Some Other Child

by Buchbinder, Sharon

  Light flashing, the detective blasted past cars on the beltway, making up for the delay at the house, it seemed. A short time later, the detective let the two women out at the ER entrance.

  Sarah asked a dark-haired receptionist where she could find Mrs. Wright. The woman glanced up from her keyboard and frowned. “You related?”

  “I’m her daughter.” Sarah pointed to Aunt Ida. “This is her sister.” What the hell, after tonight’s events why not make her an official member of the family?

  “They’re working her up now. As soon as the doctor has a moment, I’ll ask him to speak with you.” She pointed at a row of orange plastic chairs. “Take a seat and wait.”

  “Why won’t anyone tell me what’s going on? I have a right to know now.” Angry tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes.

  “Young lady, I insist on seeing my sister,” Aunt Ida shouted.

  Detective Engelman walked over to Sarah. “What’s going on?”

  Sarah’s head throbbed. “They won’t let us see my mother.” It wasn’t right. She needed to be with her. Now.

  The detective leaned over the desk and whispered something to the clerk. Her head jerked back as if she’d been slapped. Face beet red, the woman jumped up out of her seat and hustled around the counter. “Come with me, please.”

  Electric warming blankets covered Ethel. Her lips were blue and her skin had a mottled, pale, yellow-gray tone. Plastic intravenous bags hung overhead and the tubes from them wormed beneath the blankets. Multiple monitors beeped at irregular intervals. The numbers blinking on the heart monitor varied between forty-five and fifty. Standing at her bedside, Sarah realized that she’d never seen her mother this close to death. A shiver of apprehension ran up her spine.

  “Hang in there, Mom, you can make it.”

  She closed her eyes, unwilling to think of losing her mother. A torrent of memories laden with love, anger, guilt, and shame reminded Sarah of how much of her life she had sacrificed to take care of her mother. She had even given up the love of her life, Dan Rosen. What would he say if he knew what had happened to her mother? Would he even care anymore? She shook her head, opened her eyes, and forced herself back to the here and now.

  Aunt Ida sat down in a chair beside the hospital bed and held Ethel’s hand beneath the covers. Tears slid down her wrinkled cheeks as she whispered, “Shema Yisrael, Adenoi Elohenu, Adenoi Echod,” over and over. Usually, the Serenity Prayer helped her, but tonight it wasn’t bringing her the peace she needed. Sarah wished she had the comfort of Aunt Ida’s direct pipeline to God to fall back on.

  A tall, handsome African-American in a lab coat with entered the cubicle, a chart in his hand. His name tag said Dr. Johnson.

  “I’d like to ask Ms. Wright a few questions in private,” he said.

  “Mrs. Katz,” Detective Engelman said, “how about you and I go find a cup of coffee?”

  Sarah had been so engrossed in her own thoughts, she’d forgotten the cop was in the room. She hoped he’d gotten over the idea that she’d somehow caused her mother’s accident.

  Still weeping, Aunt Ida clutched Ethel’s hand, kissed it, and supported herself on bedrail to stand. Detective Engelman took her elbow and guided her out the door.

  Sarah watched them leave, worried that a blow like this would crush her frail aunt. “What do you need to know?” Sarah asked.

  “Age, medical history, medications, allergies, all that good stuff.”

  Sarah focused on his dark brown eyes and said, “I’ll tell you whatever I can. She’s seventy-nine-years-old. Retired from the federal government. Moved to Baltimore ten years ago. Last year, she got drunk, had a car accident, and broke both legs. I moved home to take care of her. She just started to walk with a cane last week. Even when she’s not drinking, she’s pretty unsteady on her feet. After her car accident, she stayed sober—until recently.”

  He scribbled some notes on the chart and frowned. “What happened?”

  “I got a job and Aunt Ida was out of town. I guess she got lonely. She missed her boys.”

  “She has sons?”

  “One son—my older brother. Her “boys” are her drinking companions. Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, Mr. Bell, those kinds of boys.”

  “I see.” He nodded and made some more notations. “How many drinks would you say she has in a day?”

  “Half a bottle. The regular size. Not the gallon jug.”

