I weave through the hospital, searching for the front desk like a lost puppy. Hospitals are depressing as hell. I don’t know how people who work here do it. Death and misery. If I had to witness that every day, I don’t think I would be a sane person. Although, I’m not sure I’m much of one now.
I spot the receptionist desk across from the packed waiting room. Families crowd around each other, seeking comfort from one another. Comfort I’m not sure they’ll find.
Patients sit in the worn-out cloth chairs, waiting for someone to help them–someone to fix them.
I wish someone could fix me. I might not be broken on the outside, but on the inside, I’m decaying into nothing. It didn’t happen overnight. It was the small things that built up over time, and eventually it got to be too much. But I know it won’t be long until everything boils over–until everything I’ve been running from catches up to me and the last shred of my sanity breaks, turning my remains into a pile of ash.
I step up to the desk, looking down on the older lady dressed in blue scrubs on the other side. Her fire red hair shines under the florescent lights and compliments her smooth, pale complexion. “I’m looking for Elizabeth Hart.”
She taps her keyboard for a few seconds. “I don’t see anyone by that name,” she says apologetically.
“They brought her in a few minutes ago.” Meaning she probably hasn’t been registered as a patient. Crap. “She has heart problems. A younger guy brought her in from outside.”
“I’m sorry, Miss, until she’s in our computer system, I can’t help you.”
Fucking great.
I turn on my heel, searching for the guy who brought my mom inside. I don’t see him, but I do find my dad plopped on a chair, watching the television hanging in the corner of the waiting room.
I let out a groan of frustration knowing he won’t be any help.
I walk down one of the halls, ignoring the signs that say visitors not permitted. If they didn’t want people wandering the halls, they should have better security. The two nurses and doctor I pass along the way don’t say a word about me being in an unauthorized hallway, so I keep walking, searching for my mom.
There isn’t much in the hallway other than lame landscape pictures that a ten-year-old could have painted. You would think a hospital could afford art that doesn’t make me want to puke.
“Miss?” a male voice questions from twenty feet ahead of me.
I cringe, knowing he’s going to yell at me.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
As I get closer, I see it’s the guy who brought Mom inside. “Thank God. Where’s my mom?”
“She’s back here.” He gestures behind him with a jerk of his head. “Come on, I’ll take you to her.”
“How’s she doing?”
His eyes shift away from me with a weary expression on his face. “She’s fine.” He scratches the back of his head. “For now,” he mutters, barely loud enough for me to hear.
My heart plummets at my feet, wishing he hadn’t said it. I’d rather be naïve to her condition. Maybe if I don’t know all the facts, I can convince myself she’s fine. Maybe I can fool myself into thinking she’ll live a long and happy life. But life doesn’t work that way.
No matter how much I want to believe she’s okay, I know she’s not. I know she won’t be around much longer, but I’ll take what I can get. I’ll take the time I have left with her and cherish it as much as I can. But the thing is, I don’t have a lot of time to give her. The only thing I can give her is assurance that I’m working my ass off to take care of her.
Reality likes to bite me in the ass. I’d love to give reality a taste of its own damn medicine.
The guy, who is either a nurse or doctor, opens the door to Mom’s room and steps over the threshold. I follow behind him, holding my breath, unsure what condition she’s in.
My shoulders drop in relief when I see her sleeping upright in the hospital bed.
“I’m going to need you to fill out these forms, so we can get all her information in our database.”
I know what he’s really saying, ‘Fill out these forms, so we can make sure we get our money from you.’ They’ll get it. Unfortunately, that means it will take that much longer to save up the money I need for mom’s surgery.
“She’ll be discharged tomorrow. I’ll wait for you to fill out the forms.”
I fill them out faster than I should. Honestly, there isn’t a whole lot to fill out when you don’t have insurance. All I have to do is include her personal information and check the box that indicates self-pay.
I hand the clipboard over to him, and he walks out the door, leaving me alone. I collapse in the chair next to her bed, watching as her chest slowly rises and falls.
I grab her hand, holding it tight in my grip. My thumb sweeps across her hand as I let my head fall next to her arm.
I wish I could keep her in this state forever. Peaceful–not in pain.
There I go again, wishing.
Wishing like a damn fool.
THREE YEARS AGO
APRIL 2014
“How was your day?” Mom asks as I shovel a forkful of mashed potatoes in my mouth.
I force myself to swallow. “Great. Passed my chemistry test and finished a drawing in art class I’ve been working on for two months.” There’s an art show in less than three weeks and the grand prize is a scholarship. It’s not much, but it will help with the cost of tuition.
I was accepted to Savannah College of Art and Design three months ago. When I ripped open the letter and read, ‘Congratulations!’, I let out squeal of excitement, clutching the letter in my hands like a lifeline.
“When can I see it?” she inquires, light pouring out of her eyes–pure excitement and pride.
“It still needs some finishing touches.” I take a gulp of water before continuing. “You should wait until the show.” Really, I’m nervous to show anyone what I’ve been working on. It’s a common fear. Judgement. Laying it all out on the line for hundreds of eyes to decide in a split second whether your piece is worthy of their time.
