by Karen Ball
He offered her a smile. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” She turned to Faith. “My shift starts in a few minutes, so why don’t you walk me to the unit.”
Faith glanced at her dad, and he waved them on. “Go. Enjoy.”
They no sooner got out into the hallway than Winnie took Faith’s hand and dropped the window chalk markers into it. “Write new messages for your mom every day.” Her smile held a depth of understanding and encouragement. “Remind her she’s not alone in this.” She closed Faith’s fingers over the markers. “And neither are you.”
Faith hugged her friend. “Thank you. I never would have survived all of this without you.”
“Oh, you would have survived.” Winnie winked again. “But you wouldn’t have had anywhere near the fun.”
During the rest of Mom’s hospital stay, it became the norm for nurses to stop Faith and tell her how much they loved going into her mother’s room, that they’d never seen a room done so beautifully in all the years they’d been working that floor. Faith just smiled. If it was that uplifting for the nurses, surely it would help her mom as well.
And it seemed to, Faith thought as she and her dad walked to her mom’s room about a week and a half after Winnie’s visit. Mom had been getting a little stronger each day.
They came into the room—and immediately knew something wasn’t right. Mom’s breathing was worse than ever.
Dad was at her side in half a heartbeat. “Annie?”
She looked up at him, and Faith could see she was near panic. “I’m calling the nurse.”
The nurse, in turn, called the doctor. Who ordered her mother taken down for X-rays. Faith and her dad sat in the waiting room of the X-ray lab, paging through magazines more than three years old.
It didn’t matter. Faith couldn’t have concentrated enough to read anyway.
“Mr. Bennett?”
Faith and her dad looked up. Dr. Campbell signaled for them to come with him. At his somber features, Faith’s heart plummeted. He took them to a room where the X-ray film was clipped over a light board.
“The X-rays show fluid gathering around Mrs. Bennett’s lungs and heart again. It’s to be expected, since she hasn’t been moving as much as we’d like.”
“So what do we do?”
Faith could tell her dad was struggling to stay calm.
“We drain the fluid.”
“With diuretics, like they used in the ER?”
The doctor shook his head. “No, diuretics wouldn’t be fast enough.” He went on to explain the procedure, in which they would insert a needle to draw off the fluid. “We’ll do it in Mrs. Bennett’s room, though you’ll need to wait outside until we’re done.”
“Will it take long?”
“No.” He hesitated. “But I’m afraid it may be painful.”
Misery wormed its way into Faith’s gut. More pain. Hadn’t Mom been through enough?
Apparently not.
Faith and her dad stood in the hallway, outside Mom’s room as they drained the fluid. Mom had asked the doctor if Dad could stay there, but he said it would only take a minute. She nodded, though Faith could tell she was afraid.
A few moments after they started the procedure, Faith heard her mom cry out.
At the sound, Dad leaned his head against the wall, his eyes closed.
Faith wanted to hit something.
She settled for putting her arms around her dad and hugging him tight.
God, help us. Help Mom.
It wasn’t the most eloquent prayer, but it helped. Faith felt a calm settling over her, as though God reached down and placed His hand on her head, letting His strength pass into her.
Faith was grateful. She needed God’s strength. And so did her dad.
Their own was fast being depleted.
Two days later, Faith walked into her mom’s room. “Mornin’, Mom.”
No reply. Faith hesitated, studying her mom. She was sitting up, her head rolled to the side, her eyes half open.
“Mom?” She hurried to the bed, alarm grabbing her in a merciless vise. “Are you okay?” She shook her mother gently, then not so gently. But she didn’t open her eyes. Just mumbled something incoherent.
Faith grabbed the nurse’s call button.
“May I hel—”
“I need someone in here, now! Something’s wrong!”
In seconds, two nurses were in the room. Faith stepped aside, her heart pounding, as they tried to rouse her mother. When they didn’t have any more success than Faith, one of the nurses pulled her mother’s chart.
