She rose with renewed determination, having fought the fight for her future in her mind and won. She was surprised by the sunlight outside. She would barely have time to shower, dress and have a light breakfast before the tour buses came to take them to Juneau.
When Helga arrived, the crowd of passengers at the gangplank had thinned out to perhaps one more busload. Drew was not there. She was certain he would not have left without her. He was too much of a gentleman to do that.
“Mrs. Fessler?,” the man asked. “May I speak with you privately?”
He motioned to a bench away from the remaining passengers. “I’m the Amsterdam’s doctor, Dr. Parsons. Mr. Maitland told me you’d be waiting for him.”
“Oh dear. Is he alright?” she said clutching her purse in her lap.
“It’s not life threatening. He has a pacemaker which was malfunctioning and causing his heart to beat irregularly. We had to move him early this morning from the ship to the Bartlett Regional Hospital. If they are able to correct his pacemaker, they will keep him overnight for observation. If they can’t, he probably will be medivacked to Seattle. Either way, he will not be returning to the Amsterdam. He asked me to convey his regrets. He insisted that I do so in person.”
Dr. Parsons stood up. Helga, in a daze, politely thanked him for his consideration. She joined the waiting passengers on the wharf and boarded the bus, choosing to sit next to a woman, who promptly introduced herself as Mrs. Ernestine Blanchard from Detroit.
“You can call me Ernie. Everyone does,” she said and she launched into a nonstop monologue about being widowed for four years, this was her first cruise ever, she loved the food on board, hadn’t the Alaskan Seafood Buffet been spectacular, the trip to the wilds of Alaska was such an adventure, and how brave she was, and Helga too, in taking this voyage on their own.
Helga realized sadly, it had just been last night when she and Drew had been at the Buffet. She didn’t even have an address to write him. Perhaps, the Social Director would be kind enough to give it to her. After all, he had placed them together at the beginning of the voyage. She stoically endured Ernie’s endless chatter for the rest of the day, during the ride to Mendenhall Glacier, the short hike to the Glacier’s edge, the salmon bake for lunch, the cannery tour and visit to the Last Chance Mines Museum, and on the bus back to the Amsterdam. Her respite came when Ernie invited Helga to join her, and some other women, for dinner at 6 pm. Helga declined, saying she had signed up for the later seating and preferred it that way.
She continued to play bridge in the mornings, with a series of mediocre partners, most of them women, who were usually better than the occasional male passenger who joined them. Ernie latched on to her like a leech. Helga ate lunch with her, and her circle of widows, daily, all of whom she found pedestrian and boring. In the afternoons, when there were no shore activities, she strolled the Lido Deck, went to an art auction or took in a movie, had a coffee in the café where she had sat with Drew, and wrote postcards to friends and neighbors back in Silver Spring. She enjoyed the day long cruise on Glacier Bay, the cool crisp air in the morning, the thunderous noise of calving icebergs, the excitement of seeing whales breaching close to the ship, the hearty chili for lunch, the brown bears foraging along the rocky shore, observed through binoculars from the safety on deck. She had always enjoyed the nature, as her husband had called it. When they vacationed in Vienna in the early 70s, together they had taken day long walks in the Vienna Woods, interrupted by pleasant lunches in fine cafes overlooking flowering meadows, surrounded by spruce and pine. Helga sighed, for once not caring who observed her. At this stage of her life, such walks would be too taxing.
She was thankful she had opted for the additional three day extension of the cruise. She parted company with Ernie, managing to sound sincere that she was sad to be leaving and how much she had enjoyed their time together. Helga disembarked in Vancouver. Her hotel room overlooked Stanley Park. That first night, eating alone in a restaurant recommended by the concierge, she realized how pleasant it was to be on her own. She returned to her room, removed a brandy from the mini-bar, watched some television and slept until the wakeup call. She had not unpacked her suitcases, reasoning there was no need to, if she was boarding the Whistler Mountain Train the next morning. That explained, she thought to herself, why she hadn’t awakened to rearrange her clothing, as she had done every night on board the Amsterdam. The train ride along the coast, the fresh mountain air of Whistler, the atmosphere of the ski resort in summer, all refreshed her and renewed her spirits. In a way, it reminded her of Austria, Innsbruck perhaps with a hint of Grundelsee. Poor Drew, she thought. It would have been nice to share this with him.
