The Numbers Game

by Danielle Steel

  The resident on duty, a big burly young man with a beard, examined Gabrielle. He looked over the forms and noticed Gabrielle’s age. Within five minutes he said she had pneumonia and had to be admitted. He never spoke to Gabrielle, only to Gwen, as though Gabrielle, as a coherent human being, didn’t exist.

  “Does she have dementia?” he asked her, and Gwen was horrified.

  “Of course not. She’s just sick.”

  “I’m going to put her in the ICU,” he said matter-of-factly. “Pneumonia is lethal at her age,” he said within Gabrielle’s hearing, and took Gwen out in the hall then to speak to her. They left Federico with Gabrielle, watching over her like a newborn baby, and speaking softly to her, telling her she was going to be all right.

  The resident didn’t mince words. “This is very serious, given her age. I think you have to be realistic about this. People your mother’s age don’t usually survive pneumonia. I’m going to start her on an IV antibiotic, but it may not work in time.”

  “Is there anything else we can do? Something stronger in addition to the antibiotic?”

  “We can do inhalation treatments, but they probably won’t do much good either.” He held out no hope.

  “Try anyway. Pretend she’s twenty years younger, or thirty. She’s normally a very healthy, vital person.”

  “We’ll see what we can do.” Gwen wanted to call her mother’s own physician, but didn’t know the current one’s name.

  The resident had said they were going to move her to the ICU within the hour, and he was sending a gerontologist to look at her once she was there.

  “What kind of doctor is that?” Gwen wasn’t familiar with the term. “Is that a lung specialist?”

  “No, that’s a pneumologist. A gerontologist specializes in geriatric patients, elderly people. It’s similar to a geriatrician, but a little broader and more comprehensive to treat the problems of elderly patients.”

  “My mother will have a fit over that.”

  But she was sleeping when Gwen got back to the exam room. Federico said she had been dozing since Gwen left. He looked at her with pleading eyes, begging Gwen to save her. She felt helpless, and didn’t like the attitude of the resident. He had given up as soon as he saw her mother’s age.

  “What did he say?”

  “They’re going to put her in the intensive care unit, and give her a strong antibiotic and inhalant medications. And they’ve called in another doctor to look at her.” She didn’t say how hopeless he had made it seem.

  Gabrielle stirred then, and looked at Gwen, her eyes bright with the high fever.

  “Who is your general doctor, Mother?” Gwen asked her. “What’s his name?” Gwen was going to call him and ask him to come immediately. This was an emergency, and Gwen wanted all the help they could get.

  “Palmer,” her mother answered in a croak. “He died last year. I haven’t replaced him. I wasn’t sick.”

  “Do you have a doctor?” she asked Federico, and he shook his head. Gwen was afraid that her own physician might be on vacation after the holiday weekend, and it took weeks to get an appointment with him. She wasn’t fond of him either, but her previous doctor had retired two years before and left the practice to the new man. “How did she get this sick?” she asked Federico.

  “She’s had it for a week, but she only got like this yesterday.” At least they were in the hospital now.

  They moved Gabrielle to the ICU an hour later. They had already started the intravenous antibiotic in the emergency room, and had done a panel of blood tests, which they said were routine, given her age and how sick she was. Gwen was relieved that the nurses in the ICU were very kind to her.

  Federico and Gwen sat next to her bed for the rest of the day, and she slept for most of it. The nurse said the fever had come down. The gerontologist appeared at five in the afternoon. Gwen was prepared to hate him, and was surprised to find that she didn’t.

  He looked to be in his late fifties, was well dressed in a blazer and khaki slacks, a shirt and tie, he had silver hair and a good haircut. He looked more like a banker than a modern-day doctor. Gwen had been watching them come and go all day with long, greasy hair, in ponytails or to their shoulders, with either five days of stubble or full beards. They all wore scrubs instead of proper clothes, and either sneakers, clogs, or Birkenstocks. None of them dressed like grown-ups in her opinion, but this one did.