“Well, no wonder.”
Faith went to stand beside the nurse, following her pointing finger. “They gave your mom sleeping pills last night.”
Faith frowned. “Sleeping pills? We asked you to take her off of those last week.”
The young nurse shrugged. “It was on the orders.”
“Then the orders—” Faith ground out—“are wrong.”
The nurse’s seemingly cavalier attitude irritated Faith. But when the girl rolled her eyes at Faith’s words, she went straight from irritated to ballistic. Faith snatched the chart from the twit’s hands and spun on her heel.
“Hey! You can’t take that.”
“Watch me.”
Faith went to the nurses’ station, plopping the chart on the desk. “May I please speak with the head nurse?”
A nurse Faith recognized stepped forward. She’d been working with Faith’s mom for the last week. “Sure, Mrs. Galine. What can I do for you?”
When Faith explained what had happened, the nurse flipped Mom’s chart open. As she read, the slight furrow in her brow became a canyon of incredulity. “I don’t believe it.”
“What?”
The nurse’s lips thinned. “They not only gave her sleeping pills. They gave her a double dose!”
Faith fought her rising fury. “Can you explain this?”
The woman planted her hands on her hips. “No, but someone is going to.”
When Faith’s dad arrived a few hours later, her mom was still terribly groggy. But, as always, hearing his voice helped. It pulled her out of the stupor she’d been in enough to talk a little. At least, Faith thought, her jaw clenched, it was something.
It took Mom several days to recover from the effects of the pills. But after the sleeping pill fiasco, Faith allowed herself a satisfied smile when the same young nurse from a few days ago came in with a tray of medications. But before she administered them, she went to check the chart. Then double-checked it.
Apparently the head nurse read her staff the riot act.
Good.
From: FaithinHim
To: TheCoffeeCrew
Sent: Friday, March 18, 2005
Subject: Out of the hospital!
Finally, finally, finally!
The doctor gave the order we’ve been waiting for. Mom moved out of the hospital today and into the rehab wing of a nursing home. It was hard for Mom to hear she’d have to go to a nursing home rather than home. She almost burst into tears. But Dr. Campbell was adamant. Told her she’s come a long way, but she isn’t ready to be at home yet.
Mom asked how long she’d have to stay there. Dr. Campbell patted her arm. (He’s really a nice guy.) “As long as it takes, but we’re hoping that won’t be more than a month or two. We’ll see.”
So, though we wish Mom was coming home, we’re still encouraged.
She’s doing so much better. Keep praying, ladies! Wouldn’t it be cool if Mom could be home by Mother’s Day?
Thanks!
Faith
“Faith, you’re a nut.”
She looked down at her mother and laughed. She couldn’t help it. The sound of her mother’s voice was the sweetest music in the world.
“Why? Because I challenged Mrs. Beamis to a wheelchair race with you?”
The weariness in her mother’s eyes couldn’t hold back the sparkle. “Faith, the poor woman is ninety-three years old!”
She grinned. “Okay, so we’ll make her carry some weights from physical therapy to slow her down.”
Mom shook her head, and Faith kissed the top of it as she leaned over to push open the door to the garden area, then eased her mom’s wheelchair across the threshold. “See? I told you it was warm out here.”
Her mom lifted her face to the sunshine. “I suppose I should learn to listen to you.”
Faith jerked to a halt, pressing a hand to her chest. “Breakthrough! It’s a breakthrough!”
“Ohh, you!”
Their laughter floated on the warm breeze as Faith wheeled her mother to the benches, her heart dancing at their playful banter. How she’d missed this! With every day, Mom seemed more and more her old self.
If only her physical condition would improve.
Faith adjusted the lap blanket over her mom’s legs and set the brakes on her wheelchair. “My Cadillac,” her mother called it. Still, in spite of her attempts at humor, Faith knew her mom was discouraged.
