to the assistant in the bathroom. Once Michelle was dressed, I carried her back to her bed.

After the butler brought - and I served Michelle - lunch I told her that we were going on an outing. If she wanted a different top on that would be fine. She grumbled as I showed her several tops, and then I left the room while the assistant helped her with her selected top. Once that was accomplished I put a sock and shoe on her right foot, lifted her into her special wheelchair with a raised support for her left leg, and exited the mansion using the newly installed ramp on the front stairs. Using a wheelchair lift on the hospital's van I placed Michelle securely in the van.

I drove to a nearby park with a small lake, and wheeled Michelle in the sunshine all around the path surrounding the lake. In the sunshine and fresh air the number of her jerk comments decreased significantly. I bought her an ice cream cone from a vendor at the park and she ate it in the outdoors and when finished I loaded her back in the van.

The medical supply salesman and a technician arrived soon after we returned from the excursion, and I selected - and had them immediately install - three different spaced hand-holds in the shower to enhance Michelle's safety. I charged the equipment and labor to the hospital, attention Dr. Preston.

The rest of the day went fairly smoothly - as smoothly as it could with an unmitigated shrew - until Joseph got home about 6 p. m. I told him basically how the day had gone. He smiled about the toe pinching and deal (which I had no intention of honoring). He told me to eavesdrop when he went in to see Michelle.

Michelle complained to Joseph about what a brute and asshole I was, but had to admit that she felt better after exercising and that she enjoyed the outdoors for a change. After I wheeled Michelle to dinner with Joseph (I ate in the kitchen) I wheeled her back to her bed and lifted her into it, then I left about 7:30 p. m. after the nighttime caretaker arrived.

When I got back to my summer apartment - owned by the hospital - I was beat both physically and emotionally. I read for a while and then passed out more than fell asleep.

*************

Things with the unmitigated shrew continued for the rest of the week basically as they had the first day. The exercises and excursions changed, but the verbal abuse didn't. However, I surprised even myself about how even-keeled I remained as long as I viewed Michelle as simply a petulant child. I was on duty the weekend too, only I didn't have to get there until 10 a. m. since Joseph was there.

Dr. Preston called me on Sunday and I briefed him on the situation. He told me that Joseph was very happy with things so far.

Things changed drastically the next Tuesday. After our morning exercises - where Michelle was extremely grumpy because I told her that I wasn't quitting despite our deal, and after she grudgingly worked up a bigger sweat than normal - as I was changing her sheets while she was in the bathroom she called me on the intercom. "Hey doofus; the bitch quit and I need you to bring me my clothes and take me back to my room."

"Did you have your shower yet?" I inquired.

"Fuck no; the bitch stormed out before I could because I hurt her little feelings," she snapped.

"I'll be right there," I replied.

I wasn't sure how to play this, but I had to get her showered, and I couldn't wait for Joseph to get home. I grabbed one of her robes and headed for the bathroom. She was sitting on the bench naked, covered only with a towel.

"Give me that robe," she snarled.

"Just a minute; you need a shower. Should we call Joseph and have him come home?"

"You can't disturb him at work - besides, he'll really be pissed that someone else quit - I can't help it if he hires morons like you and the bitch who just left."

"OK - but you are showering. It's necessary for many reasons, especially since you stink," I replied. She didn't really stink, but she didn't know that and she needed a put-down.

After we exchanged some more unpleasant expressions she said "You just want to get your jollies by seeing me naked."

"Look - I know that you're hot, but not as hot as you think that you are. I can control myself," I chuckled as I stripped down to my boxers. She sat there wide-eyed. "OK," I said, "If you're embarrassed I'll get behind you and hold you up from behind as we get into the shower."

"You really are going to make me do this you bastard?" she growled.

"Hell yes," I replied.

"Well if I'm going to be naked, you are too."

"You're the one who needs the shower, not me. There's no reason for me to be naked."