“I can’t wait. I know it’s going to be brilliant,” she beams.
I nod, not saying anything because sometimes it’s hard for me to accept praise, to have other people think what I created was beautiful, that it touched them and made them feel something.
She stares at me with stars in her eyes, ignoring the food on her plate. “What am I going to do when you’re gone? My only baby, leaving me behind to conquer the world.”
My stomach sinks because there’s that, too. I’m stepping out of the world I know and in something that will shape me into someone else–teach me how to be better in all aspects. As an artist, person, and worker because I plan on working my ass off every second I’m there.
But I’m also leaving Mom. I’m leaving her with Dad–her husband. A husband who doesn’t love her the way he should. A husband who ignores her while he mopes around the house because he lost his job eight months ago. He was the manager of an accounting firm, but I’m not sure why he got laid off. He tried to find another job for a while, but he soon gave up, the search too hard for him.
Dad’s been worse lately–moody, grumpy, and snapping at any little thing.
They’re blowing through their savings just to get by. I heard them arguing one night about how they’re almost out of money, and they’re going to lose the house to foreclosure soon.
I tried not to gasp, willing the tears not the fall down my face because I had to be strong while my parents were weak. I had to put on a brave face, pretending like I didn’t know what was going on. I ignored that sick feeling in my stomach as they argued, shoved it in a box, and pushed it to the back of my mind. I wouldn’t be another problem for my parents when they already had enough.
“I’ll come visit all the time.” I want to be there for Mom. I want to support her and stand by her for whatever she needs, but I know school will take up most of my time. I know I will be swamped with m
y course load, but I want to give her hope.
“I know you will.” She picks up her fork, gathering a mound of mashed potatoes. As she lifts the fork to her lips, it slips from her fingers, clattering on her plate.
It happens in slow motion like a horror movie playing out before my eyes. She gasps for air as her right hand grabs her chest, and the other hits the table, trying to hang on as she tilts to the left, her body falling out of the chair. She lands with a thud on the floor as her chest heaves.
Pushing my chair away, I drop to the ground next to her, screaming her name, begging for her to be okay–for this to stop. Her body goes limp, and I shake her several times, urging her to wake up.
“Mom!” I scream at the top of my lungs, not knowing I could be so loud.
Tears move fast down my face and with shaky hands, I pull my cell out of my pocket, and dial a number I never imagined having to use.
“9-1-1 please state your emergency,” a woman with a monotonic voice answers on the other end.
“My mom…I don’t know what happened.” I choke on a sob. “She’s unconscious. She fell on the floor. We were eating dinner and talking…and she just fell over, grabbing at her chest.”
“Is she breathing?”
I lift my shaky hand, letting it rest under her nose. Her exhale hits my hand, and I sag in relief. “Yes,” I cry.
“Can you tell me your address?”
I rattle it off as coherently as I can, hoping she understands me through my sobs.
“I’ve dispatched an ambulance, and they are en route,” she tells me, her voice calm. “Do you want me to stay on the line with you while you wait?”
There are so many things I want.
I want to know what’s happening.
I want to know she’s going to be okay.
I want to know that I’ll be able to show her my art piece for the show.
I want so much more than for this woman to stay on the phone with me, but I’ll settle because at the moment, it’s all I’m getting.
Dr. Collins flips through Mom’s chart as I tap my hand against the side of my leg.
“Mrs. Hart, you experienced a heart attack.” He closes the chart, holding it close to his chest. “This is your second within the last two months.”
She bites her lip as she nods her head.
“What?” I blurt out.
“Jade, not now.” She shakes her head.
“Mom,” I argue, but she glares at me in warning, and I clamp my mouth shut as I cross my arms.
“We’re going to monitor you overnight, and then you can go home tomorrow,” Dr. Collins says.
Dad shifts in his seat next to the bed, seeming bored as I stand idle, waiting for more answers.
Dr. Collins smiles, turning to walk out of her room, but I stop him. “Why did this happen?” Apparently, the better question is why does this keep happening. How did I not know she had a heart attack before?
He adjusts his glasses, looking back at me. “We’re running tests, but any number of things could have caused her heart attack. Let’s wait for the results before we worry.”
It’s not really an answer, but when he walks out the door, closing it behind him, I know that’s all I’m going to get.
“It’ll be okay, Jade,” Mom says, a weak smile on her face.
I nod my head, but I find it hard to believe her because something feels wrong. My gut tells me there’s more going on than anyone is willing to say.
Dad vacates his chair, and I take his place, scooting closer to the hospital bed to hold Mom’s hand.
I grab on for dear life, holding as tight as I can, hoping we can leave tomorrow and forget any of this happened.
Jerking wakes me, and my eyes open, adjusting to the light as my hand is wrenched across the hospital bed, pulling my body down.
“Jade,” Mom wheezes, “the room is spinning, and my chest…” She doesn’t finish her thought as she vomits, the bile running down her chin and the side of her face.
