The doctor laughed. “I will take her on. Where she is, mek mi check her.”
I led him to the little room and he examined her.
“Okay, I will admit her and tek de case.”
We couldn’t thank him enough.
“Check wid de receptionist,” he said, “and mek her show yuh de administrator’s office fi discuss payment.”
“Semi-private or private room?” the woman there asked. “De private room will cost two thousand dollars per day and we need a deposit for a minimum of a week. Mek mi read out other costs. De medications is separate money, de oxygen separate. De doctor service is another fee. De specialist is another separate money.” She paused for me to take it all in.
“Now here is a list of things for yuh to bring for de patient,” she said, handing me a sheet:
Soap
Towel and washcloth
Powder
Nightgowns
Toothpaste, toothbrush
Hand lotion
Vaseline
Comb and brush
“As yuh know is a private hospital, so we will provide de sheets and diapers.”
The private room was very basic, very spare, painted a dull lilac. Its saving grace was its view from the window—the Blue Mountains. When Mama felt better, she would enjoy it. The doctor was in the room with the others when I got there.
“Miss Galloway, I need to ask some questions about de medications your grandmother was taking.”
I told the doctor that her pills were in her purse at home. I didn’t know the names. Mama’s eyes were closed, but she mumbled, “Vasotec, Adalat, XL.” He thanked her. She kept repeating the list. “Vasotec, Adalat, XL. Vasotec, Adalat, XL.…”
“Thank yuh, m’am,” he said, and chuckled.
“Vasotec, Adalat, XL. Vasotec, Adalat, XL.…”
Aunt Joyce said, “Mi sister is a real comedian.” We all laughed.
Later the doctor told us to go home. She was in good hands, he said.
The next morning we arrived to find Mama staring up at the ceiling, her hands in tight fists.
“Maria, a me, yuh sister,” Grand-aunt Ruth said, but Mama didn’t respond. I went to her and held her hands. She turned and looked at me but there was no sign of recognition.
“Mama, Glory on her way,” I said. “She coming in from Atlanta today, and Uncle Peppie coming tomorrow.” Mama turned and stared through the window at the Blue Mountains. She was hooked up to an IV drip, and an oxygen mask covered her face. She pulled it off and said, “Get mi out of here. Ah don’t want to stay here.”
“Mama, let mi put de oxygen back on. Yuh need it.”
She resisted, so Aunt Joyce and Grand-aunt Ruth held her still while I put the mask back on her face. She calmed down for a moment, but wouldn’t look at us, only the ceiling, folding and unfolding her hands. Then she tried to take off the mask again.
I rang for the doctor. “Please, what is wrong with her?” I asked. “She not acting herself.”
“We had to give her some medication last night to quiet her. She was fighting the nurses. She’s a strong woman, yuh know, and the nurses couldn’t control her. She kept climbing out of bed. Next time, we will have to restrain her. Is a dangerous situation.”
I nodded. “Yes, I understand.”
We sat beside her until the medication wore off and recognition came back. She looked around, but there was no smile.
“Unnu tell Glory and Peppie?”
“Yes, Mama. Glory coming tomorrow and Peppie on the weekend.”
“Yuh tell Vittorio and Ciboney?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Where Mikey?”
“Him coming soon,” I lied. I had called Uncle Mikey that morning. He hadn’t come.
“Freddie, yuh get in touch wid him?”
“Yes,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“Tell dem fi come soon.”
“Yes, Mama.”
An orderly brought a tray of food for her, but she wouldn’t eat. “Aunt Maria, let mi feed yuh, yuh need yuh strength,” Icie coaxed, but Mama’s lips remained tight. She slipped in and out of sleep only to stare at the wall. She wouldn’t talk to us. She began to recite the names of her medicines again. Aunt Joyce and I looked at each other and smiled, easing our anxiety.
“Unnu go out and get some air,” Grand-aunt Ruth advised. “I will stay here.”
We walked out into the sunlight and through the peaceful grounds of the university. Once we were back inside, Aunt Joyce began to cry.
“Come, Joyce, mek we go home and rest. We come back later. Molly, you come eat some food and come back,” Grand-aunt Ruth said.
“Is okay, Grand-aunt, ah not hungry, and when ah get hungry ah will pick up something in de cafeteria. You all go.”