She took short walks by herself, on mostly flat, well marked trails, stopping often to smell the evergreens and listen to the birds. The mountains, the trees, an occasional glimpse of high snow topped peaks, a crispness to the air at night and a pleasant warming of the sun by mid-morning on the patio of a café, this is what she adored. As she browsed in one of the more upscale stores, shopping for additions to Amy’s charm bracelet, she vowed to vacation in some mountain resort at least once a year. Maybe even convince Eleanor and the family to take a vacation in Austria. If not, she could go by herself to Colorado or the Canadian Rockies, somewhere civilized and not too rough. A place to rejuvenate her spirits and restore her equilibrium.
On the motor coach ride down the coast to Vancouver, Helga thought of how to approach her daughter about not putting her away in a nursing home. Why have such fears right now? She had time. At 76, she was healthier than many women in her apartment building who were not even 65. Her mother had been in good health until her mid 80s. In ten years, both Amy and Josh would be away at college, Eleanor may even have retired from her job while Mitchell continued in his. It would be much easier for Eleanor to devote her time to her mother, she reasoned. Helga decided her best strategy was to be patient. Time would work in her favor. In the end, her daughter would recognize her duty and welcome Helga into her home. She always said that Eleanor and Mitch were a team. She would have to work on her son in law as well. They would both come around. They would not place her in a nursing home when they had a large, comfortable and conveniently empty house. That would be the way it would be. She felt better having reached this conclusion.
The motor coach delivered her to another Holland American Line ship at the dock, a smaller vessel, but luxurious enough. She was glad it was not the Amsterdam with the sad memories of Drew and the boring ones with Ernie. The night voyage was uneventful and she disembarked in Seattle, to be met by the family, all excitedly waving, the children shouting to get her attention and rushing forward to hug her, Eleanor and Mitch following behind, looking tanned, relaxed and happy.
“How was the cruise, mother?” Ell asked. “Did you enjoy it.”
“It was fantastic. Beautiful. You can’t imagine the luxury. And such scenery,” she said kissing Eleanor. “Mitchell,” she said planting a hard kiss on his cheek. “You are the best. To have invited me along and planned everything so well. I know you’ve arranged for dinner. I want to hear everything about your trip. Then, I’ll tell you about mine.”
Chapter Seventeen
Mitch finished washing the pan he had used to broil fish for dinner and glanced over at the digital oven clock. It read 8:37. He turned the pan over and placed it in the drying rack next to the sink. Eleanor should be landing about now, coming back from her conference in St. Louis. Every September, APPLE convened a policy conference in some mid-west location, avoiding the pricey resort cities of Florida, Arizona and California, both to make a statement and to save money. Mitch had pointed out that it would be cheaper if they met every year in Las Vegas. His wife’s response had been to threaten him with bodily harm if he ever proposed that to APPLE’s Executive Director. Las Vegas was her least favorite city in the U.S., she said. Even though air fares were generally cheaper and there were plenty of hotel bargain packages, she didn’t want to go there for annual c
onferences.
Right on cue, the phone rang. “We’ve landed,” she said cheerfully. “Still taxing though. I have to get my bag and catch a cab. Should be home around 9:30. How are the kids?”
“Well, I managed not to starve them to death for the four days you’ve been gone. And they are doing something no other kids in the entire Washington metro area are doing.”
“Let me guess. They’re doing their laundry.”
“No.” Mitch replied. “Josh is looking up the Treaty of Paris and…”
“Is he that far behind?” she interrupted, her tone annoyed. “Last week he was supposed to be studying the Civil War.”
“Take it easy Ell. It’s for extra credit. Izzy mentioned last Sunday that it was the 200 and twenty something anniversary of the signing of the Treaty of Paris. September 3rd. He asked Josh if he knew how long it was before Congress ratified it.
Josh looked it up and decided, on his own I might add, to write a report for extra credit for Mr. Randolph’s class.”
“Oh. That’s good. And Amy? Let me guess. She’s cleaning up her room.”
