Critical Condition

by Nicki Edwards

  “Morning, Mum. How did you sleep?”

  “I feel like a million dollars. This fresh air here is like an anesthetic. I knew coming to the country was a brilliant idea. One of my best. Look at that view out the window.”

  Poppy glanced at the window and mentally agreed the view was amazing. She narrowed her eyes. “That wasn’t what I asked. How did you sleep?”

  “I slept for an hour or so I think.”

  Poppy frowned. Terri was asleep when Poppy went to bed and finally closed her own eyes. Had she gotten up some time after that and Poppy hadn’t heard her? When Poppy had lived at home she’d been a light sleeper, but since moving to New York, she slept like a log and nothing disturbed her.

  Terri was tossing things haphazardly into cupboards, but Poppy knew better than to offer to help. She winced at the sound of something ceramic breaking this time, but Terri didn’t break her stride. Plate after plate was thrown into the cupboard. Poppy sighed. Her job would be to re-stack everything and put some order to it.

  Precisely what she’d done all of her life.

  “Have you taken your meds this morning?” Poppy kept her voice light. Any judgment in her tone could make her mother hysterical.

  Her mother’s medications were one of the first things Poppy had found the night before. She spotted the blue plastic packaging on the bench next to the kettle where she’d left it but she couldn’t see if the dozen pills her mother was supposed to take every morning had been popped out of their pouch. She touched the kettle. Cold. Her mother always started the day with a cup of tea and her tablets. It was another one of her mantras. Tea and tablets. Tea and tablets. Tea and tablets.

  “I don’t need them anymore.”

  “Don’t need what?”

  “All those pills.”

  A neon warning sign glowed red before Poppy’s eyes. She stared out the kitchen window at the sun breaking through the fog and sifted through her words. She would need to choose the next ones carefully.

  “I’m going to have a cup of tea. Can I make you one?” Poppy preferred coffee in the morning, but her mother wouldn’t remember that.

  “No.”

  When the kettle had boiled, Poppy poured hot water over two teabags and watched as the water in the mugs changed color. She remembered something someone had said to her once. A woman is like a teabag. You never know how strong she is until you put her in hot water. If that saying were true, right now she was a milky weak tea.

  She took both mugs and sat at the kitchen table. “Here, drink this, Mum.”

  Terri didn’t acknowledge her.

  Poppy gripped the mug tightly, as if the warmth seeping into her cold fingers would provide her with the strength she needed to cope with the day. She blew on the hot tea before taking a slow sip and swallowing it. She grimaced. Not even close to coffee but it would have to do.

  She willed her body to relax. Without enough sleep it wasn’t surprising that Terri was behaving this way, but it didn’t make it any easier to cope with. Another plate smashed.

  “Mum, stop! I can unpack for you later. There’s no hurry.”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  Poppy frowned. Her mother’s reply made no sense. She changed tack.

  “It looks cold outside. Maybe we should leave the boxes for now, go into town and check it out. We could grab a coffee then go shopping and buy you a winter coat. I’ll need to call Nathan about the heating. Maybe we could go for a wander outside and see if there’s a woodpile.” She allowed her words to fill the uncomfortable silence.

  “I like tea,” Terri said finally.

  Poppy sighed. “I made you a tea. Here it is.” She pushed the mug across the scratched surface of the table again.

  “I don’t feel like going anywhere. There’s too much to be done here.”

  Poppy stood. She’d find another way to get through to her mother later and defuse the situation. Tipping her unfinished tea down the sink, she was about to head to the shower when she saw the scowl on her mother’s face. She quickly washed and dried her mug before putting it away. Something as small as leaving dishes on the sink had set her mother off in the past.

  Later that morning, after Poppy discovered the woodpile, lit a fire, called Nathan about the heating, unpacked all the books and set up the lounge room, she was desperate for a real coffee. Her mother might not be interested in getting out of the house, but she needed to escape. While her mother was safe inside, what could go possibly wrong?

