by Barbara Ebel
After seeing every patient under the auspices of the team, Dr. Mejia dismissed the students. They took care of their chores, peeled out into the cold but windless day, went home, and caught up on sleep.
-----
That night, Offer Banks and Lowe knocked on the homecare aide’s front door. Dustin shuffled his feet on the wooden porch when the door cracked open.
Alarmed at the men in blue standing before her, Marabeth said, “Is there some sort of bad news?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Edgar said, “unless you are already aware of Darlene Pratt’s demise.”
Her mouth turned down as she opened the door wider. “No, I didn’t know that. How sad. I’m so sorry.”
“Would you mind if we ask you a few questions?”
“Only if you come in. This air is making my bones cold.”
The two men walked into a neat, modest room with pictures of children and adults on the two table tops. Two lamps were on with little other light. Marabeth wiped her hands on a dishtowel and then laid it on the back of a chair. “Sit down,” she said.
Edgar looked at Dustin, giving him the opportunity to ask her questions first.
“Ma’am,” Dustin said, “we won’t take up too much of your time. This is just routine for us. We were called to Mrs. Pratt’s home last night after she died. We understand you cared for her yesterday.” He left the remark open-ended.
“I did. Lately, I’ve taken care of her routinely but not as much as her daughter. Darlene had real bad Parkinson’s disease, the worst I’ve ever seen. But yesterday, she had some kinda stomach bug.”
“That’s what we understand. Were you able to feed her anything at all? Any food or drinks?”
“You’re not thinking that I took rotten care of her?” she gasped.
“No, ma’am. Not at all. Besides the coroner’s input, we’re only trying to be clearer about her cause of death.”
“But isn’t it from her Parkinson’s disease?” she asked alarmed.
“Marabeth,” Dustin said in a soft voice, “don’t worry. As far as we’re concerned, you are a sympathetic caregiver otherwise you wouldn’t be a home health care worker.”
She eyed him cautiously. “I am a fine worker, for sure. I made her a soft boiled egg in the morning but, not long after that, she threw it up. After I cleaned her up, I tried to give her a little bit of apple juice, but she wouldn’t take it. Then later, she vomited again. I was worried about her getting dehydrated, so twice during the day, I made her tea and she did sip some. I tried giving her yogurt late in the afternoon, but she refused to budge her lips.”
“Those drinks you prepared for her … what did you serve them in?”
“You sure are being fussy. I used a small glass for the apple juice and a mug for the tea. But I always wash the dishes after whatever I give her. I didn’t leave a mess, did I?”
“Not that we’re aware of. You seem like a neat and orderly person. So you never used a plastic cup all day when you were there?”
“No, sir. Never. I don’t believe in throw away cups which clutter up the waste bins. Now her daughter uses them, but that’s her prerogative. She uses red plastic cups. I always see them around the house.”
Dustin’s eyes narrowed. “Did you give Mrs. Pratt any liquid meal substitute yesterday? There are vanilla ones in the pantry.”
“I used them for Darlene regularly, but not yesterday. With an upset stomach, I thought they’d be too rich for her. Should I have?”
“Not necessarily. It sounds like you did the best you could.”
“Thank you. You had me scared. Mrs. Pratt had wonderful care. Her daughter was totally devoted to her. As far as I could tell, taking care of her mother always came first.”
Edgar slid to the edge of the couch. “Thank you for your time,” he said. “We appreciate it.”
Both officers stood and Dustin said, “I understand the daughter had a birthday yesterday.”
“She brought home a cake in the evening,” Marabeth said. “What a shame. She certainly didn’t get a birthday celebration if her mother passed away.”
Dustin and Edgar slipped out the door with a tip of their hats and Marabeth latched the door behind them. They stepped off the front step and walked towards the car.
“Interesting,” Edgar said. “Looks like your intuition was correct, but you may have been barking up the wrong tree.”