“Not even close. You know how she and Mariam are friends on Facebook? Mariam wrote an entry about a wedding she and her mother went to. Remember, in March? Amy wanted to know what it was like. Believe it or not, our daughter is watching a video of that Somali wedding on You Tube. Who knew they posted such things?”
“Wow, I’m impressed. Hey, we’re at the gate. See you soon. Love you.”
“I’ll try to get the dancing girls out of our bedroom before you get home. Love ya too.”
He went upstairs, poked his head in Amy and Josh’s rooms to tell them their mother had landed, brushed his teeth and went back downstairs. He finished reading an article on employee furloughs in the auto industry. The living room smelled funny. He went into the kitchen, where the unpleasant odor was stronger. It must be the paper the fish had been wrapped in. He carried the trash with the offending paper out to the big green garbage container the city provided all home owners. Oliver followed him outside, marked the corner of the fence on the driveway, sniffed the night air and, on command, came back inside.
“Dad,” Amy yelled from upstairs. “Someone’s on the line for you. I told them you’d be right back.”
Mitch walked into the kitchen, wondering who would be calling now. “I’ve got it,” he said to Amy, and waited for her to hang up the upstairs phone.
“Mr. Farber?”
“Yes.”
“This is Lauren Davenport. I’m the night nurse at the Hebrew Home. I’m sorry but your aunt collapsed about thirty minutes ago. We’ve taken her to Georgetown Hospital.”
“Oh, God. What happened?”
“One of the CNAs had helped her shower and was taking her to bed when Mrs. Plonsker went limp. Sort of like fainting. When she didn’t come out of it, we rushed her to the Hospital. Do you need directions?”
“No. It’s on Reservoir Road, right?”
“Yes.” There was a pause at the other end. “I’m sorry Mr. Farber. I hope she recovers.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He went back upstairs and told Amy and Josh. “When mom gets home, we’ll have to go to the hospital.”
“I don’t want to go,” Josh said. “What if she’s dying?”
“I meant mom and I would go. She’s not dying,” he said, unsure whether that was true or not. “She collapsed. Hopefully, it’s nothing serious. We’ll be back in an hour or so.” He heard Ell opening the door downstairs. “Hi, hon. We’re upstairs.”
Eleanor came into Amy’s room, her expression of happiness to be home with her family, changing to concern when Mitch told her Aunt Helen was at Georgetown Hospital. “You up to coming with me?”
“Of course. What about Amy and Josh?”
“They can stay home by themselves. They’re old enough. All we’re going to do is look in on her and talk to the doctor. We won’t be gone long.”
Eleanor reluctantly agreed. “All right. Josh. Listen to me. Amy is in charge. No teasing or fighting. Amy, lock the front door behind us. If you have to walk Oliver, both of you go. Make sure you take the key and your cell phone. Don’t open the door to anyone and call us if you need to. Dad and I will both have our cell phones. Ok?” She kissed them both, stopped in the doorway and wagged her finger at Josh. “Remember, no fighting.”
“Amy,” Mitch said sternly, poking his head back in her room, after Ell had left. “Remember. Keep the lions away from our flock of sheep,” and winked at her.
“Yeah, dad.” She grinned back at him. “And if a tornado hits, Josh and I will take Oliver to the basement.”
“Good girl.” He gave her a thumbs up.
“They’ll be all right, don’t you think?” Eleanor said as they drove away from the house.
“Of course they will. They’re growing up. Don’t be so hard on Josh. He’s coming along.”
Mitch parked on the street level of the Emergency Room’s two floor garage, finding an open spot in the corner, at the end of the first lane. They walked into the glaring lights of the reception area, inquired at the desk and were instructed to take the elevator to the Intensive Care Unit. As soon as they came through the inward opening automatic doors, they saw Aunt Helen through the three quarter length window of her room. She seemed so tiny in the large bed, a thin stick of a human body, hemmed in by chrome bedrails and hooked up to monitors.
“You can go in,” the duty nurse said. “I’ll page the doctor and tell him you’re here.”