Though she’d hoped to be out of the nursing home in a matter of weeks, they were coming up on the two-month mark this week. At the beginning of Mom’s stay, Faith was so sure each day would see her mother growing stronger. So many people were praying for Mom, she had to get better. Besides, God knew how much Dad needed Mom, how much Faith needed her. Which made it that much more frustrating that the series of ups and downs had continued. What made things even more upsetting was that, as often as not, the people running the nursing home didn’t seem all that with it.
About three weeks after she was at the nursing home, Mom’s difficulty breathing had returned. Faith called the nurses’ attention to it, but it wasn’t until two days later, when her mom’s oxygen saturation levels dropped, that they sent her for X-rays. Sure enough, the fluid was back. They drained it again. At least it wasn’t nearly as painful as the first time.
Faith tried not to be upset with the nurses on the rehab floor. She figured they had to deal with overly concerned family members all the time. Still, it bothered her that they hadn’t taken her seriously enough to check things out sooner.
It was a good thing Zeke’s construction company was doing so well that Faith didn’t need to work. She spent most of her days at the nursing home, watching over her mother, encouraging her to do the exercises the physical therapists gave her, to do her deep breathing exercises, even to eat.
Her mom always used to say she’d never had a day when she wasn’t hungry. But since the surgery, getting her to eat had been a battle. Nothing tasted right to her. And she had a terrible time swallowing.
The good news was that her mom had lost sixty pounds. The bad news was that she’d lost all her energy as well. She struggled to stay awake, and Faith found herself having to wake her so she would get up and try to walk down the hallway. Mom had to walk, or she’d never regain her strength! The most she’d made so far was forty steps.
Nowhere near enough for her to be discharged.
At least the weather was nicer now, and they could sit in the garden. Faith’s mom loved being outside, especially with the flowers blooming. So Faith brought her here as often as she could.
Now, Faith looked up at the cloudless sky. Father, I know You’re with us. I’ve seen You over and over in the things that happen each day. And I know You’re aware of everything happening with Mom. I believe You’re working to heal her, to make her strong. But—
She looked away. But. There was always that but. Faith shouldn’t feel this way, but some days it felt as if God wasn’t paying attention. As if He got distracted or looked away a fraction too long and suddenly her mom ended up in trouble again.
It wasn’t true, of course, but fear had a way of making it seem true. Father, help me trust You. I know You love Mom far more than I do. But she doesn’t seem to be getting any better. Please help us.
She glanced at her mother, who had dozed off in the sunshine. Laying her hand over her mother’s, Faith squeezed. “Mom?”
Her mom’s eyes fluttered open, and she gave Faith a drowsy smile. “Sorry about that.”
Faith shook her head. “That’s fine, Mom. You need to get rest. But I think it’s time for lunch so we’d better head in.”
Dad was there when they got to the room. “I wondered where you two ran away to.”
Faith’s mom held her hand out to him, and he took it, folding his large, strong fingers around her small hand.
“Your lunch tray is here.”
Mom grimaced, and Faith couldn’t blame her. The food at this place was terrible. Worse than that, it had been wrong.
“So did they get it right this time?”
The look on Dad’s face was answer enough. Faith lifted the lid on the plate, and let her frustration out on a slow sigh. Starchy foods. Fruit. A dessert with whipped cream.
What was it going to take to get these people to put her mom on a diabetic diet? Faith and her dad had talked to everyone they could think of about the meals. She’d even gone to the kitchen and talked with the staff there. Everyone assured her they were fixing her mother diabetic meals.
And yet, here again was the wrong kind of food.
“What is wrong with these people?”
“Faith—”
“No, Dad. This is ridiculous. They’re supposed to be the professionals. How can they keep messing up like this?”
“So, we’ll call for another tray.”
“I have a better idea.” She took hold of the food tray. “I’ll be right back.”
“No hurry, sweetie.”
