“We feel relatively sure it was a hemorrhagic stroke,” he’d explained. “Especially since she has no history of high blood pressure, high cholesterol, or heart disease. She’s not obese, and she’s never been a smoker.”
“So that’s good?” Rita had asked hopefully.
“It’s good in predicting it wasn’t an ischemic stroke. And if we’re right and it was a hemorrhagic stroke, the likelihood of recurrence is reduced.”
“So it could recur?”
“That’s always a possibility. Something we can’t ignore, even if it is hemorrhagic stroke, because it could’ve been caused by a blood clot. So far the scans haven’t revealed this. And we’ve ruled out aneurysm. But she’s scheduled for another MRI tomorrow morning. That may reveal something.” He shared a bit more information (perhaps too much information, because it started to get a bit murky in her mind), but the friendly intern seemed to enjoy showing off his expertise.
As she thanked him for his help, she was curious about his age. Her guess was that he was younger than her, and, although she was wearing flats, he was shorter, too.
“If you have any questions or concerns, please, feel free to call. The nurses know how to reach me.” He pointed to his nametag. “Some people are always looking for Mister Right. Well, you just remember, I’m Doctor Wright.” He laughed like this was funnier than it was, and she suspected it was a line he’d used before.
Just the same, she thanked him, assuring him she wouldn’t forget his name.
“And I’ll hunt down some of the most current information about hemorrhagic stroke for you,” he promised. “I can tell you’re one of those people who like to be properly informed.”
“Yes,” she’d told him. “I believe that knowledge is like power.” But as she sat here with her mother, she felt powerless. Besides praying and waiting, there seemed to be little that could be done. But at least she’d convinced her dad and brother, after an hour or more of a bittersweet reunion, to go home and get some rest. It had been nearly midnight by the time they finally left, and her dad had looked so worn out that she’d felt concerned for his health. “Make sure he goes to bed,” she’d whispered to Ricky. “Even if he has to take one of Mom’s over-the-counter sleeping pills.”
Rita checked her watch. It was almost three a.m. Even on California time, she would’ve been asleep for an hour or two by now. She put the recliner chair back as far as it would go, willing herself to get a little shut-eye, but her mind was still racing with what-ifs. What if her mom didn’t recover? What if she died? What if her dad’s health went downhill as a result of all this stress? What if Ricky, who’d already been battling depression, got worse? What if? What if? What if? Finally, she knew her only recourse was to pray…and hope for sleep.
When Rita awoke, it took her a moment to figure out where she was. But seeing a nurse with a hypodermic needle in hand quickly brought her to her senses. The nurse was injecting something into her mother’s IV tube. Probably meds to keep more blood clots from forming. Dr. Wright had mentioned something about that. Next the nurse checked her temperature and blood pressure and a couple of other things.
“How’s she doing?” Rita whispered as she extracted herself from the chair.
“Her vitals are normal.” The nurse checked something on the IV unit, then gathered her things to leave.
Rita peered down at her mother, wishing she’d open her eyes and smile again, but instead she just slept peacefully. And perhaps that was good. Maybe she needed the rest. Assured that her mother was okay, Rita decided to pay the restroom down the hall a visit. And while there, she would brush her teeth.
The hospital corridor was eerily quiet, and most of the patients’ rooms were darkened, as if everyone was still sleeping. Passing by the nurses’ station, she was relieved to see that at least the nurses were awake and chatting happily among themselves. The whole office area was decorated with glossy red and pink hearts and crepe paper and rosy-cheeked cupids—reminding Rita that Valentine’s Day was only three weeks away. And that reminded her of how the week before Valentine’s Day was always a busy time at Roberto’s. It seemed that half of Los Angeles was ready for a makeover by mid February. Rita knew this was partly due to the Oscars—which usually happened about a week or two after Valentine’s Day. Anyway, it was a fun time to be a hairdresser in Beverly Hills.
