Like Wood
As we enter the Critical Care Unit, the night clerk looks up with a gentle smile that is a curious blend of welcome, sympathy and social habit. I offer back a half smile of thanks but it doesn’t feel any more genuine than I imagine hers to be. She has already returned to her charts. Most of the visitors have left for the evening and the floor is quiet save for the rhythmic beep of monitors, gentle hiss of oxygen and periodic decompressions of ventilators marking our way down the corridor. Mom’s room is at the end of the hall, adjacent to the nurses’ station. The “room” is actually a cubicle, solid on 3 sides with a glass partition facing the hall so the critical care nurses could easily look in on her. We step through the open sliding glass door to find her resting in that peculiar half slumber known only to hospital patients and I know that much of what is happening to her now will only be recalled as a disjointed dream in the weeks ahead.
“Mom?” I lean down slightly and whisper, debating whether I should just let her rest. The monitor above beeps out her heartbeat in a steady rhythm but the blood pressures are still high. I remind myself that she isn’t out of the woods yet. My eyes scan the tangle of iv tubes and monitor cords, before coming to rest on the deep yellow urine that is pooling in her catheter bag. No, we are not out of the woods.
“Oh, hi. How was dinner?” Mom’s voice is weak and raspy. Her lips are dry and caked with thick saliva and it is clear that the nurses never did get around to offering the oral hygiene that Suzie had promised. I force myself to stay close to her as we talk, trying to hold my breath. Anger gives way to horror as I realize that everything about this situation repulses me. Every part of me wants this not to be happening. And I am ashamed to realize that, in that moment, what I most want is for this not to be happening to me.
“You know”, Mom's eyes are closed and I am uncertain whether she is speaking to us or just to herself, “I’m glad this happened. Now I really understand what my father was going through. But I’m not scared or anything. I know it’s all going to work out just fine.” A small smile flits across her face. “It’s going to be fine.”
As she drifts back to sleep I will myself to lean in close against the sourness of her breath and kiss her forehead as we prepare to go. Almost as an afterthought, I touch her shoulder. My hand feels like wood.
Alex and I leave. I don’t remind the nurse that my mother just wants to brush her teeth.
Articles from this blog may not be reprinted without express permission from the author.
If you have arrived here with the story already in progress, please go to the first post and work your way forward.
“Mom?” I lean down slightly and whisper, debating whether I should just let her rest. The monitor above beeps out her heartbeat in a steady rhythm but the blood pressures are still high. I remind myself that she isn’t out of the woods yet. My eyes scan the tangle of iv tubes and monitor cords, before coming to rest on the deep yellow urine that is pooling in her catheter bag. No, we are not out of the woods.
“Oh, hi. How was dinner?” Mom’s voice is weak and raspy. Her lips are dry and caked with thick saliva and it is clear that the nurses never did get around to offering the oral hygiene that Suzie had promised. I force myself to stay close to her as we talk, trying to hold my breath. Anger gives way to horror as I realize that everything about this situation repulses me. Every part of me wants this not to be happening. And I am ashamed to realize that, in that moment, what I most want is for this not to be happening to me.
“You know”, Mom's eyes are closed and I am uncertain whether she is speaking to us or just to herself, “I’m glad this happened. Now I really understand what my father was going through. But I’m not scared or anything. I know it’s all going to work out just fine.” A small smile flits across her face. “It’s going to be fine.”
As she drifts back to sleep I will myself to lean in close against the sourness of her breath and kiss her forehead as we prepare to go. Almost as an afterthought, I touch her shoulder. My hand feels like wood.
Alex and I leave. I don’t remind the nurse that my mother just wants to brush her teeth.
Articles from this blog may not be reprinted without express permission from the author.
If you have arrived here with the story already in progress, please go to the first post and work your way forward.
posted by Laura Young at 2:35 PM
2 Comments:
ok, I am trying not to be toooo pushy .... but c'mon... its like losing a book which you started reading! you're keeping us in suspense farrrr toooo longggg... and even if you dont have a conscience for your readers, you need to have a push and a shove to KEEP AT IT... its been nearly a week! loving the read... WELL DONE for everything so far... you are great. love J x
Sorry for the delay, darling. THANKS for the push! And, I should have a conscience for my readers. Thanks for the compliments and the inspiration to keep going!!!
XOXO
L
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