text: Disclaimer** This story was originally written by my grandmother. There's a link in the comments to photo's of the original piece. All spelling and grammatical errors are as written on the original version. **FIFTEEN MINUTES IN THE TWILIGHT ZONE** It was one of those temporary Army hospitals, at a temporary Army base, and temporarily, half of the hospital staff had been recruited to assist at a local train disaster. My inflamed appendix, sizzled dangerously, as they wheeled me along the assembly line, to the operating room. I only hoped George would remember to do a diaper-wash first thing in the morning. It had been the technician, checking my blood count, that reminded me how calamitous a diaper shortage might become. But George Davis was defanitely the competent sort, so perhaps I was worrying needlessly. In the twenty minutes it took the Doctor to make the necessary hospital arrangements, my George, had with his usual proficiency, appropriated a housekeeper, prepared Ginny’s formula, and packed an adequate suit-case for me. Perhaps I would take his advice after-all and enjoy the advantages afforded to hospital patients. The anesthesia was taking effect and I was beginning to appreciate this unexpected reprieve, away from formulas, diapers, and cod-liver oil. A week’s rest would be a most welcome luxury indeed! In this buoyant frame of mind, I eagerly slipped away and awoke on the morrow, still under the investigating influence of Pentothal (that exhilarating new wonder-drug combination that erased all sense of depression.) I gazed about me lazily, examining my new surroundings. It must have been quite an accident, I thought. For lack of space they seemed to have emptied a conference room which now served as a sizable ward. The warm tea they gave me was nice, but I was beginning to feel a mite hungry when they started rolling the carts through the hall. I propped myself up slowly against the pillows and waited contendtedly, to see what they were serving. I was still a bit drowsy, and dozed periodically, for just seconds. From this delicious state, a soft, professional voice roused me. “Mrs. David, wake up and see what we have here for you.” I couldn’t tell by smelling what we were having, and I certainly didn’t want to miss the thrill of being served in bed, so I forced myself awake and smiled at the lovely young nurse. She deposited a soft squirming bundle, majestically, into my arms, and shoved a leaky milk bottle into my palm. Without any more ado, she departed. I couldn’t even scream!......I was totally paralyzed! Speachless, voiceless, and motionless, I lay there aghast! I automatically stuck the bottle into the gaping mouth, and sat in a frozen stuper, appalled and numb, suspended in my own private twilight zone. Frantically, I tried to assemble in my mind, the chronological events of the last ‘yesterday’ I could remember. My little Ginny was only five months old....George had brought me here to have my appendix removed. It was my ‘appendix’!...I distinctly remembered my Doctor saying “Appendix”. This baby just couldn’t be! Somebody made a mistake. Yes, that was it! It was just a simple mistake. The nurse must have thought I was someone else. That’s all there was to it! The relief was overwhelming. Weak and limp, I leaned back against the now clammy pillows, trembling from exhaustion, but still clutching in my arms a loudly sucking infant. Suddenly, I could picture George coming blithely through that door. My George, with his calm, efficient exterior, who always had a very logical, scientific answer for everything. I giggled rapturously, at the thought of George explaining this one to me. The moments ticked on and I wondered where all the nurses had disappeared to. Probably under-staffed today, I mused, with all the casualties from the train wreck to tend. The baby had drained the bottle, and I turned ‘It’ automatically, sunny side up. I had become quite adept in five month of motherhood. But when was that nurse coming back for the baby? It’s Mother must be getting anxious by now. I was starting to feel a nervous tremor in the pit of my stomach again. My eyes strained at the door for the pretty young nurse, who had said, “Mrs. Davis, see what we have here for you. “Mrs. Davis, she had called me! I felt my pulses begin to throb. I lifted my trembling, ivy fingers to my hammering brow, while the baby lay peacefully oblivious, across my lap. Waves of nausea were sweeping over me again. “No”, I sternly reprimanded myself. “Don’t panic... think coherently”, I tried to steel myself to reason it all out, the way George often did in a crisis. I fumbled awkwardly with the baby’s blanket and found the beaded bracelet on it’s wrist. I starred hard in disbelief at the name tag which read “Baby Davis”! I closed my eyes against the sheer, mad nightmare engulfing me. “Mrs. Davis”, a cool, familiar voice, spoke quietly. “I’m sorry to have troubled you, but the ‘other’ Mrs. Davis was moved to the maternity floor, only this morning. There wasn’t time to correct the nursery charts...We’ve been a little short-handed here today...I hope this hasn’t been too exhausting for you”. She smiled apologetically, and with the sleeping babe in the crook of her arm, she weaved her way around the maze of beds and disappeared down the corridor.