Her mother’s apathetic words only fueled Faith’s frustration. She carried the tray down the hallway, into the kitchen, and straight to the head dietician’s office. Enough was enough. She was going to the person in charge. Balancing the tray on one arm, she knocked on the door. A woman’s muffled voice called for her to come in.
Faith did so, then plunked the tray down on the desk. The woman seated there was in her late fifties, and her bespectacled eyes blinked at Faith. She looked from the food tray to Faith then back again. “Yes?”
“Does this look to you like a diabetic meal?”
The woman studied the tray. “No—”
“Then can you explain to me why it’s being sent to my mother, who is diabetic?”
The woman opened her mouth, but Faith’s anger overflowed and words came tumbling out. “And then can you explain why I’ve have to fight for almost two months to get you people to serve my mom the kind of food she’s supposed to have? Why she’s had to battle blood sugars over four and five hundred because she’s being given the wrong food? You’re supposed to be helping her, not helping kill her!”
To the woman’s credit, she didn’t get defensive. She listened to Faith’s tirade. Then when Faith ran out of steam, she turned and pulled a small box from the shelf. “I can’t explain any of that. Not yet. But tell me your mother’s name, and we’ll take a look at her food card.”
Faith gave the woman her mom’s name, then sat in the chair beside her and waited. She’d learned several weeks ago that the food card held all the patient’s vital information, and that it was what the staff used to prepare the patient’s meals. The dietician frowned. “This doesn’t show your mother as being diabetic.”
Her fingers gripped the chair arms. “I was told it did. By three different people.”
The woman pursed her lips. “Well, they were wrong.”
The casual words almost brought Faith out of the chair and over the desk. She drew a deep breath, glancing down at the woman’s nameplate on her desk. “Mrs. Wilfried, my mother has been here two months, and she has yet to receive the right kind of food.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “I don’t know about you, but from where I’m sitting, this is coming perilously close to neglect.”
The woman stood with a nod. “I understand. I will take care of this immediately.”
Faith stood as well, and for the first time in two months, she believed someone actually would take care of the problem. She hoped it wasn
’t too late.
Zeke sat in the quiet room, listening to his mother-in-law’s shallow breathing as she dozed.
He hadn’t been able to come see Anne often. Work was always crazy this time of year. The weather was warming up, and everyone wanted their projects started. Now. But he’d told the guys working for him that he would be out as much as he could in the next few days.
He wanted to be there for Faith and her parents. He offered to spell Faith and Jared, sitting with Anne. Something they’d needed more than ever today, after the fiasco with Anne’s food.
“Ezekiel?”
He looked toward the bed. Anne was awake, watching him. He lay his hand over hers, where it rested on the bed. “Hello, beautiful.”
Her smile was as sweet and loving as ever. “Thank you.”
“For calling you beautiful?” He winked.
Her breathless laughter tugged at his heart. Help her, Lord. Ease her pain.
“No, though that was nice. Thank you for being there for Faith. For being the man you are.” Her eyes misted. “For loving my little girl so well.”
It was hard to talk around the emotion surging through him. “Thank you for raising her so well.”
Anne gave a small shake of her head. “Oh, Zeke, I did so many things wrong, but God kept hold of Faith in spite of me. I’m so proud of her, of all she’s made of her life, of the way she’s living for Him.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “I’m so grateful God never let her go.”
Zeke stroked the back of her hand. “He’s never let either of you go, Anne.”
“No, He hasn’t. Even now—” she looked around the room—“I know He’s with me, watching over me.” Her eyes shone with an inner confidence. “No matter what happens.”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“You’ve always told me you and Faith were different.”
She nodded.
“But you’re not. Not really. Your daughter is just like you, Anne.” He lifted her hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. “She’s easy to love.”
When Faith got home that evening, Zeke met her at the door. He’d been doing that lately, standing there and opening his arms, letting her walk into them, holding her until she was ready to move away.