  She let out a small laugh as she slammed the front door behind her.

  What could go wrong? The list of possibilities was endless.

  *

  Twenty minutes later Poppy parked the hire car, bemused by the reverse angle parking, and walked up the street in search of a good café. Wine barrels cut in half, overflowing with seaside daisy and red geraniums, caught her attention. They lined a narrow bluestone cobbled laneway. At the end of the laneway, upturned milk crates and small tables made her smile. Bingo! A sign swung from a black metal frame attached to the red brick building. The Bean Counter. She liked the play on words but hoped the barista didn’t make coffee like an accountant.

  As she got closer, the smell of freshly ground coffee beans filled her nostrils, drugging her and dragging her in. Everyone needed a third space, and although she didn’t plan to stay in Birrangulla for long, at least while she was in town, perhaps she could hang out here when her mother’s moods became too much.

  A young, bearded, hipster barista greeted her when she stepped through the door and her own mood improved significantly. If he looked like that, chances were he’d make a perfect brew. She placed her order, found a table and sat, unwrapping her scarf and laying it across the seat beside her.

  The conversation of locals ebbed and flowed around her and for the first time in weeks she relaxed. She picked up the local newspaper and scanned the headlines briefly. As she turned the page, her breath caught. A double-paged spread, including photos and stories of her father’s funeral, filled pages three and four. She found herself in three of the pictures. There were photos of Jenni too, standing stoic and tall, her face a mask behind oversized sunglasses. Hamish and Isaac stood at her side, heads down to hide their tears.

  “Another coffee?”

  She jumped. She was daydreaming and hadn’t heard him approach her table.

  “Poor kids.” He tapped the photo with his finger. “Losing their dad like that.”

  “Did you know him?” Poppy asked.

  “Not personally, but everyone knew about him. Top bloke. Real family guy.”

  The young barista looked like he was about to say more but Poppy cut him off. The last thing she needed was for him to recognize her from the pictures. “Another coffee would be great thanks.”

  “Coming right up.”

  *

  The last person Liam expected to see at The Bean Counter was Poppy, but there she was, reading the paper like she belonged there. But even from the door he noticed the dark circles under the eyes. She looked even more fragile than she had at the funeral.

  He entered the café, ordered himself a coffee and offered to take Poppy’s order to her table.

  He placed her coffee in front of her before pulling out a chair opposite her and sitting down.

  She looked up in surprise. “Nice haircut,” she said by way of greeting. “I like it.”

  “Thanks.”

  She picked up the coffee in front of her. “Do you work here too?”

  “Jeremy said he trusted me enough to carry it over here without spilling it.”

  “Who?”

  “Jeremy. The barista. He and Caleb bought the café from Joel a few years ago.”

  “Do you know everyone in town?”

  “Pretty much.” He added sugar to his coffee. “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?”

  “Not at all.” She looked him up and down. “On duty I see. Is this what ambos do? Hang around and have coffee between jobs.”

  �
�Something like that. This is my late lunchbreak.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Mm, that’s what I needed. So, I hear you got settled in okay.”

  She stared at him. “How’d you hear that? Are you stalking me or something?”

  He felt his cheeks flame. “No. But when I was at work this morning I bumped into Mackenzie and she told me you’d moved into Cooinda.”

  “Mackenzie who?”

  “Mackenzie Kennedy-Jones. You met her hubby Nathan last night. Nathan is my sister-in-law’s brother.”

  He watched Poppy try to work out the connection in her head and give up.

  She then ran her fingers through her hair, tugging at the knots and finally giving up on that too.

  “The poor guy. I can’t imagine what he must have thought. What did Mackenzie say?”

  He hated lying, but the truth wouldn’t help Poppy. “Nothing much,” he replied as offhandedly as he could. “Only that your mum was renting the house from them.”

  “That’s right. And I can see by the look on your face that’s not all she said. You’re a crappy liar.”