They left. “Glory coming soon,” I said to Mama, hoping to get her talking. She pulled off the oxygen mask but didn’t respond; she was still reciting the names of her medicines.
At last she stopped and looked at me. “Close de door,” she whispered.
When I had, she said, “Molly, ah waan fi leave dis place. Help mi.”
“No, Mama, dis is where yuh will get better.”
“Ah waan fi leave here. I waan to go home to mi own bed.”
She tried to climb out of bed, and I held her down, but she was too strong for me. I pressed the buzzer and a nurse came, followed by the doctor. They gave her another injection and the bed rails were pulled up. I sat and watched her sleep as the blue sky turned grey, then charcoal black.
Morning came and a gentle breeze greeted Mama through the windows, but she still looked trapped and unhappy. Glory would be coming soon, and I didn’t want her to see Mama like this. I combed and plaited her hair in cane rows. I sang to her as I wiped her face with a damp washcloth, rubbed on a little face cream and put Vaseline on her dry lips.
“Mama, Glory coming today,” I said. I had hoped for a response but got none. I started to sing softly.
My Bonnie lies over de ocean.
My Bonnie lies over de sea.
My Bonnie lies over de ocean
Oh bring back my Bonnie to me…
There was a moment of recognition as if she was trying to remember where she had heard the song.
“Mama, Glory coming today,” I repeated. She didn’t answer. I filled a basin with water, washed between her legs, changed her diaper and got her into a fresh nightgown.
Glory arrived, exhausted but happy to find her mother alive. She hurried over to the bed and kissed her on the cheek. Mama didn’t hug her back or talk to her. She looked irritated and pulled at the oxygen mask.
“Mama, don’t,” Glory said.
Mama’s hands went back to her side.
“How yuh feeling, Mama? Yuh hungry? Yuh want water or anything?”
Mama just lay there on the bed looking at the ceiling, folding and unfolding her hands, looking at them as if they had not been with her all her life.
I told Glory about the medication, and she went to find the doctor. The nurse told her he would be in later and explained why they had to put Mama on that medication. We waited and waited. The doctor didn’t come that night. Finally I called a taxi to take us to Grand-aunt Ruth’s and made arrangements for the cab driver to pick us up early the next morning.
Mama looked dead when we arrived. Her eyes were shut tight; her hands were lifeless, and there was no movement in her feet. Only the oxygen mask told us she was alive. Glory quickly went to the nurses’ station, hoping to find the doctor.
“What is wrong with my mother?” she asked.
“M’am, yuh will have to wait until de doctor come,” the nurse said.
“I can’t wait anymore. I have been waiting since yesterday. I need to know now.”
“I’ll get the supervisor.”
He went through the same routine with Glory, told her she had to wait until the doctor came. Glory wasn’t satisfied with that and persisted till the supervisor gave in.
“Dat dosage t
oo high,” Glory said. “Nuh wonder she look like a zombie. Ah want to talk to de doctor now. Dis is a private ward and we paying ’nuff money.”
“I will contact the doctor,” the supervisor said.
We went back to Mama and opened the window to freshen the room. The bed was soaked in piss, and she lay there like a stone in a puddle. The nurses were busy and said they wouldn’t be able to get to her for three hours. Glory got a container of water and we took off Mama’s soaked nightgown and wiped between her legs, where she was chafed like a baby. Glory dried her gently, powdered her and snapped on a diaper. Then we changed the bed linen.
The doctor finally arrived and told Glory what he had told us the day before. “She gets very restless and fights the nurses. She tries to climb out of bed. I’m afraid we will have to give her medication again tonight for her own good. She is strong and there is not enough nurses to watch over her at night.”
“Ah don’t like that,” Glory said. “How will ah get to talk to her if she all drugged up? She don’t even know mi.”
“Ah tell yuh what,” he said. “We have sitters here at the hospital that yuh can rent from midnight to 8 a.m. Check with dem at the desk to make arrangements, because if she have a sitter I won’t have to prescribe any more of this drug.”