“If there was something amiss with this woman’s death,” Dustin said, “the daughter’s innocent until proven guilty. But maybe her wish was for her mother to be on the other side of the ground. If there is foul play, I wouldn’t have suspected it from her.”
“Yes, if there is any.”
“I’ll be curious to know what and when the lab comes up with anything.”
“And with what we’ve seen and heard, let’s alert Ohio’s BCI.”
-----
From a distance, Annabel saw Bob pull into the side entrance of the hospital lot and park. The top of her jacket was unzipped and she left it open as she hustled towards him. It was comfortably above freezing for a change and without a threat of precipitation. She stepped in front of the door he was heading for and waved at him with her free hand.
“A welcoming committee,” he said when he reached her, wearing a smile.
“It’ll cost ya.”
“Coming from you, it’s worth a few bucks or favors. I’ll pay you triple if you do it every day.”
She rolled her eyes and hit him on the sleeve while he opened the door. “Did you study last night?”
“Yeah, how about you?”
“I did. And my pesky sister called. She can’t wait to hang out with us this weekend. Where should we all eat dinner?” she asked and shot him a glance. “In essence, I don’t care because I’m probably going to grab a bite somewhere else afterwards.”
“Wasn’t it your idea to eat out?”
She shrugged her shoulders as they winded their way to the staircase. “Something else came up. Want to go to Pete’s in my neighborhood? That would be great for my sister for when I leave. She only has to walk back down the block.”
“Fine with me,” he said, perplexed. “I’ll tell Jordan and Stuart. And I’ll tell them we’ve been half stood-up by our female colleague.”
“Bob, I’m sorry. Everything always wants to happen at the same time, doesn’t it? We both know that already,” she added.
Dr. Schott was embedded in the couch when they turned into the office. He didn’t move the newspaper. “Did you both hear that today is some kind of movie blitz day? Star Wars or Star Trek, but I can never get them straight because I don’t follow movie stories that jettison to twenty sequels and then end up flipping back to prequels.”
Annabel grinned. “Don’t ask me. Movie time is a short commodity for medical students. You sure are early, Dr. Schott. I’m hurrying to see May Oliver. I can’t wait to see how she did with her chemotherapy.” With that, she sped away while pulling on her short student’s coat.
Their chief curled an end of the paper. “I wonder if she’ll be this enthused in a few years.”
“I’ve met her father,” Bob said. “I think she’s a chip off the old block.”
“I detect a compliment there,” Donn said, covering up with the paper again.
“Just don’t tell her I said so.”
-----
Annabel rounded the corner of the hallway and almost bumped into Ken Oliver.
“It’s you,” he said, “the medical student. My wife is still in our daughter’s room, but I’m going to the cafeteria. I can’t take being in there at the moment.”
“How come?”
“Because of what she did to herself. You’ll see.” He walked away with a slow gait and slumped shoulders.
Louise Oliver’s hand was kneaded up in a fist as she rubbed it into the other one like a baseball in a mitt. She paced back and forth right inside the door and locked eyes with Annabel for a moment and nodded towards the window.
May stood ag
ainst the wall next to the window with a blank, sad expression. She wore a smart, soft pink robe and all her hair had been shaved off except for a short buzz all over her head. It was a stark and shocking look, yet despite it, May had stunning features and was a beautiful woman even though she’d grown so thin.
Seeing her, Annabel almost gasped out loud, especially when noticing the despair written all over her face. She cautiously stepped over.
“May, what’s going on?” Annabel asked softly. “What happened to your hair?”
“I shaved it all off. Only a little while ago.”
“Why?”
“They told me yesterday I’d lose my hair with treatments. Why wait to watch it drop off like a sick cow with brittle hair because of low quality nutrition?”
“There was no need to do that,” her mother said.
“Why, Mom? Just because you don’t want to see me this way?”
“I give up!” Louise said and stormed out of the room.