Taking her time in the restroom, Rita stood in front of the mirror, assessing the damaging effects of a four-hour flight and a mostly sleepless night. As someone in the beauty business, she was well aware of the toll these inconveniences could take on one’s appearance. And the unforgiving fluorescent light was not helping. Fortunately, she’d had the good sense to keep her carry-on bag in the hospital with her. Ricky had taken the larger one. But everything she needed for beauty first-aid would be in here. Some might think her shallow for caring about appearances, but she knew that her mother would appreciate it as much as she would.
First she brushed the fuzzy sweaters off of her teeth. Next she ran a brush through her tangled shoulder-length hair and even rubbed some macadamia oil conditioner into the dry ends. She put eyedrops into her bloodshot eyes, then decided to take full advantage of the unoccupied restroom by giving her face a good invigorating scrub over the sink. She patted her skin dry, then slathered on a liberal coat of her favorite moisturizer, giving it plenty of time to soak in before she carefully applied her makeup. She completed her makeover with a squirt of a light-toned fragrance and a fresh shirt.
Feeling much better and satisfied that she’d made some much-needed improvements, she zipped her carry-on shut and returned to where her mom was still sleeping. She poked around for a few minutes, positioning the pretty flower arrangements so that they could all be seen from her mother’s bed. There were red roses from her dad, a potted African violet from Ricky, pink roses from the Jolly Janitors—That company must really care about their clients, she thought—and a bouquet of spring colored tulips from Hair and Now. But seeing that her mother was not stirring, Rita decided to run downstairs and seek out a good cup of coffee.
Rita had just ordered a latté when Dr. Wright came over to greet her. “You look bright and fresh this morning,” he said as he refilled his coffee cup. “How’s your mother doing?”
“She was sleeping when I left her. She slept pretty soundly all night.”
“That’s good. Sleeping is nature’s way of helping her brain to heal.”
“Will she be sleeping a lot during the daytime too?”
“She needs a balance of rest and rehab therapy.”
“And I know she’s got that MRI scheduled for this morning.” Rita reached for her latté.
“Yes. And I did print out some information about strokes. If you walk with me, I’ll pick it up for you.”
“Sure,” she agreed. “I’d appreciate that.”
“My shift is actually over,” he explained as they walked. “Now I get to go home and get some sleep.”
“I think I slept a total of three hours last night,” she confessed.
“You should probably go home and get some rest too,” he told her.
“Except that home is in California.” She sighed to think of the comfortable memory foam bed she’d left behind—and the old squeaky twin bed she’d be sleeping in tonight.
“A California girl.” He gave her an appreciative nod. “Whereabouts?”
“Beverly Hills.”
He looked impressed. “Nice. I’ll bet the weather’s a little warmer there.”
“That’s for sure.” She told him about the unseasonable weather.
“So where will you stay while you’re in Chicago?” he asked with what seemed a little more than professional interest.
“At my parents’.”
“Oh, right.” He paused by a door marked PRIVATE. “I’ll grab that printout now.”
As she waited for him, she wondered if Dr. Wright was flirting with her. It wasn’t like this was something new. For some reason a lot of guys seemed to be attra
cted to tall blond women. Unfortunately, they often turned out to be the wrong kinds of guys…something that Rita was still grappling with.
“Here you go.” He handed her some papers and, looking directly into her eyes, he smiled. “Hopefully, I’ll be seeing more of you. I’m back on duty tonight at six. Think you’ll be here then? Maybe we could sit down with coffee and discuss your mom’s prognosis.”
“I don’t know if I’ll still be here.” She glanced away, unsure of how to react. Was he hitting on her? “I mean, I plan to stay as long as I can today. But I need to get some sleep.”
“Well, I’m on the night shift all week. I’m sure our paths will cross again.” He reached into his pocket and removed a business card. “If you need to reach me, this has my number.”
“Thanks.” She nodded. “I didn’t realize doctors had business cards.”
He laughed. “Sure, why not? How about you?”
