Today I Am Carey

by Martin L Shoemaker

  The next day, Tabitha is still home, but I find her fever is gone. Her temperature is elevated, but not within a range of concern. She is more energetic today, up and out to the bathroom several times, and downstairs twice for cookies. By lunch all pretense is gone. She follows me around, talking and playing with her toys.

  “Tabitha,” I say, “You seem to be feeling better.”

  “Oh.” She coughs. “I’m sick.”

  “Tabitha, I do not think so.”

  “I’m sick, Uncle Carey. I am sick. I’ll go back to bed.”

  “You are well enough that you should be in school today.”

  She looks down at her feet. Finally, in a disconsolate voice, she says, “I know, but I wanted to see you.”

  “Tabitha . . .”

  She looks up at me. “I know it was wrong, but I wanted to be with you, Uncle Carey. I missed you.”

  I rub her head. “That is nice, but I do not think your mother would appreciate it. It would only upset her.”

  “I don’t understand, Uncle Carey. Why is Mommy so sad all the time? And mad sometimes?”

  I shake my head. “Sometimes we cannot understand. We simply accept. Now I think you had better get back up into bed before your mother gets home. And tomorrow, I do not think you will be sick, will you?”

  “No, Uncle Carey. You won’t tell Mom?”

  I hesitate. “Secrets sometimes get people into trouble, Tabitha, but I understand why you did this. No, I will not tell your mother. But this will not happen again, will it?”

  “No, Uncle Carey.”

  46. Today Susan Reaches a New Stage

  Three months later, there is a new item on the shopping list from Millie: adult diapers in Susan’s size. There was an incident the night before. That day when I take Susan to DeBruyn’s, she is out of sorts. She answers questions only tersely, if at all.

  When I turn down the hygiene aisle, she stops. “Where are you going?”

  “I am getting the items on the shopping list.”

  She looks away from the aisle. “There’s nothing we need here.”

  “Millie specifically said—”

  She stops me. “I don’t care what Millie said. There is nothing we need here. I’m leaving, Carey.” She heads straight for the exit.

  I abandon the cart and take off after her. “Susan, I am sorry. Please, you cannot leave. We are not done shopping yet.”

  “I’m done,” she says. “Are you?”

  I can see she is getting even more irritated. “All right, Susan, I am done. Now please, stand right here and I will go get the cart.”

  By the time I return with the cart, Susan has moved again; but Kathryn is talking to her, asking about how the grandchildren are doing in school. As I approach, Kathryn nods slightly at me and smiles.

  “Oh, there you are, Carey,” Susan says, “Have we checked out yet?”

  “Not yet, Susan. Come on, let us get checked out, and then we can get back home.”

  Millie is upset to learn that we got no diapers, even after I quietly explain Susan’s behavior. So I go online to place an order, and I pay for rush delivery out of my own funds. When the door chimes the next morning, I step outside, accept the diapers from the delivery van, and take them in through the garage into the laundry room. There I am reminded of the reason for Millie’s concern: three soiled sets of bedsheets and undergarments. Two sets are fresh from the night before, but one is older. Even though I do not need to sleep, I had not had time to wash them the night before. I put all three sets into the wash and go in to check on Susan.

  Today is Garrett’s high school awards celebration, so Millie is taking the day off from the university so that she and Susan can attend. Thus I am back in Creekside, going over volunteer evaluations. Since I cannot work at the Home as much anymore, Nurse Rayburn has asked me to serve as volunteer coordinator, a job that is mostly administrative. I am very pleased with the volunteers who have come to us because of the circus. They have really become part of the Creekside family.

  Then my inner comm rings, and I see it is Millie’s code. I answer cautiously, “Yes, Millie.”

  “Mom’s having a bad day,” she says. “I can’t take her with me to Garrett’s awards ceremony. Carey, can you get here right away? She needs you.”

  “Right away, Millie,” I say.

  When I enter the house, I see no one downstairs, so I go up to Susan’s room. Susan is curled in her big chair. Millie kneels beside her, dressed up for the ceremony.

