Yes, Mandy was careful, and as she closed the door to her hotel room she removed her shoes and socks and inspected the toes of her left foot. A fellow passenger accidently dropped a large suitcase on her foot, and naturally it didn't hurt a bit. She felt a thud, and nothing more. Smiling, she waved the careless traveler on. He should have been surprised by her cheerful disposition, by her complete disregard for his unintended assault on her foot, but he was in a hurry - anxious to catch the next flight. He quickly convinced himself that the heavy case hit the floor - not her foot. That was the only reasonable explanation. Just as well - Mandy had an important deal to close tomorrow, a million dollar account, and she didn't want to waste time explaining her disorder to the curious public.
Two toes on her left foot were bruised; that was all. She flexed them to verify the integrity of joints and tendons. "A bit stiff, but functional." she thought as she performed a maneuver that would have evoked waves of pain in anyone else. Leaving her shoes and socks at the door, she took her suitcase over to the bed and began to unpack. Her carefully prepared power-point presentation was tucked away in the front pocket. She took it out and laid it on the desk next to the bed. Would it help to review? "No," she thought, "I know it by heart. Actually, I could use a good meal, and some wine, which I will expense of course." Pain insensitive people had no trouble sensing hunger, thirst, and other bodily needs. As long as it didn't involve injury or extremes of temperature, she was perfectly normal.
She glanced through the menu on the desk and called room service. "I'd like the steak dinner with baked potato and soup please."
"Medium well."
"Yes, butter and sour cream."
"A large ice water and a bottle of your house wine."
"That will be fine; just charge it to my room."
"Thank you."
She hung up the phone and gazed at her reflection in the mirror above the dresser. Blue eyes looked back it her, full of sparkle and youth, as blonde hair fell about her face. There were no injuries - no scars. Through sheer good fortune, the inevitable parade of childhood accidents all occurred from the neck down, leaving marks that could quietly be concealed beneath clothing. And the thick scar tissue on her left index finger was rarely a problem, since her business associates all shook hands on the right.
It happened when she was 3 years old, a curious toddler. Her mother, Trudy, was cooking grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. Mandy's sandwich was just about done when the phone rang. She moved the griddle to the back of the stove to let the sandwich cool, but forgot to turn off the front burner.
"Yeah Mom, we're doing fine."
Trudy paced about, tethered to the wall by her phone cord. "Mandy really likes her pre-school, and you know, the teachers are really good about helping her. The teacher is right next to her when she uses the scissors, and someone is with her all the time on the playground."
Trudy walked around the corner and into the diningroom as Mandy playfully strolled into the kitchen. "Yes, I told them about hot lunches - that Mandy would gulp down soup even if it is scalding. The noon aid tests it with her finger, and if it's too hot she puts an ice cube in. Like I say, they're very understanding."
Mandy looked up at the soft red glow of the burner. She had been told many times not to touch the stove, that it was very dangerous - but it called to her, drew her like a magnet. The red spiral was just at eye level, bathing her face in a comforting warmth. Slowly, cautiously, she lifted her left hand and touched the outer most ring with the tip of her index finger. It felt warm, and interesting - certainly nothing to be afraid of. She placed her hand on the burner and felt all the rings. After several seconds of exploration her hand felt funny, as though sheathed in a glove. Her sense of touch blurred, with fine details fading away. There was an odd smell in the air as blood fried on the superheated metal. Mandy couldn't quite place the odor, but she knew it was wrong, like the smell of charred soup that had splashed over the side of the pot. She pulled her hand away and stared at it. Red streaks crisscrossed her palm and fingers, with blisters forming in several places. Blood oozed out of open sores and dripped onto the floor. This was curious indeed. Her Mom said the stove would "burn" her if she touched it; maybe this is what she meant. Mandy gently tasted the blood and the burnt skin. The taste was all wrong, especially for a part of her flesh. For the first time she was frightened by an injury, and her fear was driven home by her mother's horrified scream.