  He introduced himself as Jeremy Stubbs, and asked to speak to Gwen in the hall after examining her mother. He had a warm smile and a polite, easy manner.

  “Your mother has pneumonia, as you know, which is not a good thing at her age. I’ve been looking at her preliminary blood work. We don’t have all the results yet.” Gwen was suddenly terrified that they had found something seriously wrong with her, but he surprised her. “She’s in remarkably good health, and doesn’t seem to have all the ailments her generation is prone to. Low cholesterol, her heart is strong, liver, kidneys, everything is functioning normally. Does she have any chronic health problems?”

  “None.”

  “No arthritis? Dizziness? Does she fall?”

  “Never. She’s up and down ladders all day long. She’s a sculptress and a welder. Her pieces are roughly ten feet tall, and she sleeps in a loft. And no arthritis.” Dr. Stubbs smiled at Gwen’s report.

  “She seems to be one of those lucky people that age doesn’t touch. It happens, but not often enough. Maybe her work is part of it.”

  “She just opened a show at the MoMA a month ago,” Gwen said proudly.

  “What often happens to people like her is that they go along just fine, and then something like this comes up. It doesn’t always turn out well, and most doctors feel that, at a certain age, you just can’t fight it. That’s not my philosophy. In the condition your mother is in, there’s no reason why she couldn’t live another ten or twelve years. What we have to do now is beat the pneumonia. I’m going to give her a stronger antibiotic. It may upset her stomach, but it’s worth it.” It was music to Gwen’s ears.

  “Thank God for you. Go for it. I was panicked when we got here.”

  “Let’s not panic yet. And she hasn’t been bedridden, so if her fever is down, I want to get her up walking, and not just leave her lying down. That’s where we get into trouble. And I want to start the inhalants.” They walked back into Gabrielle’s room together, and she was sleeping again. The doctor checked her fever and it was down. Then he went to tell the nurses about the change of antibiotic, as Federico looked at Gwen in desperation.

  “What did he say?”

  “He’s terrific,” she whispered. “He’s giving her a stronger medication. He says if we get her out of this, she can live another ten or twelve years.” She looked a hundred years old as she lay there, but she opened her eyes and looked at Gwen. “We’re going to get you up for a walk, Mother. The doctor wants you to move around.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my legs. I have a cough.”

  “Exactly. There’s nothing wrong with your legs, so he wants you to use them and not just lie there.”

  “I’m tired,” she complained. “I’ll go for a walk later.” But if her life depended on it, Gwen was not going to let her off the hook. She got Federico to help her, and they dressed Gabrielle in the bathrobe she’d worn to the hospital, helped her out of bed, and walked slowly down the hall with her IV pole. She was still coughing, but she looked a little better as they walked. “I want to go home,” she said, sounding more like herself.

  “Not yet. We have to get rid of your cough first.”

  “I have work to do.”

  “Then you’ll have to get well,” Gwen said firmly.

  The doctor came back to see her as they walked down the hall, and he smiled at Gabrielle and spoke to her.

  “I’m very happy to see you up and walking, Mrs. Waters. You’ll get
better much faster this way. And we’re going to give you some things to breathe that should free up your chest. I want to send you home as soon as possible,” he assured her. “We need the beds for people who are really sick.” The implication being that she wasn’t. She smiled at him for a moment.

  “Are you suggesting that I’m feigning illness, Doctor?” she said with a grin and he laughed.

  “If you are, we’ll find out soon enough and send you packing,” he teased her. “There are much better hotels in town than this. I understand you opened a show recently at the MoMA.”

  “Yes, I did. Have you seen it?”

  “Not yet. But I intend to now.”

  “It’s only a small show of recent work,” she said modestly.

  “I’m sure it’s very good.” Gwen wanted to hug him as she listened to him, pulling her mother back to life just by treating her as though she weren’t a hundred years old and at death’s door, even if she was seriously sick. But her own good health and her active life served her well.

