mental retardation

Chapter 1: the fall.

A dull thump is all Allen heard in the very moment every parent fears the most happening to their newborn baby, followed by a high-pitched screech collectively recognized in the animal kingdom as the final attempt to draw from all available energy and signal that danger was imminent. For an outsider, it couldn’t have been more than a few moments, but to him, time stopped. No matter how much he tried, he could not move an inch from the hallway floor that he had just slipped on. Was his daughter's future forever ruined? His heart had never pounded faster, and his dizziness completely overwhelmed him, making him draw a blank page on what he had read and mentally gone through as preparation for such an incident. The flood of blame and shame lingering on every corner of the path of his thoughts left him momentarily paralyzed.

“What happened?” said a familiar voice in a firm tone.  

“I, I, I don’t know.” is all that Allen could muster to say, scarcely audible, since the screaming has filled the whole room with a noise pitch that probably tore part of his eardrum. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to explain the surge of headache and his struggle not to fall unconscious to the ground. Adrenaline is said to help mothers lift cars off their children; to him, it felt like he was crushed by a truck.  

“Try calming down and explaining to me how you got here,” asserted the same female voice again.

“I was about to go and change Diana’s diaper and forgot to bring the baby powder from the living room. On my way back, I slipped on one of her toys and she fell with me.”, narrated Allen. He could tell that he was slowly coming back to his senses.  

A few seconds of silence, until he was met with “Do you know whether she fell on her head?”, when his face rushed red as he started screaming: “Why the hell do you keep asking me these questions, shouldn’t we worry about the crying infant first? What am I supposed to do?” wailed the desperate father cluelessly, as he was reaching down to his baby daughter, lifting her into his arms, pressing her gently onto his body, and rocking side to side.

“You need to take her to the hospital immediately”, she said.  

“Thank you, Sherlock, how about you make yourself useful and call the ambulance for me?”, he said desperately - both his hands were tightly pressed against his infant daughter now in hopes that her crying would stop.  

“They will be here in ten minutes, please walk down the stairs and wait for them there”, she advised.  

“What do you mean? It’s minus seven degrees outside. If I take her out like this, she will freeze to death by the time the ambulance is here. Also, how am I supposed to get dressed and pack necessities if you are here sitting on your bottom and not helping?” he exclaimed. 

With no time to spare, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He did have an emergency bag ready for such cases; he just had to reach back in the bedroom closet to get it. He threw his wallet and keys inside, got dressed, and they left. The commotion had led neighbors to curiously peek outside their apartments and stare at the restless family rushing down the stairs and into the ambulance trunk.  

“We need you to provide us with your daughter's health insurance card to react fast once we reach the hospital,” said the paramedic.  

“You can reach for it in my satchel,” insisted Allen.  

“Sir, by law we cannot. You are required to have the health insurance card of your daughter scanned so we can react fast once we reach the hospital”, repeated the paramedic.

As silly as it may have sounded to him, he fixed Diana to his left and pressed her firmly against his belly, while simultaneously reaching into the wallet inside his bag to fish out the card and clamp it between his palm and the scanning device to the right of him. The repeated turns and breaks made by the driver rendered the card valid only after the third attempt, which was met with a deep sigh of relief from Allen.  

“What’s going to happen next?” he asked, visibly distraught. Diana’s crying abated in the car, though her body was trembling. Her father’s lullabies had a soothing effect on her shock, and her cramped hands and feet had loosened up slightly. A pediatrician was waiting in the emergency room to examine the infant for concussions and visible injuries, the paramedic explained.

“Afterwards”, he resumed, “she would be placed into special machinery to screen for internal injuries to organs and bones, followed by a brain scan to assess damage to cognitive functions”. Having just arrived, the ambulance door was opened from the outside, and the baby was gently placed into a portable baby pod. Just as Allen followed them into the hospital, he was instructed by security to register first at the reception. Without valid identification, he wouldn’t be able to accompany his daughter to the examination room. At the desk, the receptionist handed him a tablet and asked him to register. Allan barely managed to type his name and personal information; his fingers were still shaking from the tremor that had spread to his extremities. 

When submitting the form, an error message popped up on the screen. “I am receiving an internal error. Is that normal?” he wondered. “No, sir, may I see?” the lady inquired. “Very unusual, please try it once more.”, she insisted. “I am sorry, but my six-month-old daughter is being examined right now, and I need to be next to her”, claimed the father. “Without proper registration, the law states that we cannot admit you as the guardian of your daughter, who – from what I can see in the system – was already registered ten minutes ago on the way to the hospital. Please, try it again.”, she demanded. Allan reloaded the form, entered his personal data again, but the error reappeared.

Worried about how long it had been taking already, he quickly tried it two more times. No success. “It is not working! What the hell of a system are you operating here?” he screamed. “I can offer to reboot the system. An alternative, however, would be to write down your information by hand, and we will scan and enter it into the system later.”, she proposed. “I never learned how to write; we only studied on keyboards in school”. He couldn’t believe the absurdity of the situation and remembered the dinner discussions his parents had long after the state passed the “Digitalization Act”, which ruled that children born after 2034 would no longer require handwriting, which led to writing classes being replaced with touch-typing exercises on a keyboard instead.