“May, she’s just upset and worried about you. Maybe you’ll feel more comfortable with your hair shaved off or maybe you could buy a wig. There’s a fine selection of them in catalogs, but you are pretty enough without one.”
“No thanks about covering up with some stupid wig. You mean well and I appreciate that.”
“As usual, if there’s anything I can do for you, holler. In the meantime, I do need to know how the chemotherapy went and how you’re feeling this morning.”
“I’m still nauseous since yesterday. The nurse said Dr. Burg could order me more anti-nausea medicine.”
“No problem. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?”
May shook her head and proceeded to stare out the window.
CHAPTER 25
Gloria Pratt weaved her way through the back stretch of the parking lot where hospital employees parked. Her mind was busy thinking of everything she needed to do at home. She wanted to get rid of the huge hospital bed sitting in the living room as well as other ancillary equipment that had been needed for Darlene. There was a void at the house not constantly cleaning and feeding her, turning her in the bed to prevent bed sores, getting her up and down in the chair, and giving her all her meds. She missed her mother as well as doing all those things for her. However, now poor Darlene was out of her misery and rested pain free either in heaven or some other restful state of mind that Gloria believed could exist. If her mother could communicate from the afterlife, she would be squeezing Gloria in a loving, thankful embrace.
She pulled off her knit hat and stuffed it into her pocket as she neared the front door of the hospital. The weather smacked with a hint of spring and the sunshine warmed her face. Besides the fact that her own life was on its way to becoming so much easier, she felt renewed and powerful for what she had accomplished. Even the visit by the paramedics and police had been a snap; all she did was tell them the truth about how sick her mother was with Parkinson’s disease and how she had been ill that day. Which, apparently, they were going to corroborate with her aide, Marabeth. Routine police work.
She floated on cloud nine, elated and intoxicated with her own importance because of pulling off a feat as humongous as terminating her mother’s life. A life which needed taking because it was inhumane for her to live like that. And she had had the guts to do what was necessary!
Her mind continued to race as she left her jacket and pocketbook in the woman’s room locker. The cart she needed sat behind the medical charts on the ward, but she personalized the side basket with her hand sanitizer and tissues and kept her cell phone in her pocket. She was fortunate to be only working part time; it would allow her all the time she needed for her mother’s arrangements, she thought, as she nodded good morning to the staff at the desk.
Gloria’s direct boss, Anna, came out of the supply room and called her over. “You can leave that one,” she said. “Come in here to the pharmacy cart. You’ll be giving out patients’ medications for the foreseeable future.”
The red cart had drawers with prescription drugs, a black binder with a list of patients, their diagnoses and medications, and an uncluttered top counter where medications and dosages could be prepared.
“This requires utmost attention,” Anna said. “You’ll be going through the whole medical floor three times today giving out prescription and non-prescription drugs except for IV drugs. You’ll be doing this job in the future, or taking vital signs, or both. Just check in about your assignment each day.”
Anna spent thirty minutes showing Gloria the details of her new assignment and when both women were sure about the day’s details, Gloria set out rolling her new shiny cart. It even had a fresh bottle of hand sanitizer on the top shelf by the railing. She smiled about the new task because it seemed to carry more responsibility.
The hallway smelled like a freshly mopped floor as she walked along with her heavy, comfortable shoes, came to the window at the end, and turned. While with Anna, she had already assembled the first patient’s pills to take, so she went straight into the first room.
The first patient wasn’t happy with Gloria disturbing her. The geriatric woman rubbed her eyes; her only overnight sleep had been in the last few hours. After Gloria dished out her medications, she closed the door behind her.
Outside Mr. Hogan’s room, Gloria went through, one-by-one, the doctor’s orders for his medications. She searched through the drawers where the drugs were stored alphabetically and put the needed ones into a miniature paper cup. She frowned at the long list: heart medications to make the heart pump better and to help maintain a normal rhythm; blood pressure drugs; diuretics; antacids and drugs for reflux; narcotic and non-narcotic pain medications; and drugs for benign prostatic hypertrophy. It took her several minutes to select each pill and plop them into two cups. The color and variety looked like a stash of candy to pop into a child’s mouth and suck on.