  “It’s all right, Mom,” she says. “It’s all right. See, Carey’s here.”

  I come up to the chair. “I’m here, Susan.” I say. She grabs my hand and clings to it wordlessly.

  Quietly I ask Millie, “What’s the matter?”

  “She tried to get dressed for the ceremony. She . . . I don’t know. It looked like she put both feet in one leg of her pants. She fell, and then she panicked and cried. By the time I got in here, she was screaming. She’s calmed down now, but she won’t put her pants on. She won’t get dressed. She doesn’t want to leave.”

  “I understand, I will take care of her. You should go. You do not want to miss Garrett’s ceremony.”

  “No, I don’t,” she says. She turns to Susan and kisses her. “You’re okay, Mom. You’ve got someone to watch over you. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Goodbye, Mom.”

  She leaves, and I stand there silently, brushing Susan’s hair with my fingers while she holds my other hand. Eventually she falls asleep, and I gently lift her out of the chair and into her bed. My chemical sensors tell me she has soiled her diaper, so I change her just as I had changed Mildred decades ago. I gently lift her to slide a pad underneath her to protect the bedding. Disturbing her as little as possible, I remove the soiled garment and set it in the bucket. I look around for wipes and salve, and I clean her up and medicate her to make sure there is no chance of a rash. I put on the new diaper, and I find her lounge pants to put on. This whole time, she has not roused from her slumber. I pull the drapes to darken the room, and I go out.

  When I get downstairs, I find another load of sheets, not as heavily soiled, indicating a leaky diaper. Did Susan remove it during the night, and I missed that? Or did Millie simply put it on wrong? I remember the one that I removed, and I guess that it is the latter. It is not Millie’s fault. Unlike me, she was not programmed for this sort of care, and she has no experience in it.

  I start another load of laundry, and I go check on Susan. She is still sleeping lightly. I go downstairs, and when I hear her start to move about, I make her some tea and toast. When Susan comes down, she is as normal and coherent as I have seen her in weeks. I do not mention the diaper or the laundry.

  When Millie comes home, Garrett is with her, and he shows me his awards: meritorious scholar in math and history, and top science student. He holds in his pride (since he was raised to be humble), but I can tell underneath how pleased he is.

  “That is very good, Garrett,” I say. His parents are both very intelligent, so it does not surprise me that he and his siblings are bright as well.

  “Yes, that’s good, Garrett,” Millie says. “You should take those up to your room.”

  “Oh, Mom . . .”

  “Now,” she says.

  Once Garrett is upstairs, Millie says, “Thank you, Carey.”

  “I am happy I could help,” I say. “And I could show you the right way to put on Susan’s diapers,” I add.

  Suddenly her face turns sad. “I’ve raised three kids. I should know how to put on a diaper. But . . .”

  “But it’s not the same for adults,” I say. She nods. “I’ll show you tonight after Susan goes to bed.”

  Once Susan is asleep, Millie says, “All right, let’s get this over with. Do we have to practice on Mom?”

  “No,” I say, “I can demonstrate holographically. It is simply a matter of securing the diaper properly. An adult patient is more adept at removing it or shifting when it is uncomfortable. If we secure it properly a
nd keep up with the lotions, there is less chance of rash. She should be fine.”

  We go upstairs, and I project a hologram onto the bed to demonstrate. Then Millie tries it herself. The first time, she has difficulty interacting with the hologram since there is nothing there that she can touch. But after practicing a couple of times, she is able to control the hologram, and she figures out the right way to secure the diaper. “Thank you, Carey,” she says.

  47. Today is a Good Day for Susan

  Susan is having a good day. I remember this from caring for Mildred: the ups and downs. Some days, like today, are almost normal; but some days are progressively worse.

  Since it is a good day and we still have good weather before winter sets in, we spend most of the day out in the garden. Susan is still very good with her gardening skills, but her hands are weaker. Some of the trimmers are too difficult for her to close now. Her voice gets very quiet, and she asks, “Carey, can you cut this for me, please?”