“What?”
“No business card?” He looked disappointed.
“Oh, yeah.” She reached into her handbag, digging for the pocket where she kept a handful of cards from her salon. “I have this.”
“Roberto’s Spa and Beauty Salon?”
“I’m a hairdresser,” she told him.
His fair brows shot up. “A hairdresser?”
She stood straighter, looking down on him slightly. “That’s right. Just like my mother. We do people’s hair for a living, and we happen to like it.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just surprised. I didn’t mean to sound disapproving.”
She made a forced smile. “Yes…I’m used to that reaction. But our clients are very appreciative.”
“Yes, I’m sure they are.” His pale gray eyes twinkled. “I suspect it’s similar to how patients feel about their doctors.”
She nodded briskly. “In some ways it probably is.” Now she glanced at her watch. “I better go. My mom might be awake by now and I don’t want her to be alone.” She made a little finger wave. “See you around, Doc.”
He chuckled. “I hope so, Rita. Give your mom my best,” he called as she walked away.
She wasn’t sure why she felt aggravated as she rode the elevator up. Really, she should feel flattered—a doctor was flirting with her. Wouldn’t her mother be pleased? And yet she felt something about Dr. Wright was insincere. And his reaction to finding out she was a hairdresser? Well, that had seemed fairly revealing too. Despite his denial, he had seemed to clearly disapprove. Or maybe she was just tired…and being overly sensitive.
Finding that her mother was awake and sitting up, Rita put thoughts about Dr. Wright aside and focused her attention on her mom.
“How are you doing?” Rita asked slowly and clearly, like Ricky had explained she should.
Donna mumbled a response, reaching for Rita with her left hand—the one unaffected by the stroke. She squeezed Rita’s fingers and smiled happily, mumbling something unintelligible.
“I’m so happy to see you, too,” Rita said in response, hoping she’d read her mother correctly. She reminded her about the MRI scheduled for nine o’clock. “But it’s still early.” She pointed to the clock on the wall. “Almost two hours before they’ll come get you.” She held up the printout that Dr. Wright had just given to her, explaining what it was. Then, hoping to amuse her mother, she confided her suspicions that the intern was flirting with her. “I could be wrong, but it seemed pretty straightforward.”
Donna’s eyes twinkled as if she really understood this.
“Don’t tell me you had this all planned out?” Rita said in a lighthearted tone. “Get yourself into the hospital so that your daughter can hook a doctor?”
Donna actually laughed about this. Then she muttered something that Rita could not make out at all. Donna tried again, but it was even worse. Naturally, this frustrated her mother even more than it frustrated Rita.
“It’s okay,” Rita assured her as she flipped over to the page she’d skimmed earlier, the one about speech problems, or aphasia. Some suggestions she already knew—like speaking slowly and clearly and not talking down to the person having difficulty. But it also suggested asking questions that only required yes or no for answers, allowing the patient to nod or shake her head. Rita asked several questions like that and her mother’s relief at being able to communicate—even if it was very basic—was a good reward.
“It also says here that you might be able to draw some pictures to communicate something,” Rita explained to her mom. “You’d have to use your left hand for now. But it might be worth trying. I’ll pick up a notebook in the gift shop.”
Donna nodded with eager-looking eyes.
“Looks like your breakfast is coming,” Rita told her as a cart was wheeled in.
“Would you like to help her with this?” the nurse’s aide asked Rita as she carried a tray to the bedside table.
“Sure. Any suggestions?”
“She’s had difficulty swallowing, so just encourage her to go slow. Everything here is liquid so it should be fairly easy for her to get it down. But it takes time.”
And it did take time. Especially since Donna insisted on trying to feed herself with her left hand, which was clumsy. But Rita did her best to remain patient, only helping when it seemed really necessary. And after about an hour, her mother was finished. But she pointed at Rita. Pantomiming with her left hand, like she was eating again.
“You think I should go eat breakfast, too?” Rita asked.