Quickly, I push the call button on her bed, but five nurses are already flying through the door as the machines in the room beep erratically.
The nurses shove me out of the way as they administer medications and unhook her bed from the wall.
“What’s happening?” I cry out.
No one answers me. They shout out medical jargon I don’t understand as they roll Mom’s bed out of the room.
“Where are you taking her?” I ask, trailing behind them.
Still, they ignore me.
Dr. Collins stops me from following Mom down the hall, gripping me by the shoulders. “She needs an emergency procedure. I promise I’m going to take care of her, but you have to stay here.”
He let’s go, running down the hall while I stand in place, defeated and bewildered.
Dad appears next to me, looking in Mom’s empty room. “Where’s your mother? I went to grab coffee...” He trails off.
Tears slip from my eyes as I walk back in her room, sitting in the same chair as before, willing Mom to come back–for her to be okay.
“I’m fine,” Mom whines as I help her back to bed.
“You had surgery four days ago. You’re not fine,” I argue.
“Dr. Collins said it was a simple procedure, not a surgery. I’ll be good as new before you know it.”
“Mom,” I sigh, “Just let me help you.”
She concedes, wrapping her arm tighter around my shoulder.
Dr. Collins discharged Mom yesterday, saying she was doing much better since they placed a stent to prevent further problems. But when he diagnosed her with coronary artery disease, my stomach dropped as my eyes widened.
For the last month when I was at school during the day, Mom was going through a series of tests to figure out why she was having severe chest pain. Turns out, my parents kept a lot more from me than I thought.
“You should be in school.” She places one knee on the mattress, climbs in bed, and slips under the covers.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll always worry about you, Jade. You’re my daughter.”
I lean down, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “And I’ll always worry about you.” I pull the covers up to her neck and head toward the door. “Get some sleep.”
She smiles, her eyes closing as I shut the door behind me.
I sag against the nearest wall, letting tears fall down my face. Crying because I’m grateful she’s still here–that she’s still breathing. I haven’t lost her, not yet.
I push away from the wall, wiping away my tears, and walk downstairs where Dad is sitting at the kitchen table, twirling a bottle of beer between his hands.
“She’s asleep,” I inform him. He nods his head, a distant look in his eyes. “You need to find a job. I know you and Mom are drowning in bills.”
“It’s not that easy,” he whispers.
“It doesn’t have to be a big, fancy job. You just need something.”
His head shoots up. “Do you know what it’s like to be reduced to an entry level position? I was a manager for ten years.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I shake my head. “Mom needs you.”
“Whatever job I get won’t make a difference.” He shoves a piece of paper at me. In big red letters, it reads ‘Notice of Eviction.’ “We have thirty days to leave the house.”
Everything I thought I knew is disappearing.
My childhood home. My parents. My plans to attend college.
All of it is being taken away from me without my permission. It’s all slipping away and pushing me into the unknown.
We got home from the hospital three hours ago. I took the day off to stay by my mom’s side to make sure she was okay. There was no way I was going to leave Dad to care for her.
As she lays in bed, I sit next to her, drawing.
It’s the only thing I can do to take my mind off the world–to escape to a place where everything is okay. My hand glides quickly across the page as the pencil in my hand move
s to capture the images passing through my mind. Or should I say the guy who hasn’t stopped running through my head since I last saw him. Hudson’s all I can draw. Chocolate brown eyes and hair thicker than mine. His square jaw and broad shoulders lead to arms I would do anything to have wrapped around me, holding me close and promising me the world.
But since I don’t have time for distractions, I draw him. If I don’t, I’ll only drive myself crazy wanting to see him again.
Hudson. His name is all I know. A man full of mystery and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. It was there hidden in his rigid stance as he stood above me. The tick of his jaw. The way he walked when he left me standing alone.
He barely said two sentences to me, but I felt like he was hiding something because it’s the same way I am. Withdrawn. Strong. Alone. Everything that I am reflected back at me. And that’s why I need to stay away from him because I can’t handle another version of myself.
“Jade,” Mom murmurs.
I place my pencil on my sketchbook. “Yeah, Mom, I’m here.” I gently squeeze her hand.
“Where are we?”
I run my hand up and down the length of her arm. “At home.”
“Home,” she trails off as her eyes begin to close.
I watch her, my eyes tracing every part of her. Her brown hair fans out on her pillow, and I can tell she’s struggling to keep her eyes open.
“You shouldn’t work your life away,” she mumbles before her body succumbs to sleep.
My hand pauses on her arm as I frown. I don’t bother telling her she’s the reason I work so much because she would tell me she isn’t worth it–that my future is more important than hers. But to me, she’s important.
She’s the one who brought me into this world. The one who picked me up the first time I fell while roller skating. She taught me how to read and write and showed nothing but patience my first time behind the wheel of a car. She was there the first time a boy broke my heart and cradled me like a little girl. She was there for me even when I didn’t want her to be, so here I am, being everything to her that she ever was to me, as best I can.
The Truth About Falling Page 4