Glory thanked him and made arrangements for a sitter. We waited late into the night, but the sitter never showed up. A nurse at the desk told us that some sitters called in sick when it rained. Glory stayed with Mama that night and I took the cab back to Grand-aunt Ruth’s. “Yuh late tonight, sister,” the cab driver said. I mumbled something about the hospital and the sitter and that my mother was staying the night.
The radio was turned low and some slow rhythm and blues throbbed from the beaten-up speakers. The music eased my mind and I relaxed a bit. The driver didn’t talk much. He seemed to sense my mood, and for that I was grateful.
The next morning I found Glory sitting in a chair next to Mama, coaxing her to eat her cereal. She looked over and smiled at me. “Is a lucky thing mi stay last night. Mama try fi climb off de bed. We had to put up de rail. If ah wasn’t here, dem would have injected her again.”
Later Aunt Joyce and the rest of the family came to visit. Mama didn’t say much, but she listened to us talk. Glory left with the others to go get some rest, while I stayed with Mama. She kept trying to climb out of the bed. I rang for the nurses and Mama began to cuss and shout at them, demanding to be let out. Three nurses held her down and a fourth injected her.
“We sorry to have to do that, but we don’t have no choice. I cut down on the dosage. She will just sleep a bit and be up in a few hours,” the head nurse said.
When Glory returned, Mama was still asleep. I told her what had happened, and she sat down next to me. Mama opened her eyes and looked around the room, a frown etched into her forehead.
“What yuh doing here?” she asked Glory.
“Mama, I’m here because yuh sick. Ah here to tek care of yuh.”
Mama looked off through the windows to the Blue Mountains, then at the bed railing, which was pulled high. She narrowed her eyes at it and stared out the window again. “Is what dat?” she asked, pointing.
“Is de Blue Mountains, Mama. Aren’t they beautiful?” Glory said.
Mama grudgingly agreed. Then she looked at me. “De door open?”
“No, Mama,” I said.
“Open it, and look if anybody out dere. Look both ways down de hall.”
“Nobody out there,” I said.
“Good,” she said. “Pull down de railing and let we go.”
That made me laugh.
“Mama,” Glory said, “Dis isn’t a jail. We bring yuh here to get better.”
She sucked her teeth and commanded us to pull down the railing.
“Mama, no, yuh here to get better,” Glory persisted.
“Unnu a idiot? Dem fool unnu? A kill dem wawn fi kill me in here.”
“No, Mama,” Glory tried again. “Dis is a hospital.”
Mama pulled the mask from her face. “Dis not nuh hospital. Dis a hell itself. De bed feel like it deh on fire. Dis is a iron grave. Mi haffi come out! Mi nah mek dem kill me so.”
“Mama, calm down,” I said.
She glared at me, and Glory tried once more. “Mama, de bed cyaan be on fire. We sitting right here next to yuh. De railing is for your own protection,” she said patiently.
“Okay,” said Mama, “if yuh so sure ’bout dat, why yuh don’t come and tek mi place here on de bed?” For such a sick old woman her voice was harsh and mean. Glory didn’t answer and left the room quietly.
“She gone?”
“Yes, to get juice,” I said.
She turned her face to the window.
“Mama yuh shouldn’t talk to Glory like dat, yuh know,” I ventured. “She really love yuh.”
She sucked her teeth. “Love? Unnu know love?”
I didn’t answer.
“What about Peppie and Freddie and Mikey?” she asked when Glory came back to the room.
“Peppie coming tomorrow, and Freddie trying to get a flight …Mikey will come soon.” My mother was lying. We knew by then that Freddie wasn’t going to fly back from Amsterdam where he was now living, and Mikey, well, that was another story.
“Mama, de sitter coming tonight,” Glory said.
“Mi nuh want nuh sitter. Ah want to get out. Ah want to sit down wid mi sisters and watch we likkle programs.”
“Okay, Mama, we’ll get dem to bring a television to de room.”
“Nuh bodder spend up any money. Is not de same like sitting wid mi sisters. Yuh think me leave Canada fi come here and lie down in a hospital bed surrounded by strangers?” she asked angrily.
A nursing assistant brought her supper, which she refused to eat. “Mama, have some of de soup,” I said.
“Dis a piss food. People can nyam soup, juice and tea fi dinner?”
Glory pointed to the window. “Mama, look out and enjoy de beautiful Blue Mountains.”