Trudy held Mandy's hand up and stared at it, then morphed her scream into a rhetorical question. "What did you do?!" She knew exactly what had happened, and she knew that it was her fault. She reached up and turned the stove off, closing the barn door after the fact. for a moment the incongruity of the situation left her speechless. Any other child would be writhing on the floor in pain, but Mandy just stood there, staring at her hand, her heart racing in her chest. Finally Trudy sprang into action, running cold water on the injured hand and wrapping it up in a towel. She was literally shaking as they drove to the hospital.
"It's ok Mommy." comforted Mandy. "I'm all right. Don't cry."
"I don't understand." declared the doctor who was treating Mandy in the ER. "Why isn't she screaming in pain?"
"It's a rare genetic defect." explained Trudy for the hundredth time. "It's called congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis, or CIPA for short. A single point recessive mutation causes the disorder." Technical terms were fair game, since she was speaking to a doctor. "Apparently my husband and I are carriers; we had no idea."
"So she feels nothing?" asked the doctor in disbelief.
"Her sense of touch is fine. She could read braille if someone taught her. But she lacks the nerve endings that convey pain or temperature extremes. That's why the burns are so severe. Anyone else would have pulled away at the first touch, but..."
"I understand. Well then, you won't need any pain medication. We just have to prevent infection and heal the tissue with a minimum of scarring. There will be some scars though; a couple of these spots are third degree."
"I understand." replied Trudy with resignation.
"You'll have to keep your eye on this little girl every moment." He turned to Mandy. "And you, you need to be very careful of hot things. Please stay away from them, all right?"
"Sure." Mandy looked up at him as though he were an uncle offering friendly advice. Her mouth formed the shape of a smile, though it seemed a bit grotesque without the teeth.
Thirty years later, a full complement of adult teeth formed a winning smile that flashed back at her in the mirror. Once again she was lucky. She only had trouble with one tooth, a second molar, and that was salvaged by a root canal. It was her fault really. "Make sure you see a dentist twice a year." admonished Trudy as her daughter went off to college. "You could have a horrendous cavity and not realize it." But this wisdom was soon forgotten in the flurry of academic and social activities. Four years later she had a degree in computer engineering with a minor in business administration, and a tooth that was beginning to abscess. Once again she had to describe her unusual condition to the dentist. "Trust me, I won't need any novocaine. You can drill away; I won't feel a thing." She could no more imagine the agony of the Marathon Man than a blind person can understand the colors of the rainbow. After several minutes of persuasion the dentist gently, cautiously applied his drill. Seeing no reaction, he pressed on through the pulp and down to the nerve. "This is one for the books." he thought as he completed the procedure.
Tooth #18, with its off-color cap, was not visible from the front, and in no way detracted from her pretty smile. Blue Oyster Cult came to mind: "Pretty girls, have a love affair. With their eyes, and their shining hair. Pretty girls, can't look away." Maybe so, but it wasn't just narcissism; image was important in her line of work. "Sure, I can impress them with my technical know-how, but I have to get their attention first." She'd get their attention all right, with her dirty hair matted flat against her head. "Guess I'll have to wash it tonight." She lifted one arm up and sniffed underneath. There was just a slight odor, almost imperceptible, but, better safe than sorry. "Damn, guess I better take a complete shower." Since she didn't sweat, there was no need to bathe on a regular basis. Once a week was plenty, provided she washed her hair in between. "I should have gotten a shower this morning with Kevin." she mumbled. Her husband usually went in with her as a matter of safety. He kept the water at just the right temperature, something she was unable to gauge herself. And he inspected her body for any new injuries, including nicks or cuts that might occur while shaving. Once they accepted the practicality of this arrangement, they began to enjoy their time together, soaping each other up with alacrity. Mandy closed her eyes and imagined Kevin's hands all over her body, working up a rich lather. He always saved the best parts for last. In an involuntary reaction she leaned back and spread her legs wide, but her sexual fantasy was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Room service."