  “A half a bottle a day? Are you sure? She’s seventy-nine-years-old and drinks over a cup of liquor a day?”

  “Give or take.” Sarah felt as if Dr. Johnson was calling her a bad daughter. She had to explain to him, get him to understand. “God knows I’ve tried everything to get her to stop drinking. I watered down her bottles, hid them, emptied them, called the liquor stores, and told them to stop delivering. Even disabled, my mother managed to stash bottles everywhere. She’s wily.”

  Dr. Johnson handed her a box of tissues.

  She wiped her eyes and nose. “What else do you want to know?”

  “Ever heard of Al-Anon?”

  “I’ve been going to AA and Al-Anon meetings ever since I was in nursing school. I’ve accepted the fact that she’s an alcoholic. I know I can’t fix her. It doesn’t mean I stopped caring about or for her.” She knew she sounded defensive. She didn’t care. No one understood what life was like with her mother—except her brother and sister.

  The doctor nodded. “Then you know that more likely than not, she’s physically dependent. We’ll be watching her for signs of alcohol withdrawal. She could become tachycardic, with fast erratic heartbeats and have seizures. We want to avoid that because of her head trauma. I’ve ordered an MRI.”

  “Do whatever you think is necessary.”

  “Okay. As soon as we get that, we’ll have better information. When the EMTs arrived, her core body temperature was eighty-eight degrees. Below eighty-six degrees, atrial fibrillation and death occur. Lucky the dog was with her. I’m sure he kept her alive.”

  Sarah dabbed at her nose and sighed. “What do I do now?”

  “You and your aunt should go home and rest.”

  “I can’t leave, and I don’t think Aunt Ida will go. She’s pretty hard-headed.” She managed a weak smile. “Just like my mother.”

  “Well, they are sisters.” Dr. Johnson stood and headed out the door. “You’re free to stay with your mother until they take her to imaging.”

  Sarah reached down and grasped her mother’s cold hand. Tears ran down her face as she groped for the right words. She leaned over, and said, “Hey, Mom. Sarah here. We’ll get through this, just like we always do.” Ethel didn’t move. Sarah thought of Dan’s prediction a year ago and shuddered. “Hang in there. Please?”

  * * * *

  “Did you hear me?”

  Sarah jerked out of sleep, looked around and tried to get her bearings. She was in the ER waiting room and Aunt Ida snored in the next chair. Dr. Johnson stood in front of her, a concerned expression on his face.

  “Your mother’s MRI was normal. No signs of intracranial bleeding. They’re ready to transfer her to the ICU. Do you want to go up with her?”

  “Yes.”

  He had a brief conference with the clerk and called to Sarah, “They’re taking your mother up to the ICU now. Good luck.”

  Sarah turned to Aunt Ida and found the older woman awake. “Did you hear the good news?”

  The elderly woman stared at her with glassy eyes, her skin the color of talcum powder.

  Sarah’s stomach fluttered. She looked awful. Was she having a stroke? “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I guess you could say that.” Aunt Ida gave herself a little shake and flexed her fingers. “What’s the good news?”

  Relief flooded Sarah. Aunt Ida was a little wiped out, but okay. “Mom’s MRI was normal. They’re heading to the ICU.”

  “Thank God,” the older woman whispered.

  “You sure you don’t want to go home? It’s three-thirty in
the morning. You must be exhausted.”

  “I’m sticking with you, Sarahlei. Let’s get your mother settled, then we can talk.”

  When they found the unit, Sarah asked a nurse who would be taking care of her mother.

  A dark haired physician glanced up from a computer. “I’m Dr. Merrill, the ICU physician. She’ll be under my watch until morning, then another physician comes on duty. Why don’t we go into this conference room over here, so we can speak in private?”

  “I’ll sit outside in the waiting area, Sarahlei. Come get me when I can see your mother.”

  Dr. Merrill closed the door. “We’re concerned about the alcohol and the Gamma hydroxybutyrate, the GHB, your mother has in her system. Were you aware her blood alcohol level was point-two-one percent when she was admitted? Lethal levels are between point-three and point-five percent. That, combined with the toxic level of GHB in her bloodstream, hypothermia, and your mother’s age make for a poor prognosis. It’s a miracle she’s alive.”