  I see she is cutting a very thick branch. I help her, and then I give the shears back to her.

  Susan says, “Paul could have done it.” Then she looks up at me. “Carey, where’s Paul?”

  I have anticipated this question, though with great discomfort; and I have prepared a series of answers, each more elaborate than the last. I start with the simplest answer. “He is gone, Susan.”

  “Oh.” She works on in silence, and I hope that she will accept the simple answer today.

  We are still out in the garden when Millie comes home from class. The children are playing, and Susan is watching them, smiling. When they see Millie emerge from the patio door, they all run up for hugs. Then she comes out. “Hello, Mother,” she says. She does not speak to me.

  “Hello, Millie,” Susan says. “How was your day today? Did you learn anything new?”

  Millie frowns, then she answers, “Same old stuff, Mom.”

  “That’s nice,” Susan says. “Is it time for dinner?”

  She does not mention Paul again for the rest of the day. I cannot tell if she remembers him at all. But except for that brief exchange, she is happy today.

  48. Today Susan Falls

  Today is a bad day for Susan. She soils herself twice, which embarrasses her and makes her angry, so she refuses to eat lunch. She just wants to curl up on her chair overlooking the garden. I check in through the day, between loads of laundry, but she does not say a word.

  Today I have duties at Creekside. When I return home, the house is empty. I find a note on the table: “I’m at the hospital with Mom. She fell and broke her wrist. I don’t know how long I’ll be. Please watch the kids.” It is signed with a simple letter “M.”

  I take advantage of Susan’s absence to give the house a thorough cleaning. All of the bedding in all of the rooms, not just hers. I dust in places the cleaning bots never seem to get.

  When the children come home from school, they are curious where Susan is. “Grandma has had an accident,” I say. “Her wrist is broken, but other than that, she is fine.” They look sad. They are getting older, more aware of Susan’s circumstances. Tim goes up to his room, and I suspect he is crying up there.

  Susan and Millie come home. I help them through the door. There is a light plastic cast on Susan’s left wrist. I guide her in, settle her onto the couch, and wrap her in a blanket. Then I go back to the entryway where Millie is bringing in groceries, and I help carry them in. In the kitchen I quietly ask, “What happened, Millie?”

  “She wandered down the stairs after you left for Creekside. She made it about halfway down, I think, before she fell. I came in from the laundry to her calling out for help, so quiet I almost didn’t hear her.”

  “I am so sorry to hear that, Millie. I think it is time she moves downstairs. She has had more difficulty with the stairs every day. She refuses to consider a chairlift.”

  “I know,” Millie says. “I can turn the playroom back into a bedroom like Mom and Dad did for Grandma when she was sick.”

  “I could help you with that, Millie.”

  “I can do this,” Millie says. “She’s my mother, I’ll take care of this. But . . . I’d like your help. Thank you.”

  49. Today We Decorate

  Today Millie takes Susan to the doctor to get her wrist examined, while I am home to meet the children after school. It is a rainy day, so they are stuck inside.

  “I’m bored, Uncle Carey,” Tabitha says. “Can we go somewhere?”

  I check the time. “No, Tabitha. Your mom and grandma will be home soon. We do not want to be gone when they get here.”

  “But what can I doooo?”

  I remember a project from when Millie was a child. “Let us make some sunshine and flowers for Mom and Grandma.”

  Tim asks, “How do we make sunshine, Uncle Carey?”

  “It will be easy,” I say. “And fun.” We get out construction paper, safety scissors, and brightly colored markers, and we set to work cutting out flowers and bees and a sun. And frogs, of course.

  At first, Garrett sniffs at “kid stuff,” but he can’t stop watching and critiquing. “That bee has eight legs,” he says.

  “Because I wanted eight legs,” Tabitha says.

  “Well that’s dumb.”

  “Uncle Carey!” she cries.

  “Garrett, apologize to your sister,” I say.

  “I’m sorry, Tabitha.”