Donna nodded eagerly.
“I had a latte already. But now that you mention it, I guess I’m hungry, too.”
Donna waved her hand toward the door.
“But I hate to leave you.”
She waved her hand again, giving Rita that strong, motherly I-mean-it look.
Rita laughed. “You might be half paralyzed, but you still know how to get your way, don’t you?”
Donna smiled. And just then Richard and Ricky came into her room.
“Good timing,” Rita told them as they all hugged. “Mom is kicking me out.” She quickly explained and even gave them the sheet about working through aphasia before she left.
As she went down the elevator again, she felt a heavy sadness coming over her. Her mother was really trying, but it seemed clear she had a long, hard road ahead. According to what Rita had read this morning, recovering from a stroke of this magnitude took time. It might be six months or more before her mom was even partway back to normal…and even that wasn’t for sure. Rita had asked her manager, Vivienne, for two weeks off, but she knew that time was going to zip by. Perhaps it would be wise to let them know she might need a little more time. Fortunately Aubrey had gotten her an open-ended ticket, because Rita knew she wouldn’t want to leave Chicago before she felt certain her mother was making real progress.
Chapter 4
Later that day, not long after Donna returned from her MRI, Grandma Bernice came to visit the hospital. “I would’ve come sooner,” she told Rita. “But your dad said to wait until they were done with all Donna’s tests and whatnot.” She peeked into the room. “How is she doing?”
“She’s resting right now. I think the MRI wore her out a little,” Rita explained. “Dad and Ricky just went out to get some lunch. You can go in and sit with her if you want.”
Grandma Bernice nodded. “Yes, I’ll do that. But tell me the truth, Rita, how is she?”
Rita shrugged. “Well, she has no use of her right arm, and she can’t talk. She understands what you’re saying, but she can’t really respond—not intelligibly anyway. She gets frustrated. And she has some trouble walking, too, but the doctor thinks that will improve in time. I guess we’ll know more after today’s test results are read.”
“And her spirits?”
“She’s in surprisingly good spirits,” Rita said. “But she’s always been such a positive person. I guess it makes sense she’d be a trooper about this too.”
“And is she out of the woods? From what I’ve read there’s always a chance it can hap
pen again.”
“The doctor said that each day after the stroke increases the odds that she won’t have another one. But this is only day two.”
Grandma Bernice hugged Rita again. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, darling. I wish the circumstances were different, but you are a sight for sore eyes.”
“Thanks.” Rita patted her grandmother’s snow white curls. “And, as always, you look very pretty.”
“Well, no matter our age, we have to look our best.”
“Speaking of that, Mom had me do her makeup after she came back from her MRI.”
“Did she really?”
“Yes. She couldn’t say it in so many words, but she did a pantomime and I knew exactly what she meant. So be sure to tell her she looks pretty, okay?”
“Well, of course I will. And since I’m here and all ready to sit with my girl, I insist that you should go join the fellows for lunch.”
Rita didn’t argue with her grandmother. She knew better. She also knew that her mom would be delighted to see her own mother. Hopefully she’d wake up soon.
By Donna’s fourth day in the hospital, everyone was beginning to feel a bit more hopeful. All the scans had come out clean, and the prognosis for a recurrence of stroke seemed slim. Besides that, it appeared that the damage caused by the stroke wasn’t as extensive as the doctors had first assumed. She still had almost no use of her right arm and her speech was greatly impaired, but already, thanks to intensive rehab therapy, she was making progress—both speech and physical. Besides being able to walk unassisted and use the toilet without help, she was able to make sounds that resembled yes and no as well as several other simple words. Baby steps, perhaps, but encouraging.
“At this rate, we should be able to discharge Donna by Monday,” Dr. Jane Morrison told Rita and her family on Thursday afternoon. “With the recommendation that Donna continues her rehab from home, since I understand that’s Donna’s preference.” Dr. Jane smiled at Donna. “Right?”
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