  A cinder block of despair pressed on Sarah’s chest. Her jaw ached with the effort of clenching her teeth so she wouldn’t scream. Decades of unresolved emotions about her mother threatened to crush her. “What are you telling me?”

  “The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are critical. She could regain consciousness and recover.” The doctor paused. “If not, then I’m afraid you’re looking at either a funeral, or a persistent vegetative state.”

  Despite her nurse’s training, hearing the two outcomes spoken out loud bowed her head. A black well of despair threatened to suck her down. Sarah put her face in her hands and sobbed. This should have never happened. What had her mother been doing outside? Winston had an electric fence. All she had to do was open the door and let him out. Something else must have caused her to go outside in the sleet and fall on the ice. But what? As soon as she got home, she was going to take a look in the yard. The whole scenario just didn’t ring true.

  “Ms. Wright, are you okay?”

  “I’m overwhelmed. If she’s in a persistent vegetative state, she could live like that for years.” She shuddered. At this rate, Sarah thought it might be time for her to start spending time with “the boys.”

  A nurse in blue scrubs poked her head in the room.

  “Mrs. Wright’s vitals seem to be stabilizing. Her pulse is sixty, respirations are sixteen, and her temperature is up to ninety-two degrees.” She gave a thumbs-up sign. “Looks like she might be coming out of the woods. You can go see her now.”

  The fact that her mother was getting warmer and breathing normally gave Sarah a weak flicker of hope. It was within the golden twenty-four hours. Maybe, just maybe, her mother would be okay. Or maybe it was just magical thinking on her part. Wave a wand and abracadabra, Mom you are well.

  She stood and felt much older than her thirty years. “Dr. Merrill, thank you for your time and candor. I’m sorry I was so edgy before,” Sarah said.

  “Everyone here knows the stress families are under when they walk through those doors.” She paused. “Now we have to wait and see.”

  Sarah found Aunt Ida and shepherded her into Ethel’s room. A fluorescent light flickered overhead. Her mother’s bruised and bandaged head rested on clean pillows and a pale pink color suffused her face. Intravenous fluids dripped, and a monitor beeped at regular intervals.

  Aunt Ida reached under the bedding, held Ethel’s hand and whispered in Hebrew.

  Sarah whispered when the older woman paused, “Would you please teach me that prayer?”

  Chapter Two

  Ida sat at her best friend's bedside and prayed for forgiveness. This was all her fault. She should have never given her friend that drug. She should have doled it out to her a few drops at a time, not given her an entire bottle. But Ethel was an adult, wasn’t she? Shouldn’t she have listened to Ida? How could she have known Ethel would have used so much of that GHB? What had she been thinking, going out in the icy rain? If only she hadn’t passed that drug along to her, maybe Ethel would be at home watching television and eating dinner. It’s my fault, Ida thought. Me. Me and my nightmares.

  Ida looked at Ethel, so near death, sighed, and closed her eyes.

  * * * *

  “Mitzi, Mitzi, oh, Mitzala, my Mitzala,” Ida sobbed and rocked on her bed. The dead kitten’s head lolled with her movements.

  The monster pounded on the door. “Open up! Open up right now!”

  Glued to the bed, Ida could barely catch her breath. The doorknob rattled and the key shook in the lock. More pounding and the door crashed open. He staggered over to her, grabbed her hair, and yanked her head backwards. His large red nose touched hers. He glared at her with blood-shot eyes and breathed alcohol fumes into her face.

  “Don’t you ever lock this door again. Let that cat be a lesson to you. The next time you lock the door, I’ll kill your mother.”

  Her whole body shook. She whispered, “I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again.”

  A week later, half asleep under her beautiful eiderdown quilt, Ida enjoyed the afterglow of her twelfth birthday. It was a wonderful day. Buoyed by morphine, her mother had come downstairs for the party, a pale consumptive wraith in a long black dress. Ida drifted to sleep on warm waves of happiness.