  He chose to ignore that comment. “I guess that means you’ll be hanging around for a while.” It was half-statement, half-question. He crossed his fingers and held them up in front of him. “Please tell me you’re staying.”

  “It means I’ll be staying long enough to make sure my mother is okay. That she’s not going to harm herself or anyone else.”

  “How long do you think that will take? A year or so?”

  Her face fell. “God, I hope not.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment stabbed at him.

  “I’ll be here at least for a week. I want to make sure she’s got some services in place in case anything else happens.”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything. You never know with my mother. I’ll need to find her a local GP and make sure all her records are sent from her doctor in Queensland. That way if anything goes wrong, they’ll know how to deal with it.”

  “Good. So that means you will be around for a while. That’s awesome. I still owe you that dinner at Crowded House. If you don’t want to do dinner maybe we could just hang out at my place. Or catch a movie? Watch some more NCIS.” He was grasping at straws.

  “I’ve told you I’m not staying, Liam. Hopefully I can still get back up to Queensland and enjoy my vacation before I have to fly home.”

  “Ah, love,” he said, accenting the word and giving her a wink. “Give yourself time to get to know me and you might change your mind.”

  Chapter 24

  After finishing her second coffee, Poppy waved good-bye to Liam and headed down the wide, tree-lined street back to her car. Liam went the opposite direction, back to work. It took all Poppy’s self-control not to turn around and watch him depart. He looked amazing in his work uniform.

  As she waited for the lights to change outside city hall, she saw the familiar signage for Kmart and Coles on the front of a modern glass and concrete structure. Further down, on the other side of the street was a Target Country and Myer. Birrangulla obviously wasn’t as small as she’d first thought. She crossed the road and walked past a large park. At the center of the green space a red brick clock tower took pride of place.

  The century-old bull-nosed verandas that shaded wide pavements ending in deep bluestone curbs reminded her of something from the gold rush days. Dotted on either side of the road was a mix of shops, from specialty clothing stores to an art gallery and an antique shop. Once again it struck her that it was the prettiest place her mother had lived.

  For the next hour Poppy drove aimlessly up and down different streets, getting a feel for the layout of the town. She was really avoiding going back to the farm and her mother. Finally, around five o’clock as dusk was descending, she knew she couldn’t delay it any longer. She stopped at an intersection and as she checked for traffic something caught her peripheral vision. A man was lying on the side of the road with an overweight woman standing over him talking on a phone. Poppy was about to keep driving but knew that she couldn’t. Something about the picture was wrong. She flicked her indicator and did a U-turn. Pulling alongside the woman, she wound down the window.

  “I’m a nurse. Can I help?”

  The woman almost dropped the phone in relief. “Yes, please! Help.” She put the phone to her ear again. “A nurse has just arrived,” she exclaimed breathlessly.

  Poppy pulled into a driveway and jumped out of her car. She approached the man lying on the ground and stopped in surprise. He was very old, very pale and surrounded by a very large pool of his own blood. Bloody footsteps travelled ten meters up the footpath behind where he was lying. A mangy-looking dog was running around, its leash dragging behind it. Had the dog bitten the man? Poppy eyed it warily in case it was dangerous, but it ignored her.

  “Hi sir, my name is Poppy. I’m a nurse.”

  “Bob,” the man said. He attempted to sit up. Behind Poppy, the woman was still talking on the phone, obviously giving the ambulance operator details and directions. She bounced around as she talked.

  “Don’t move, Bob. I need to work out where this blood is coming from.”

  He slumped back down on the ground.

  Poppy ran through the emergency basic life support flow chart in her mind. Danger. Nothing, unless she counted the dog. The road was quiet and the man was on the footpath so traffic wasn’t going to be a problem either.