Like a Chinese acrobat, the waiter carried her dinner, soup, silverware, wine, and ice water over to the desk next to the queen-sized bed. His brown eyes looked expectantly at her through wire rim glasses. She understood, and handed him a generous tip, which she would expense later. He smiled and left the room, closing the door gently behind him. Starting with the wine, she popped the cork and poured the first glass. The fragrance floated up into her nostrils as the sweet liquid passed over her tongue and down her throat. She leaned back in her chair, savoring the drink. Soon the glass was empty, and her dinner beckoned. She lifted the lid of her first aid kit and rummaged through the contents, searching for a specific item. "God, I was sure I brought the food thermometer." Soon a blue plastic item appeared, looking like an oversized pen with a display at one end and a thin metal probe at the other. She dipped the probe into her soup and pressed the button. "Wow! 139 degrees." Using a spoon, she scooped an ice cube out of her water and dropped it into the soup, then she tested her meat and potatoes. Finding them acceptable, she began to eat. The steak was perfect, just the way she liked it, and the wine was wonderful. By the end of the meal the bottle was almost empty, and the room seemed to lag behind just a bit when she turned her head.
The bed called to her, with its plush covers, and Mandy was tempted to turn in early, but then she remembered the shower. "I could take it in the morning - but it takes a while for my hair to dry. No, I'll get my shower tonight, then let my hair dry while I watch Star Trek reruns, or some other comfort show amongst these 76 channels." Another fishing expedition through the first aid kit produced a specialized water thermometer, resembling an oversized pen with a display at one end and a metal ball at the other. Mandy closed the first aid kit, stripped off her clothes, and located the soap and shampoo in a side pocket of her suitcase. She looked a bit odd, standing naked next to the shower, holding the bulb of the thermometer in the stream of falling water. "Too hot." she thought as she moved the lever towards the center. After 3 full minutes of an unwavering 104 degrees, she turned off her thermometer, placed it on the sink, stepped into the shower, and closed the glass door. The flowing water relaxed her muscles while the ethanol calmed her anxious mind. Tomorrow would be fine - tomorrow would take care of itself. After several minutes she remembered her mission, and reached for the shampoo on the ledge above the faucet. As often happens with human beings, alcohol was her first mistake. Without it, Mandy surely would have noticed the bump against her elbow as the joystick moved over to hot. And she would have recognized the significance of this minor mishap. But it barely registered through the veil of wine. Mandy moved her head out of the stream and worked the lather through her hair. Using her nails, she scrubbed down to the scalp. It felt wonderful - but - something was wrong. A cloud of steam surrounded her, and that feeling on her left shoulder and upper arm - she had felt that before. The skin tightening up, tightening like stretched rubber bands. It was the stove, 30 years ago! She turned her head and saw angry red skin through the steam. In an instant her right hand slammed the lever home, as her heart pounded against her chest. "Stupid, stupid,stupid!" She practically shouted it out loud for all to hear. Kicking the glass door open, she ran to the sink to inspect the damage, but the mirror was covered in fog. It took several pieces of toilet paper to clean the glass. Lather coated her head and dripped from the ends of her hair. Her face and neck were spared. Mandy gave thanks to a deity that she didn't believe in, then looked down and to the left. Cream white skin gave way to red streaks and nascent blisters spreading across her left breast, shoulder, and upper arm. It was bad all right - first degree down the side and second degree across the top. "Stupid!" she repeated.
Ignoring the thermometer, Mandy restarted the shower, letting it run cool. Although extremes of temperature did not register, she could certainly tell the difference between cool and warm. There was no pain to abate, but the cool water would start the healing process. Besides, she still had to rinse her hair.
