Before I can figure it out, Sam pulls into a “10 minute only” parking spot.
“Sit right there for a second,” he commands, and my god, he’s sexy when he gives orders.
He jumps out of the truck and comes to my side, opening the door for me. As soon as my feet hit the ground, he wraps me in his strong arms for a hug.
“You go in and find your mom, see if you can talk to a doctor or someone tonight. I’ll go check us into a decent hotel and get settled. Text me when you want me to come pick you up, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. That sounds good. I’ll text you soon.” Relief that Sam is taking control of the logistics while my mind is so scrambled washes over me.
“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he says. He kisses me tenderly on the forehead, and I head toward the entrance. I pull my jacket close around me. How is it that it feels colder here than it does out on the coast?
I walk into the hospital, and even though it’s only just after dinnertime on a Friday night, there aren’t many people around. Thankfully, there’s a lady with short, white hair and glasses sitting at the reception desk. She smiles at me as I approach. After I give my mother’s name, she checks my ID, gives me a visitor pass, and directs me to the fourth floor.
It feels like there’s a lead weight in my gut as the elevator rises. I have no idea what I’m going to find there. Sometimes my mother can be physically violent, sometimes she’s verbally abusive, and other times she’s quiet and docile. I don’t know what to expect.
Once I’m on the right ward, a nurse directs me to a room at the far end of one of the dimly lit hallways. I guess it’s lights-out early for these folks.
Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and walk into the hospital room. It’s not a private room; there are four people in there, and to my surprise, there’s a mix of both men and women. Strange—I didn’t know hospital rooms were co-ed. I have to look at each person twice before I recognize my mother, and I can’t help the gasp that escapes me when I realize the tiny, shrunken form lying motionless in the bed furthest away from the door is her. On Jell-O-like legs, I take a few steps closer to the bed to make sure, but yes, it’s definitely my mother. To be honest, she hasn’t looked like my mom for a few years, not since she’s been in the care home, but now she looks like… I don’t know… some kind of… elf or hobbit or something. She was always a small person, but she’s barely bigger than a child now. One of her arms is in a cast up to her armpit. There’s a white gauze bandage on her forehead that might need to be changed since the dark patch on it shows she’s been bleeding underneath it. The skin around her eyes is such a dark purple it’s nearly black with the double shiners she’s sporting. I can’t see what’s going on underneath her blankets, but it looks like she has a cast on one of her legs as well. Her mouth is slightly open, and she’s breathing shallowly. She’s attached to an IV and a heart rate monitor, which beeps softly as I stand there staring.
Jesus fucking Christ.How the hell do you do that much damage from a simple fall? My mother is only in her fifties, but she looks closer to eighty years old right now.
I’m still standing at the foot of her bed, dumbfounded, when a nurse comes bustling into her area.
“Oh, well, hi there!” she says in a cheerful voice. I’ve got my hearing aids turned up, so even though she’s not looking at me, I can hear her. “My name’s Tonya. You’re here to visit Miss Shelly?”
“Um, yes,” I stammer. “I’m, um. Her son. I’m her son. One of her sons.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” She fusses around my mother’s bed for a moment, checking one of the machines she’s hooked up to and then putting two fingers on my mother’s wrist and glancing at her watch while she gets the vital signs. She smiles at me when she’s finished and then types some notes into the tablet that’s attached to my mother’s bed. “I always like to double-check these machines by doing it the old-fashioned way when I have time,” she says with a wink. She’s got an accent that I can both hear and see in her mouth movements. Maybe from somewhere in the South?
Given that the rooms are dark, and it seems like most of the patients, in this room at least, are down for the night, it doesn’t seem like I’ll be able to talk to a doctor tonight. Tonya is probably going to have more info than anyone else right now.
“Um, is it, can we, can I—can I talk to you about her?” I ask, feeling like a fool. I don’t know the etiquette for these kinds of situations. Can a nurse pass information to me, or does everything have to come through the doctor? I haven’t got a clue.
“Of course, honey,” she says with a kind smile. “Come with me so we don’t wake anyone in here.”
I follow her out of the room and down the hall to the nurses’ station, where she takes a seat behind the desk and looks up at me.
“I’m not sure how much you’ve been told by your mother’s care home, but I can tell you what I know.”
I nod.
“She came in earlier today, after spending a few hours in the emergency department. According to her file, she had an altercation with another resident at the care home.” Tonya clears her throat and squints at the screen she’s reading from. “Apparently, she pushed another resident down a flight of stairs, but the other person grabbed her and pulled her with them, so they both fell. Seems like your momma took the brunt of it, though, as the other person was treated here but was released.”
“Oh, fuck,” I say without thinking, and then I’m immediately embarrassed. “Oh my god, I’m sorry.” Tonya waves off my apology, and I clear my throat. “God, she… she pushed someone down the stairs? That’s how this happened?”
She gives me another kind look. “I don’t know any more than that, but I see here that your mom has advanced dementia?”
I nod.
“So, I know it’s hard, but try to remember that these kinds of issues are real common for people struggling with that. It’s a terrible disease. You have to remember it’s not really her that’s doing all these out-of-character things. The behavior, especially the violence, that’s her illness talking, not your momma.”
I nod. This is stuff I’ve heard before, but until now, I haven’t had to face the fact that her condition has gotten so bad she’s able to hurt people—herself included. “Um, do you… Can you tell me what injuries she has?”
Tonya looks down at the screen and starts reading off a list. After about five things, I start to tune out. I barely know what any of it means, but suffice it to say that my mother is seriously fucked-up.
I’m not sure what to say, and I have no idea what to do next. It must be painfully obvious because Tonya stands and puts her warm hand over top of mine where it’s resting on the desk. She gives me a squeeze. “I don’t think I got your name, honey. What’s your name?” she asks.
“Tyler,” I mumble.