  Her bedroom door crashed open. In the dim light of a half moon, she made out the figure of her stepfather. He stumbled to the foot of her bed.

  “Hello, girlchik,” he said in a guttural tone, words slurred.

  He was drunk. Again.

  “I left the door unlocked just like you told me to,” she whispered. “Please don’t hurt my mother—or me.”

  “Hurt you? Oh, no, girlchik. I’m going to give you a very special birthday present.”

  * * * *

  An alarm went off. No, not again. He was dead. She jerked her head up and looked around the room. She was in the hospital with Sarah and Ethel. Nerves jangled, Ida’s whole body trembled.

  Sarah pressed the call buzzer and called to the nursing station. “I think my mother’s IV is infiltrated. The alarm is going off.”

  A nurse rushed into the room and inspected Ethel’s ballooning arm. “I’ll get this re-started.”

  Still shaken from her dream, Ida turned to Sarah. “Remember the day your mother called and asked you to come back to Baltimore to help her?”

  Sarah gave a short, humorless laugh. “How could I forget? She told me she called me because I didn’t really have a job. As if getting my PhD in public health wasn’t a full-time occupation.”

  “She was never good at asking for help,” Ida said. “I really couldn’t take care of her. She had so many problems.” And so many secrets. With Ethel so close to death, Sarah needed to know some of them. But which ones?

  Sarah shook her head. “Her timing was terrible, too. I was in the middle of an argument with Dan when she called.”

  “What were you fighting about?” Ida asked.

  “His dog. He hated me. Peed on my jacket.”

  “That’s a naughty dog.” Ida would have been angry, too.

  “When Mom called, Dan told me not to go, that she must have been loaded. He was right, of course.”

  “She wanted you here.” Sarah had no idea how much she was needed. “I did, too.”

  “Dan said she’d get drunk and kill herself one day.” Tears rolled down Sarah’s cheeks and her shoulders shook with sobs. “He was right.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Ida clutched Sarah’s hand. “I didn’t mean to ruin your relationship with Dan. I wish I could make it up to you.”

  Ida had to do something. It wasn’t fair. This poor girl had suffered and sacrificed enough. She deserved a life with a man she loved.

  Sarah shook her head and tears flew off her cheeks. “I tried to get him to move to Baltimore. His mother lives here, for heaven’s sake! You’d think he’d want to be close by. But every time we talked, we argued.” She sighed.

  “Have you thought about calling him?” The older woman reached over and wiped Sarah’s ch
eek with a tissue.

  “Every—Single—Day. I don’t have the nerve to call him. Especially now. He’d probably just hang up on me. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. That’s why I returned the ring.” Sarah looked around. “Where is that nurse? She needs to re-start this IV.”

  “What your mother did, sending you away when you were little, leaving you there for years,” Ida said. “I’m sure it seems unreasonable.” How could she ever explain? Make her understand Ethel better so Sarah could get on with her own life?

  “She said she needed help then, too. Couldn’t manage me, plus my brother and sister. At least that’s the official story.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “I’m a pediatric nurse, Aunt Ida. I understand family crises and foster care. Sometimes it’s all a family can do just to hang in there.” She paused. “What I have trouble forgetting is the abuse.”

  Ida whispered, “She was young. Had no guidance, no one to help her.”

  “I forgave her.” Sarah shook her head. “God help me, I still love her.”

  “She has good moments,” Ida said, trying to come up with Ethel’s attributes so Sarah could see her through her eyes. “She’s nobody’s doormat. She has a good sense of humor.”

  “Yeah, Matt, saved us from a lot of whippings by getting her to laugh,” Sarah said and smiled. “It’s a wonder he’s not a stand-up comic instead of working in child protective services.”

  “Your brother rescues children. And your sister is a nurse, too. Ethel must have done something right.”

  Sarah turned away from staring at her mother and locked gazes with her. Funny, how had she never noticed before that Sarah had her mother’s eyes?

  “We went into these professions, in part to fix what our mother did to us.” Sarah pursed her lips. “Aunt Ida, how can you be so loyal to someone who’s so difficult?”