His aunt had an oxygen tube in her nose. One screen displayed a regular up and down series of peaks. He assumed this was her heart beat. It looked like the ones he had seen on ER. There was a continuous read out of her blood pressure. As he watched it, the numbers fluctuated. He didn’t know whether the range was good or bad and he didn’t know what the other screens were for. He bent down and took Aunt Helen’s hand. It was freezing. He covered it with the blanket and held on to her wrist through the thin white fabric.
“Aunt Helen,” he said softly. He repeated her name. There was no reaction. He was conscious of Eleanor, standing behind him, gently rubbing his shoulder. “Why do they keep these rooms so cold?” he asked. “You could hang meat in here.”
“It helps to avoid infections,” a voice said from the doorway. “Hello. I’m Dr. Teitelbaum.” Mitch stood up and introduced himself and Eleanor. The doctor’s clean shaven face was tanned, he looked physically fit, not muscular from working with weights, but from playing squash or rowing regularly. He had a stethoscope protruding from the hip pocket of his white hospital jacket. A pair of glasses were pushed up high on his forehead. He held a clipboard and chart in one hand. The most startling aspect of his appearance was a yarmulke, a multi-colored, handmade crocheted circle perched on the back of his head. His short curly black hair peeked out from the edges.
Mitch couldn’t help himself staring at the yarmulke.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Farber? Haven’t you ever met a Jewish doctor before?” he said, his eyes betraying his amusement at Mitch’s confusion.
“No. I mean yes. Yes, I have. It’s just that …”
Dr. Teitelbaum completed Mitch’s thought. “You assumed that Georgetown Hospital, being attached to a Jesuit University would have only Catholic doctors. Not true, Mr. Farber. They have all types of doctors here, even Jews like me. Does it make you feel better that I’m treating your aunt?” he asked, raising his eyebrows quizzically.
“Yes. No. Not at all. I mean I don’t care about your religion” he said, his voice trailing off.
Dr. Teitelbaum chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Farber. You should see how confused family members of Catholic patients get. Now, let me tell you about your aunt. Do you want to stay here, or should be go somewhere else.”
Mitch glanced at Ell, who took his hand. “We’d rather stay here. With her,” he said, looked at Aunt Helen’s frail figure.
“That’s fine. Ok, let me tell you what we know so far. In nontechnical language, she�
�s had a stroke. That means there’s neurological damage that could have been caused by a thrombosis, that is blockage of an artery going to the brain. That could be from arteriosclerosis. Your aunt’s not a young woman. How old is she, 85?” He put his glasses on and scanned her chart. “Yeah. 1919. Or a clot broke off from somewhere else in her body and lodged in her brain. Or it could be an hemorrhagic event, like an aneurism where some vessel bursts in the brain. At this point, we don’t know the cause. Blockage or bleeding. It also could be a coronary. A heart attack. The brain is denied blood and therefore oxygen for several minutes. We do know she has neurological damage and is in a coma. With me so far?”
Mitch nodded and held Ell’s hand tightly.
“Good,” Dr. Teitelbaum continued. “Here’s what we’ve done. First, we’ve stabilized her. She has an automatic cuff to monitor her blood pressure and heart, she’s getting oxygen and an IV to keep her hydrated and to give her some nourishment and medicine if necessary.” He looked at the chart again. “After she was brought in, we tested her for reactivity.”
“What’s that mean?” Mitch asked.
“It’s the first step in assessing what the damage is. Her pupils are not responding to light. There’s no response to muscle stimuli. She is breathing regularly on her own and her lungs are clear of fluid, which is good. We need to do some tests. I’d go first with an MRI. It would be nice to know if there was bleeding and where in the brain. We can hope that the bleeding stops. If it does, there’s a better chance the brain will recover. An MRI would also tell us if there is a blockage and where that is. If there is little or no improvement in 24 to 48 hours, we’d run an EEG.”
“Which is?” Mitch asked.
“An electroencephalogram. It shows whether or not there is any brain activity.”
“And if there isn’t any?”
“It means your Aunt is brain dead,” he said bluntly. “It’s possible, but unlikely that if there is swelling in the brain, and if that swelling subsides, she might get some functions back. I have to tell you, the odds are not good given her age. But patients can surprise us.”
The Orange Tree Page 35