  Response: the man was responding appropriately. Send for help: the woman was onto that already by the sound of her one-sided conversation with emergency services. Airway: open. Tick. Breathing spontaneously and talking. Tick. Circulation: not good. Bob was pale, clammy and looked like he was about to pass out any moment. Plus, there was the issue of the blood. Poppy had no idea where it was coming from. Both legs of his pants were blood soaked as was his flannel shirt. She needed to work out where the blood was coming from before she moved on to the next step of the flow chart.

  A young man jogged toward them, his hands covered in blood. He was almost as pale as Bob.

  “I’m Josh. I was working on the building site over there.”

  “Did you see what happened? Did he fall? Did the dog bite him?” Poppy asked. She looked at his hands. “Did it bite you?”

  “I didn’t fall,” Bob mumbled. “And Alfie wouldn’t hurt a flea.”

  “He was walking along the street with his dog then I saw him collapse to the ground. When I came over to ask if he was okay I saw he was bleeding everywhere,” Josh said. “This lady was walking past and now she’s calling the ambulance. I took off his belt and put it around his leg then went back to tell my boss where I was,” Josh said. “I hope that was the right thing to do.”

  “Where is he bleeding from?” Poppy asked Josh.

  Josh shrugged. “I dunno.”

  “It’s my leg,” Bob said.

  Poppy rolled up the legs of Bob’s pants, trying to find the source. Nothing. The skin on his legs was dark and filled with fluid though. Bob obviously suffered from peripheral vascular disease and probably ischemic heart disease and CCF too. Or AF. That would explain the blood. He was probably on warfarin or some other blood thinner. She slipped off his shoes and when she got to the second blood-soaked sock she saw the problem.

  Under the sock was a narrow bandage, now entirely red. Blood was squirting from the bandage. An arterial bleed? Although she would have liked a pair of gloves, Poppy didn’t hesitate. She clamped her thumb on to the bandage and pressed hard, wrapping her fingers as tightly as she could around his ankle. With her other hand she removed the belt acting as a tourniquet from his upper thigh. She swallowed. Was it possible that one tiny leg wound was the cause of so much blood? Had the dog bitten him? If so, why the bandage? Her brain raced through possible scenarios.

  “Bob, what’s under the bandage on your leg?” she asked.

  “An ulcer,” he said.

  “Has it ever bled like this before?”

  Bob shook his head and closed his eyes. “J
ust started back there. I turned and saw all the blood on the footpath so I sat down.”

  Poppy glanced up at the woman hovering nearby. “How far away are the paramedics?” she asked.

  “Five minutes.”

  Poppy breathed a silent sigh of relief. Bob’s color was too pasty for Poppy’s liking and his speech was slurred and stilted. That could be normal for him or he might have actually lost a lot of blood and was going into shock. She released her grip on his ankle so that she could change position and feel for a pulse on Bob’s wrist but as soon as she moved, blood squirted again. Was it really an arterial bleed? From a tiny ulcer? It didn’t seem possible, but she’d run her hands up and down his legs and found no other evidence of bleeding. She sat back on her haunches and surveyed the scene. Was she missing anything?

  “Are you on warfarin?” she asked.

  “I think so.”

  “For your AF?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She decided to start at the top and work her way down while she waited for the ambulance. “Do you know where you are, Bob?”

  “Stephen Street.”

  “And the day? The year?”

  He answered correctly.

  “And you didn’t fall? Hit your head? Lose consciousness?”

  “No. Like I said, I was walking along and felt something warm run down my leg. Thought I’d wet myself. That happens sometimes, you know. When I looked down I saw all the blood and I looked behind me and there was blood on the ground. So I sat down until this nice young chap came over to help me.”

  “Any chest pain or discomfort?”

  Bob shook his head.

  “Can you squeeze my hands and wriggle your toes.”

  He did as he was told but his responses were slow and his grip not very strong.

  Poppy licked her lips and glanced down the empty street. How much longer were the paramedics going to be? If they didn’t arrive soon, she might be dealing with a circulatory arrest.