Blood was the problem - the tiniest drop would show up against the white tile floor. With toilet paper in hand, she dabbed at the drops that fell here and there, in the shower stall, on the bathroom floor, and on the sink where she performed her initial inspection. As she cleaned up two spots, another drop would fall from an open sore on her arm. It was hard to stay ahead of the game.
Digging through her first aid kit, Mandy produced a small tube of aloe mixed with a topical antibiotic. It was half empty - insufficient for the job at hand. Looking around, she spotted her glass of ice water, which was almost empty. "Perfect." she thought, squeezing the contents of the tube into the glass. After some gentle stirring the mixture became a white milky liquid. Mandy poured the suspension out onto a wash cloth and gently applied it to her arm, shoulder, and side.
Like the aloe, the bandages in her kit were woefully inadequate. Mandy decided the hotel pillow case was expendable, while her wardrobe was not. Pulling a pair of scissors from her all-purpose kit, she cut the pillow case into long thin strips and wound them around her arm and shoulder. "Not bad for one hand." she mused, looking down at her work. "I knew my girlscout first aid training would prove useful someday." There was no practical way to bandage her chest, so she laid on her right side with her left breast exposed to the air. Clean wet hair splashed across the second pillow, which still had a viable case. With the wine still dulling her senses, Mandy fell asleep quickly. Fragments of dreams faded in and out during the night: steam, and blood, and blisters, and a flight that seemed to last for hours and hours with nothing but the drone of jet engines and the smell of canned air. If we really dream about things we want to forget, as some research suggests, then Mandy was right on track - reliving events that were too disturbing, or too mundane to dwell on during the day.
If the telephone had been invented in 1830, Edgar Allen Poe would surely have included another verse in his epoch poem.
"In the jinging and the janging,
as your peaceful thoughts it fells,
by the loud insistent clamor of the interrupting bells.
The bells bells bells bells bells bells bells.
Heed the jinging and the janging of the bells."
Mandy fumbled about for 30 seconds searching for the receiver. "Hello."
"This is your automated wake-up call, as you requested. We hope you enjoyed your stay at the Marriott - and have a nice day."
She placed the receiver in its cradle, turned on the bedside lamp, and recoiled at the sight. The makeshift bandage strips lay in tatters on the bed, smeared with blood. A mixture of ointment, water, and blood spattered the sheets, resembling a crime scene. Apparently she had rolled over several times during the night. Anyone else would have jumped up screaming the moment the sheet brushed against the burned skin, but not Mandy. She slept on one side and then the other, gliding through the night in perfect tranquility.
"Shit, what a mess!" She packed the bloody strips into a plastic bag, along with her nightgown, then rinsed off in the shower. The bed was a lost cause; Mandy had neither the time nor the resources to clean up the mess. She pulled the blanket and comforter up over the soiled sheets, hiding a multitude of sins. With the aid of her all-purpose scissors, the second pillow case was transformed into fresh bandages, running up the length of her arm and across her shoulder. "Wish I had some more aloe." she thought as she selected an outfit for the day, a white shirt with a dark blue long sleeve sweater. It wasn't her first choice, but the pretty short sleeve blouse that she packed for the occasion was out of the question. The sweater covered the bandages and made her feel like a new woman. She stood in front of the mirror for 20 minutes, arranging her hair just so, then packed up her suitcase and went down to the lobby.
"I'd like to check out please."
"Certainly." The receptionist took the key.
"But I'm afraid there's a problem."
"Oh?"
"You see, I'm a very sound sleeper, and, well, I guess I started my period last night."
At this point she mentally chided herself. "What do you mean you guess. Don't you know? Christ you're a terrible liar. Now quick, keep talking, so she doesn't realize how silly you are."
Mandy cleared her throat and continued. "Anyways, I'm afraid there's a lot of blood on the sheets. It's my fault, and you can add any cleanup costs to my credit card. I'll take care of it."
The receptionist, who was female, seemed sympathetic. "I understand. I'm afraid there may be a charge, that's out of my hands. But I appreciate your honesty. Thank you."
