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Any other time, any other person, any other diagnosis, and I’d not bother a nurse because of a slightly warmer than usual forehead. But this is my mom, and we’ve already ended treatment. We know what’s coming. So I push up to stand and tap the call button on the wall behind her pillows.
Already, when I bring my gaze back down, Mom’s eyes are shut, and her breathing begins to even. “I’m just gonna get Brenda in here to take your temperature, okay?” I release her hand and set it gently on the bed, then I turn to make my way toward the door, only to hiss when I remember my injured leg and the walking stick I’m supposed to use.
Like a little old lady being forced to hunch over a cane.
I snatch the damned thing up and use it to bear a little of my weight, then I take a step toward the door, only to stop again when Brenda bustles in. “What’s up, baby girl?” She blows right past me and switches off the call button on the wall; then she pulls my mother over to lie again on her back.
Mom mumbles in her half-awake state, but allows the movements and smacks her lips as Brenda sets her fingers against Mom’s wrist.
“I thought she was just feeling a little warm, is all.” I turn on my heels and hobble back to take my place on the opposite side of the bed. “She’s kinda feisty today,” I admit with a smile. “She’s trying to lecture me. But she’s dozing off already, and when I kissed her forehead, she felt a little hot.”
“Let me check.” Brenda tugs a thermometer from one of her myriad scrubs pockets and pops the container open to reveal the little white and silver device inside. Slipping a plastic cover over the end, she slides it under Mom’s armpit and hits a button to get it started. “She’s been awake a fair bit already today,” she mumbles, reading the reports that hang from the heart monitor. “You caught the tail-end of it, honey. Which really sucks.”
“I was studying.” I rest against the side of the bed and hitch my hip up to take a little weight off my leg. “I have a paper to write, and I’m already running late on it. She’s been pretty sleepy the last few days, so I expected it would be the same again today and stayed home a little longer.”
“You did good.” She grabs the beeping thermometer and makes a mental note of the temperature, then she places the device back in its container and the container back in her pocket. “She wants you to succeed, Rory. She wants so badly for you to kick life’s ass and do with it the things she never could.”
“No pressure.” I slide off the side of the bed and sit in my chair instead. “If I’m just a regular girl who achieves nothing special, I become a disappointment to her?”
She cough-laughs and purses her lips as our eyes meet. “You’re feeling a little blue today, huh? Swimming in self-pity?”
Scowling, I look down into my lap and shrug. “So? Every woman is entitled to a day of feeling bad for herself.”
“Not for as long as your momma is here.” She reaches up to the bags of fluid hung from the IV pole and gives one a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be the first to hug you when you need it, sweet Aurora. But I’ll also be the first in line to kick your ass and remind you that you come from lioness stock. Folks don’t get much stronger than Eleanor Swanson, so for as long as she’s here, fighting the good fight, you don’t get to curl up in a ball and feel sorry for yourself. She’s dialing in at one-oh-one,” she adds, reciting the thermometer’s reading. “You were right. She’s a little warm but nothing too crazy.”
“What do we do about it?” I wring my fingers together, now that my mother isn’t awake to watch me fret, and tap my foot on the floor. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. “Do you wanna call the doctor?”
“Well…” She writes her notes in the file at the end of Mom’s bed and glances up at me with a smile. “You’re the smarty pants in medical school now. Why don’t you tell me what you think should be done?” She casts a quick glance over her shoulder, as though to make sure the hospital’s board of directors aren’t listening in, then brings her smiling gaze back to me. “Hypothetically, of course. What would you do if she was your patient?”
“Umm…” I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and work hard to separate the patient—my mother—from the theoretical knowledge I’ve acquired so far. “Fever says the patient is having an immune response to infection. If she presented with no other history, we’d run labs to see what kind of infection she’s battling, at which point, we could treat and help the patient.”
Brenda leans across the bed and checks the IV tucked into my mother’s elbow crease. “However?”
I draw a heavy breath and noisily exhale again. “Thispatient comes with a history. She’s battling stage four breast cancer, has exhausted all treatment options, and has since consented to ado-not-resuscitateorder. Patient is terminal.” And damn my voice for breaking on that final word. “Patient is undergoing palliative care and not expected to live more than a couple of weeks.”
“The last bit is your opinion.” She straightens out and sets her hands in her pockets. “It’s not our job to tell a patient or their family how much time is left, Rory. That’s a weight for the treating oncologist to carry. It’s our job to provide comfort. Medically, emotionally, spiritually.”
I bring a hand up and rub it across my lips in frustration. She’s right. I’m wrong. And the fact I am is proof enough that no one should treat their family members. The conflict of interest puts everyone at risk.
“I’m going to administer a little pain relief,” she murmurs. “And prepare her for her night’s rest. It’s possible she’ll be out until tomorrow now. So if you have somewhere to be…” She glances toward the window that looks out onto a busy street pulsing with cars and buses ferrying first responders to and from work. The police station is a block or two to the left, and the morgue is the same distance to the right. Apartment buildings fill every empty space for those first responders to live in, and traffic is constantly moving. “Could be a good evening to go out and meet a sexy man, Ms. Aurora.”
I sit back in my seat and laugh under my breath. But when Mom’s hand moves in her sleep and reaches in my direction, I lean forward and take it between my palms. If she’s searching for comfort, I’ll give it to her. If she needs me, I’ll be first in line to lay down my time and energy.
I could be with her, holding her hand and stroking her cheek every minute from now until the end, and still, I wouldn’t come close to how much she’s brought me comfort in this life.
“I’m gonna stay here awhile.” I open my mom’s hand and rest her palm against my face. Her forehead is too warm, yet her fingers are too cold. But I cup hers with mine and lend her a little of my heat. “Can you sneak me a sandwich or something when they’re doing the dinner rounds? I want to stay until I know she’s really out for the night.”
“I’ll get you snacks.” She turns on her heels and starts toward the door. “I’ll get you juice, too. But I’m kicking you out by seven, okay? The next shift starts then, anyway, and you know Berta isn’t gonna let you stay after visiting hours.”
Berta. Also known as Nurse Ratched.
Brenda tells the truth, and I don’t want to sit here and watch Bitchy Berta stomp through anyway, so I nod my acceptance of her terms and wonder what I’m going to do tonight.
I could call my dad.Not.
I could head down the street to the bar known as Tim’s.Though I won’t.That costs money.
I could go home and sit in the cold. Snuggle up under a blanket and watch a little trash TV.