“Mountain? Blue? Which part of it blue?” She sucked her teeth again. “Why yuh nuh come tek mi place on dis iron bed and you can look at de fart mountain.”
“Mama, yuh want mi to read to yuh?” I asked.
“No, mi nuh want no Bible reading in a dis place. A hell dis.”
With that she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
“Ah glad Peppie coming in dis evening. It will be good to have him here wid we,” Glory said.
“So there is no chance of Freddie coming?” I whispered.
She shook her head and put a finger to her lips. I left before Glory did and waited outside until the cab driver came. He asked me if I would like to go for a drink that night. I had almost forgotten there was life beyond Grand-aunt Ruth’s house and the hospital.
It was early December, there were stars in the sky and the weather was balmy. The smell of the city was unpleasant. We found an open-air bar with music and ordered two beers. The cab driver, Philip, asked the usual questions. “Yuh married?”
“No, but I am involved with someone,” I lied.
“Yuh live wid him? Any children?”
“I have a daughter,” I said. “How about you?”
“Well, I is what yuh call a baby father,” he said with a grin. “Ah have four youth, and dem have three different mother. But don’t cast no judgment on mi yet, because ah look after every one of dem. Ah not one of dem careless man.”
I laughed. I took a quick look around the bar to see if there were any women alone. None. Every woman was paired off with a man. I thought about Rose for the first time in a long while and wondered what it would be like to be here with her.
“Want to dance?”
“Sure, but I’m not too up on de latest dance,” I said.
“Just follow de leader,” he said pleasantly. “Don’t worry, dis is a uptown establishment. Yuh don’t have nuh downtown dance-hall competition.”
Mama’s health began to improve, and she was due to come
home. Peppie arrived from Atlanta, and she was glad to have her favourite son there with her.
“Only Vittorio and Ciboney and de other two mi want fi see now. Yuh tell Vittorio fi come?” she asked, turning to me.
“Yes,” I said, but I hadn’t.
Two days before she was to leave the hospital, she took a turn. She started hearing voices.
“Dem waan fi kill me. Dem waan fi kill me. Get mi out a dis iron coffin. Ah don’t want dis coffin,” she screamed one morning when Glory, Peppie and I visited. Her eyes were wide open as if she had seen a ghost.
“Peppie, shut de door,” Glory said.
“Mama, who trying to kill yuh?” I asked her.
“Ah can’t tell yuh, him say if ah tell anyone, him will kill mi. Mi cyaan tell.”
Glory said, “Mama, yuh hearing things, nobody want to kill yuh.”
“Yuh think yuh intelligent?” she threw back. “Yuh not intelligent, yuh is a damn fool. Continue fi let dem fool yuh. Yuh come in a dis iron coffin and let me go. You tek my place.”
Peppie and I held her to the bed, while Glory ran to get the doctor. Mama was fighting us hard. There was no choice but to let the doctor inject her. We sat there in silence. She awoke some hours later, delirious.
“De man, him coming fi me. Him waan fi kill mi,” she started again. “Him say him ready, him say if mi talk, him will kill mi. Mi want peace, mi cyaan keep de secret any longer, it a burn mi up inside.”
Her eyes were wild and unfocused. “Adalat, Adalat. Go weh, Satan. Lef mi alone. I won’t tell de secret, so jus’ lef mi alone.”
“Mama, it okay, it’s all right,” Peppie said, stroking her arms.
Her mouth was pressed tight. Such pain on her face.
“Tek mi out a dis iron coffin! Tek me out!” she shouted, her voice carrying out the open windows and through the door. She began to cough and vomit. Thick, slimy mucus, like a mixture of dirt and water, spilled from her mouth. Glory wiped it away with a towel, but Mama kept vomiting.
“Get de doctor!” I shouted.
Peppie rushed out of the room. The doctor came in and began pounding on her chest. He spoke rapidly to the nurses in medical language that we couldn’t understand. They rushed in and out of the room. Mama’s face was like ash. I couldn’t look at her, not like that. I ran from the room and found a bench outside. The tireless blue sky, the sunshine, steadied me. Students from the campus walked by, laughing and talking, unaware that inside an old woman was dying.
The Heart Does Not Bend Page 20