She rapped her knuckles on the slightly ajar door and peeked into Manuel Hogan’s room.
“Come in,” he said. “I’m not getting up for you.” He pointed to his swollen ankles resting on the foot rest.
“I don’t think you’ve budged, Mr. Hogan, from two days ago.” She glanced again at his awful diagnosis and recalled her conversation with him. The poor man had verbalized his despondency and how fed up he was with his congestive heart failure and astutely said that the pumping ability of his heart was all downhill from now on. The doctors informed him of some concrete number from a heart test he’d taken, like thirty-five, which proved it.
“I haven’t,” he said as Gloria parked her cart in front of his chair. “This is no way to live. Sitting in a hospital room in a chair. They tried taking the fluid off of my belly, but it’s come back. Death is not going to be pretty. I heard that with CHF, a patient can choke on his own bodily fluids building up in his lungs and I told them never to put me on the ventilator.”
She poured apple juice into a paper cup, filling it halfway. “That sounds awful.”
“They want to try what they call inotropic support. Put in more IVs and infuse heavy duty drugs that will make my heart squeeze tighter. I’m only itching to get out of here to take care of things.” He leaned forward and put out his hand to accept the first pills she tapped out. “After I do that, I would prefer to die at home.”
She watched him put the pills on his tongue and handed him the drink as the importance of what he told her registered more clearly. Who wouldn’t feel the same way with such a pitiful heart? A ticker that doesn’t even let a man climb a few steps or carry in groceries? He deserved his despondency and he was clear in the head, not like her mother had been.
Mr. Hogan continued talking, but she only pretended to listen. The feeling of power, control, and authority she possessed over influencing her mother’s death ramped up further. What if … what if she could help Mr. Hogan just like she’d helped Darlene? He was justified with his wishes even more than her mother and verbally declared his desire not to live the last stage of his life in hospital bondage.
The heartless medical care system wanted to strap him to a chair and wrap chains around him.
She wanted to ask him a dozen questions but stopped herself because the questions and the answers were secondary to the main issue at hand, which was his desire to not live under the present circumstances. What difference did it make if he had family, who weren’t by his side anyway, or if he still needed to clean out his house? Let the absent family take care of that.
Gloria’s bold sense of empowerment sprouted after the roots had been established by assisting her mother. How practical and easy it had been to take care of Darlene. If she could continue to make a difference, a real impact on patient’s end-of-life care, then she needs to step up to the task at hand and help Mr. Hogan. Like her mother, he needed assistance, and she was the perfect guardian angel to come to his rescue.
Something akin to a thunderclap exploded above her when she left his room and a plan, as simple as a child’s magic trick, seeded in her brain.
-----
May silently liked that she woke up without her mother having slept in her room. Her parents would be in to see her later but at least she could get a breather to be by herself to wallow in her own self-pity. If she wants to feel sorry for herself, then who was to stop her? She was entitled to her own feelings. After all, it was not every day such a critical diagnosis and treatment was handed down to a relatively young person and she definitely pulled out the short straw when it came to looking forward to a future.
At least so far since she opened her eyes, her nausea had lifted with the anti-emetic the medical team had started her on. Maybe she would enjoy a small bowl of oatmeal when breakfast came around. However, the antidepressant the team prescribed for her hadn’t done a thing yet, but she really didn’t care.
She pushed away the bedcovers, slipped her feet into her slippers, and stood. For some reason, she wondered, her muscle tone was not up to par and she slumped forward as she grabbed her robe from the chair. She put it on awkwardly and instead of tying the ends, she began wringing her hands excessively at the fluffy cotton belt. As she took a step to head for the bathroom, a strong smell of oatmeal came to her nostrils … the food she had concentrated on but a few moments ago.