  They took her back to her room, helped her into bed, and she looked grateful to lie down. She was tired from the fever and coughing, and hadn’t slept well for days. The nurse had set up the inhalants while she was walking, and one of them changed the bag on her IV to the stronger antibiotic.

  The doctor spoke to Gwen again before he left. “I’ll be back in the morning, and here’s my card with my cellphone number. If anything worries you, call me. She’s doing well for now. I’m hoping she turns the corner in a day or two with what we’re giving her. And keep her walking.”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Gwen said, clutching his card.

  “There are people this tactic wouldn’t work with, but your mother is strong. With good support, her body will fight this.” He was reassuring and calm.

  “I hope so,” Gwen said, looking worried.

  “Normally, they keep visits short in the ICU. I’ve told them to let you and her husband stay with her. Keep her engaged. She needs to sleep too. And I want her to walk three times a day. I want to keep her moving. I’m less concerned about what she eats, the antibiotic will probably upset her stomach anyway, and she’s getting what she needs for now from the IV.” Gwen thanked him again and he left with a pleasant smile and a wave as he got into the elevator.

  They brought dinner for Gabrielle and she picked at it. And at nine o’clock, she went to sleep and Gwen and Federico left to get some rest themselves.

  “I’ll go back in the morning,” Gwen told him. “Come whenever you want to. I like the doctor, don’t you?”

  “He seems nice,” he said cautiously. “Do you think she’ll be all right?”

  “I hope so,” Gwen said earnestly. They were doing all the right things for her now. Usually in most hospitals, they let old people just lie there, the pneumonia got worse, and they died. “We have to make sure she walks three times a day.”

  Gwen dropped him off in a cab, and then went home to Central Park West. Federico said he would go back that night. She called the nurses several times that night to inquire about her mother, and they said she was sleeping peacefully, and Federico was with her.

  Gwen was back at nine the next morning, just as her mother was waking up. She didn’t look much better and she was still coughing, but she didn’t have a fever, and at least she wasn’t worse. Dr. Stubbs came to see her an hour later, and said he had looked at her sculptures online and he thought they were spectacular.

  “I do all the welding myself,” she said confidently. “Before the foundry casts them in bronze. It’s a complicated process.”

  “I’m sure it is. I’d love to visit your studio sometime.” He treated her with admiration and respect.

  “I’d be delighted.” Gabrielle smiled at him. “You should look up Mr. Banducci’s photographs too. They’re very beautiful, and more delicate than my work. They’re very poignant.”

  “I will,” he promised her, and Gwen followed him out.

  “The rest of her blood work is fine,” Dr. Stubbs told her. “She still has the pneumonia, but the antibiotic should start working.”

  “We’ll keep her walking,” Gwen said, and he looked embarrassed for a moment.

  “I feel like an idiot,” he said. “I don’t go to movies much, but of course I know your name. One of the nurses told me who you are. I don’t know why I didn’t recognize you. I was focused on your mother.”

  “That’s much more important to me.” Gwen smiled at him, and it was nice not to be recognized for a change. She always appreciated anonymity, which she didn’t get often. And when she did, it allowed her to be a person and not a star or an object of curiosity. “Thank you for not recognizing me,” she said, and he laughed.

  “Fame must be a heavy burden at times,” he said sympathetically, and she nodded.

  “It is. I’m really grateful for everything you’re doing for my mother, and for your attitude. People, even some doctors, give up on old people when they know their age.”

  “It’s a terrible thing in our society,” he agreed, “how we discount people past a certain age, and dehumanize them. They have so much to offer us and teach us. Look at your mother. She’s an icon in her field, and still working. I wish there were more like her. It’s a question of luck and health, but attitude as well. That plays a big part, maybe more than all the rest.” Gabrielle didn’t consider herself old.

  He promised to come back later that afternoon, and when he did, Gabrielle had taken three long walks by then, her color was better, and she said she was hungry. The antibiotic hadn’t bothered her stomach at all. She was a strong woman.