"I just wanted you to know."
"How was your stay last night?"
"Just fine - very nice."
"Great. Have a nice day."
In a plush conference room, all eyes were on Mandy as she neared the end of her presentation. Everyone was impressed with this sales rep from Transfinite Systems Inc, who seemed to be an expert in computers and business practices simultaneously.
"Finally we come to your most valuable asset, your employees." Mandy liked to close with this section. Even if her audience didn't believe it, they were forced to pay lip service, because it was politically correct. "I know you have some government contracts at the top secret level. Our system can track your employees by their badges. You'll know who is in your compartmentalized areas at all times, and I can tell you, the government is looking for this level of situational awareness." Two men in the front row nodded. "Besides surveillance and tracking, our system manages most of your personnel needs through internal corporate websites. Your employees can record their hours, request time off, update W4 forms, change 401k and esop contributions, all by tapping into our system. How much money will your HR department save when all this is automated?" The question was rhetorical, but a woman in the back was making a mental calculation nonetheless.
Mandy turned off the overhead and pulled out a stack of papers. "I'd like to give each of you a copy of our references." She walked amongst the tables, handing a sheet of paper to each person in turn. It was a nice touch, and it made sales. "These are articles in major publications, such as the Wallstreet Journal, describing the impact our enterprise wide system has had on various companies in the Fortune 500. Most of these firms have realized a savings of several million dollars per year, and that's just the tip of the iceberg. You may find," moving to the back row, "that you can compete more effectively for public and private contracts, especially when IT regulations and audits are involved. A certified system such as ours could make all the difference." Mandy returned to the front of the room. "Thank you for letting me speak to you today. Are there any more questions?"
Tom Sartan was an elderly gentleman with gray hair and glasses. He sat in the front row and took notes throughout the presentation. As the chief information officer, he would probably cast the deciding vote. After a couple minutes of silence he spoke for the group. "Thank you Mandy. I think we've asked enough questions along the way. I'm going to check out some of these references," he held up the piece of paper and filed it away in his notebook, "and then we'll come to a decision. I don't like to drag my heels on these matters." He turned towards the rest of the room. "If there are no other questions, I think we're dismissed. Mandy and I are going to have lunch in the Atrium, and you're all welcome to come along."
Most of the participants declined politely, but Kelly Banks, from finance, agreed to come along. She was young, perhaps younger than Mandy, yet she was already CFO of a mid-sized corporation. She had red hair and green eyes, and she wore a cream colored blouse, much like the one Mandy wanted to ware.
They found a table for three and looked through their menus. "The poached salmon is quite good." suggested Tom, and Kelly nodded in agreement.
Mandy imagined the waiter bringing a steaming ceramic dish and warning, "This is really hot, so be careful." No, she couldn't take any more chances, nor did she want to employ her food thermometer in front of her colleagues. "Thanks, but I had a pretty big meal at the hotel last night, and, well, counting calories you know. I'm probably going to get the chicken salad with mandarin oranges."
"Yes, that's good too." Tom declared, not wanting to be confrontational over something as silly as a lunch entree.
Small-talk bounced from person to person as they ate. They even flirted with politics, but since Tom was somewhat more conservative than his younger colleagues, they wisely backed away.
As Mandy neared the bottom of her salad bowl Kelly could contain her curiosity no longer. "Do you know someone over there?"
"Where?" asked Mandy.
"You keep looking to the left, over your shoulder."
Mandy could feel bodily fluids and blood seeping through the pillow case strips, and without realizing it, she was glancing at her left shoulder to see if anything was leaking through the sweater. "No." she began. "I thought I knew someone, a friend here in town, but it's not her. Sorry about that." She made a mental note to look straight ahead and keep her left arm as still as possible.