Had he listened to his father and paid more attention to his advice in the evening sessions when they were trying to teach him themselves, but gave up because he was crying and screaming stubbornly. He hated writing; it was an unnatural motion his fingers weren’t used to early on in his childhood. The idea of pressing a wooden stick between index finger and thumb to smear symbols on another piece of wood didn’t resonate with him, when he could simply speak to his metal buddy and get any answer immediately.  

But that didn’t matter much to him, or did it? Why should he feel shame for a system that did not prepare him for such a situation, but slowly disarmed him of every ounce of critical thought that was ready to be had, had he just looked more closely into himself. All he felt was anger at everyone who joined in watching him, desperately trying to argue his case.  

Please, it will take at least ten minutes for anyone I know to come and sign the sheet for me, but I need to see my baby now! he exclaimed.  

Should’ve known better, fool. replied a person he did not recognize. 

Must be a stranger, spoke Allen to himself.  

What do you mean by stranger, you weirdo? Keep your thoughts to yourself! shouted another one. 

It couldn’t have been his fault; if that damn system was not working and kept rebooting, it’s the hospital's fault for not providing enough security and redundancy to their own system. he thought to himself. The only thing he wants is to stay close to his only piece of life and avoid losing any future chance of a joyful moment free of worries and fears; instead, he must fear missing whatever was left between them. He has heard of cases where babies had to stay for weeks on to monitor for damages that would occur long after an incident happened.  

Instead of watching me, why is no one willing to help me out? He wailed at his surroundings.  

You are not worth it; you’re just going to pull us down with you! is the first response he received to his surprise. 

All I am asking is for someone to help me fill out my name on the paper sheet. I will compensate you for your time, please! cried Allan in wane.  

James, man, hey, it’s me, Allan. Look, I had an incident today with my baby daughter, and I can’t see her unless someone enters my personal information written by hand. he spoke on his phone.

It was his work colleague that came up when he tried to think of one person that would be able and willing to help.  

<quick insertion begin> i might be tripping but this Wix service seems to be super buggy. i really don't like it, and I am thinking to just stop pretending like I don't do IT for a living and just code out my own fucking blog page. AHHHEHIEHI, that's me retching in case you were wondering. quick insertion end> 

An hour later, James arrived at the hospital in work attire.

“Is she doing okay?” he asked.  

“I don’t know, man, they won’t let me see her. Thank you for coming, you are my lifesaver,” said Allen.  

“I’ll have to get home to Jannet right after, but if you need anything else, just drop me a message. I will make sure to have my notifications on loud,” assured James while he was filing the input form.  

“You’re too kind, thank you. I will go as well and see my daughter. Thank you so much again. Please send my regards to Jannet,” said the relieved father as he scribbled a signature he had not used in decades.  

He walked past the reception and followed the secretary's instructions: Up the elevator to floor number three, then a right turn into the intensive care unit along the hallway; the infant station would be to the left in sector E. He did as he was told and was searching through a glass wall for his daughter in a room of incubated infants.  

“Are you Mr. Glasburry?” asked the Doctor in charge.  

“Yes, how is she doing?” responded the nervous dad. He identified her in the opposite corner and saw her sleeping.  

“Diana has no broken bones or internal injuries. The brain scans did not show any unusual patterns. We sedated her slightly to calm her from the shock that she experienced from the fall. You will be able to take her home by the end of the week. You can see her during visiting hours until then,” comforted the doctor.  

Injuring himself and his daughter on a Tuesday evening was certainly not part of his plans, and he could feel the toll it had taken on his energy levels. His bones were sore, his body was tired. He stood outside the room for another hour and observed his daughter sleeping. It occurred to him that his work was unfinished since he left home around 3 pm, which led him to request a cab and drive home. There would still be time to see her tomorrow after some rest.

Chapter 2: the beginning.

“Go ahead inside, children”, hushed Ms. Faunt at the two dozen primary school children running into their very first and own classroom.  

“When I was your age, we had more enthusiasm to study,” she gently guided the remaining, shy children to their seats. The sheer sadness that came with her occupation rose to mind, which led her shaking off her doubts and start the class with the excitement she remembered her teacher have. 

“Alright, children. I know many of you cannot wait to try out the school equipment, but before you get to use them, we will first teach you how they work. It is important to us that you realize that you are enough and don’t need Agents to feel joy in your life.”, no matter how much she tried to rationalize her life, it sent shivers down her spine to regurgitate the misleading practices of the government. What was all her study worth if after years of teaching, a single governmental reform would destroy the essence of what was considered schooling once.  

“Ms. Faunt, Allan turned the Agent on!” shouted little Raley on the other corner of the rectangle-shaped order of tables.  

“Mr. Glassbury, I warn you once and for all. You are not to be toying around with your Agent.” said Ms. Faunt, boiling over the edge of the table.