  Dr. Stubbs didn’t stay long, but he was satisfied with how she was doing, and the inhalants were helping her too. She was breathing better and coughing less.

  The following day, she looked stronger and said she wanted to go home. She had too much work to do to just lie around. Her cough didn’t sound as deep. She had a long conversation with the doctor about her work, and she looked more like herself by that night. And when he listened to her chest, he was pleased.

  “We’re winning the battle here, Mrs. Waters. You’re improving.”

  “Good. Then send me home.”

  “Not yet. But soon. I don’t want you to have a relapse. I want the pneumonia cured before you leave.” He told Gwen he thought she’d be there all week. “She’s a remarkable woman,” he said, and Gwen agreed.

  Federico stayed longer than Gwen that night. He said he wanted to talk to her mother. When they were alone, he looked at her seriously.

  “I want something from you,” he said with a stern expression. She could see an Italian drama coming.

  “What’s that?” she said, smiling at him. She was feeling better.

  “Your doctor said you could live another ten or twelve years. And if you do, I want to be married. You’ve turned me down for almost fifteen years. I’ve had enough. I want us to be respectable. I want you to be my wife. The nurse asked if I was your husband, and I had to say that I’m your boyfriend. It’s humiliating.” She laughed.

  “I agree,” she said quietly with a smile.

  “You do? What happened?”

  “It scared me when I got sick. I think I’m ready to get married.”

  “It took you long enough,” he said, and leaned over and kissed her. He had been ready to do battle with her. “Should I ask them to call the chaplain now?” She looked outraged at the suggestion.

  “Of course not. I don’t want last rites. I want a wedding. A proper one. With a nice dress. I haven’t gotten married in fifty-eight years, I want a decent wedding. I’m not getting married in this.” She pointed to her nightgown, and he laughed.

  “When do you want to do it?” He wanted to pin her down now that she’d agreed.

  “I don’t know. August maybe? That gives us time to plan it.” He nodded. He liked that
idea. A month before his show.

  “It’s too hot to travel then. My show is in September. We could postpone our honeymoon until October. Where do you want to go?”

  “Paris,” she said without hesitating. “It’s where we met.” She looked girlish for a minute and he leaned over and kissed her again.

  “I’m going to hold you to it, you know. You won’t get out of this.” He was as strong as she was when he chose to be. It was why they got along. They were an even match.

  “I don’t want to get out of it,” she said, smiling at him. “We’re engaged!” she said, and they both laughed. “Now you can say you’re my fiancé, not my boyfriend.”

  When they told Gwen the next day, she offered to give the wedding at her apartment, and they liked that idea. They picked a date at the end of August. And they decided to go to Venice, where he was from, after Paris for their honeymoon.

  Gabrielle told Dr. Stubbs when he came to see her. “We’re getting married,” she said with a big smile, “almost sixty-five years after we met in Paris at the Beaux-Arts, we were both students. Federico was only twenty, he’s eight years younger than I am. He was barely more than a child then. You’ll have to come to our wedding, since you saved me,” she told him.

  “I’d say we’re on the road to recovery if we’re planning a wedding.” He was pleased with her progress. It was a much happier outcome than many he encountered in his line of work.

  Chapter 17

  Gwen had ordered all the flowers for the wedding herself. There were garlands of white roses and orchids on all the stairs and over the doors, and arrangements of lily of the valley and tiny white Phalaenopsis orchids on the tables. The scent of the lily of the valley was heavy in the air. Gabrielle and Federico had selected fifty of their closest friends, all of whom had accepted. There were writers, artists, actors, museum curators, gallerists, many of them well known, some not, of all ages. Gwen had organized five round tables in her dining room. The ceremony was in the living room, performed by a minister, and Gabrielle came down the stairs alone in a champagne-colored lace dress, carrying a bouquet of tea-colored orchids. Her long white hair was swept up in a perfect French twist. She looked lovely.