  “That is better.” I nod. “What do you say, Tabitha?”

  “It’s okay, Garrett.”

  “Now,” I say, turning back to Garrett, “if you think you can make a better bee, here.” I hand him scissors and paper. He shrugs and starts cutting.

  By the time Millie and Susan get home, the children have decorated every wall on the ground floor with spring scenes. When Susan comes in, her eyes light up. She smiles, “Flowers! Birds! It’s so beautiful!” She starts to cry, but my empathy net tells me these are tears of joy, so rare for her these days. Millie smiles.

  Garrett says, “And we made dinner too, Mom!”

  “You made dinner?” she says.

  “Well, Uncle Carey gave us instructions,” he says, “but we made it all.”

  Millie sniffs the air. “I don’t smell anything burning.”

  “Mommmm . . .” Garrett groans.

  “They did not burn a thing,” I say. “They have kept it warm, waiting for you and Susan.”

  “Well, aren’t you three the little homemakers?” Millie says. “Thank you. You’re such big helps.” We sit down to eat.

  50. Today Millie Reaches Her Limit

  Each day that I can, I work on the playroom conversion. There are tools and supplies and cans of paint stacked in a corner. I do what I can, but the supplies seldom move. Susan needs more attention.

  Last night I stayed at Creekside, training night volunteers. I had suggested that I could find someone else, but Millie had insisted that she had everything under control. I sensed that she needed my trust, so I agreed. It was good to spend a night with my friends.

  But this morning when I return home, Susan is still asleep on the couch. Millie has moved her there while the new bedroom is under construction. But if she is asleep, why do I hear crying?

  I track the sound down to the laundry room. Millie has not left for work. She sits in my closet, arms wrapped around her knees, face buried. She is in tears.

  The pile of soiled sheets and undergarments is as big as I have ever seen it, and the children’s laundry has piled up as well. On the floor, soaking into all of it, is a spilled can of paint that has fallen from a shelf.

  All I can do is help. I cannot fix Millie’s pain. Instead I start picking up paint-soaked clothing and dropping it in the wash basin for rinsing. I read the can of paint for cleaning instructions. If it has not set yet, the paint will come out using simple home detergent. I start rinsing out the sheets. Then I try to put them in the washing machine, but there is still a load in there. There is another load in the dryer. When did we get so far behind?

&nb
sp; I transfer the dryer load to a basket, and then I transfer the laundry load to the dryer. While I am doing that, suddenly Millie stands at the wash basin, rinsing out more clothes. I do not say a word. I just take them from her when she hands them to me, and I put them in the washer.

  When we have all the paint-soaked clothes either in the tub or in the wash, I get the mop bucket and the mop, and I start cleaning up the spilled paint. Millie folds the clean laundry.

  I am almost done mopping when Millie comes up to me, wraps her arms around me, and breaks into huge sobs. I let the mop fall, and I wrap my arms around her and hold her until she stops crying.

  51. Today I Have One Job

  “I understand, Carey,” Nurse Rayburn says through my comm. “Family first.”

  “But you are my family as well, Nurse Rayburn,” I say. “You and all of Creekside.”

  “Thank you.” She smiles. “But we understand. And we have plenty of help. Millie and Susan only have you. You take care of them. You can come visit any time you like.”

  She closes the call, and I look around. We have moved Susan’s big chair down into the living room, so she can sit in it and look out at the garden on days like today, when it is too cold to go outside. She is in it now, looking out, smiling at what she sees. It is a good day, and that is good for Millie as well.

  In the playroom, Millie and Tabitha and Tim are hard at work finishing the conversion back into a bedroom. Millie has scaled back her plans. She cannot bring herself to think about painting the room anymore, not after the incident with the paint can. They are simply putting up borders and decorations. Then they clear out space for the medical bed that will be delivered tomorrow. Susan should be moved in by the weekend.

  Garrett and I install the terrarium, and I look in. “One, two, three, four frogs, Garrett?”

  “Five. One likes to hide under the leaves over there.”