"Well that would be a coincidence, running into an acquaintance here in the Atrium." Tom ate the last bite of his salmon. "Now I know you have to catch a flight out, so I just want to tell you, before you leave, that I am probably going to recommend to my CEO that we purchase your system, and he usually trusts my judgment in these matters."
"That's fantastic." said Mandy with genuine relief.
"We'll need to hunt down those references, but if everything checks out, we'll be drawing up a contract in the next couple weeks."
"thank you. Thank you very much. May I tell my supervisor?"
"Yes, at your convenience."
Mandy put the last bite of chicken into her mouth and felt the dull thud of her tongue between her teeth. "Damn," she thought to herself, "another mistake." She stopped chewing and waited for the salty taste of blood. Tasting nothing but the chicken, she was reassured. "Just a minor bump, no big deal. Now settle down!"
"You all right?" asked Kelly, seeing her frozen in space.
"Yeah." Mandy replied. "Just bit my tongue, that's all."
"Oh I hate when that happens." She almost winced in sympathy, and Mandy tried to wince as well, sucking in air for effect. It was just an act - an act she had not perfected - but it fooled her lunch companions.
"Say, Mandy," Tom offered, "I don't mean to be forward, but that's a beautiful sweater, and it looks like you spilled some dressing up by your shoulder. If you wipe it up quick it might not stain." He passed a napkin across the table.
By dumb luck, Mandy had ordered red wine vinaigrette. She took the napkin and carefully dabbed at the spot. If she wiped it vigorously, it might bring more blood to the surface. Time to make an exit.
"Listen, I don't mean to eat and run, but if I go to the lady's room now, I'll have time to clean that spot before my flight."
"That's fine." said Tom. "We understand." They shook hands all around. Mandy gathered her belongings, went to the lady's room, pulled a light jacket out of her suitcase, and put it on over her sweater. That would have to suffice until she got home.
Mandy dropped off the rental car, went through security, and found an isolated spot in the airport. Pulling out her cell phone, she called Kevin at work. "Hope he's not in a meeting." she thought as she pressed the undersized buttons on the small keypad.
"Hi Kevin."
"Yeah, I'm at the airport. My flight leaves in 40 minutes."
"Pretty well. Their CIO says we're going to get the contract."
"Yeah, it's great, but..."
"Right. It's a $50,000 commission."
"Hey, that's a good idea. The kids have never been to Florida."
"They'll love Disney World, and Sea World, and everything else down there. But I..."
"Well of course we're going to save some of it. A college fund is a good idea. But..."
"Thank you. But listen Kevin, there's a problem. I was badly burned last night."
"In the shower. I must have bumped the joystick or something and..."
"Sure I saw the steam, but it just didn't register." She decided not to tell him about the wine.
"It's pretty bad. First and second degree over a wide area."
"No, thank God. Just my arm, shoulder, and side. But I can't treat it myself. Can you call Dr. Halter before the office closes and make an appointment for me tomorrow?"
"Thanks."
"I can't wait to get home and see you tonight."
She smiled at his suggestions. "Well you might not want to do all that when you see my arm. It isn't pretty."
"All right, you can close your eyes. I'll see you in a few hours."
"Love you, very much."
Mandy's jacket effectively hid her secret from potentially curious passengers and flight attendants, and as a result her trip home was uneventful. She couldn't wait to get home, back into the arms of someone who understood her, back to a world where she never had to lie or pretend.
Kevin recoiled when he saw the severity of her burns. It was an involuntary reaction that would persist, no matter how many times he told himself "It doesn't hurt." It was driven into the human psychy from birth, and no amount of classical unconditioning would remove it. He steeled himself, assumed an air of medical detachment, and looked again at her arm. "Baby, I don't think you should wait til tomorrow. Let's see if we can get you into urgent care."
"Ok." Without pain to guide her, she had to trust his judgment, and he was usually right about such things. To any outside observer, she was a successful, independent woman; but she needed him, needed him in so many ways. She was lucky to have him, as a friend and as a lifelong partner.