Tranquility

by Laurie Gardiner

Abby’s expression hardened. “You don’t have to be okay with it, I do. You’re new. You don’t know Sheila the way I do, or how things work around here. I suggest you watch your step.” She took hold of her cart and walked away.

  I went to the staff bathroom, splashed water on my face and took a few deep breaths before I went to Hall B to find Tracey. I needed someone to be on my side.

  Not only was Tracey on my side, she was outraged. “Are you kidding me!” she whispered loudly over Mrs. Amaral’s head as we got her ready for lunch. “If Abby doesn’t take this seriously, she’ll be in deep shit if and when something happens. You make sure you record this. In fact, from now on, we both need to record every little thing.”

  I took her advice and recorded the incident before I left that day.

  * * *

  Despite our efforts, two residents became dehydrated and were sent to the hospital.

  Mrs. W was so sick she couldn’t even sit in her wheelchair. Her backside became red and sore, leaving her susceptible to infection. She’d been sick for two days when she stopped eating. On the third day she refused fluids as well and was taken to the hospital to receive them intravenously. She was back three days later, pulling her chair slowly with her feet and yelling at anyone who got in her way.

  Mr. Gallo ignored the warnings and continued to visit his wife during the outbreak. He helped her wash her hands often and tried a few times to get her to wear a mask, but gave up when it upset her. Despite all his precautions, she became sick a few days after Rose. The illness struck her fast and hard. She had a fever, chills and vomiting the first day and by the second, was too weak to sit up. I checked on her every hour throughout my shift. Every time I went in, I made sure she drank water.

  Mr. Gallo sat with her all day, holding her hand and talking to her in his quiet, reassuring way. He put cold cloths on her forehead and ran ice chips across her dry lips. Before I left for the day, I reiterated to him the importance of getting her to drink fluids. The concern in his eyes brought a lump to my throat and when he bent over her, stroking her hair and whispering in Italian, tears stung my eyes and I had to leave the room. Someday, I wanted someone to look at me that way.

  * * *

  Mr. Gallo was there again the next morning when I came into the room before breakfast. He looked exhausted. His usually kind, smiling face was troubled and weary. A vase of red roses stood on the table beside the bed.

  “You’re here early today, Mr. Gallo. And I see you brought flowers.”

  “Yes, my sister, Gina, she give me ride. Is anniversary today.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. How many years?”

  “Fifty.”

  “Wow, congratulations,” I said, drawing the curtain around the bed for privacy. I checked Mrs. Gallo’s incontinence product for signs she needed changing. It was bone dry. She whimpered, making me wonder if she may have been in some pain. I pulled her nightgown down, straightened it, and pulled the blankets up to her chest. I looked down at her face. Her pale skin was loose and so dry it flaked. Her chest rose and fell quickly with each shallow breath. I tried to keep the concern from showing when I turned to Mr. Gallo. “How was she after I left yesterday?”

  “She vomit all day. Last night nothing coming out. Just….” He waved his hand in front of his mouth as he searched for the right words.

  “Dry heaves?”

  He nodded.

  “Did she drink anything?”

  “I give little bit water all day, like you tell me. Later, she vomit every time after the drink. I tell the girl about this. She tell me, just keep giving water, but I gotta go before ten o’clock to get home with the bus, so, what happens at night, I don’t know.”

  I pulled the curtains open and stripped off my gloves. “Try to get her to drink some water, please, Mr. Gallo.” I went into the bathroom to dispose of the gloves and scrubbed my hands with soap and hot water. They were red, raw and sore, dried out by frequent washings. It didn’t matter. It had to be done.

  Ten minutes later I was back in the room with Abby. She checked Mrs. Gallo’s temperature, pulse and blood pressure, listened to her breathing, then went to the nurse’s station to read the night shift’s charts.

  I waited impatiently with Mr. Gallo. We tried to get Mrs. Gallo to drink. She was too weak to use a straw, so I lifted her head and shoulders off the bed as he held the glass to her mouth. She barely opened her dry, cracked lips in an effort to drink. The water ran out of her mouth and down her neck. I was afraid she was too weak even to swallow.

  Abby wasn’t gone long. She strode back into the room with a concerned look on her face and said to Mr. Gallo, “According to the charts, your wife drank only a few sips of water through the night. The nurse on duty was not overly concerned because she had stopped throwing up, had no bouts of diarrhea, and slept nearly the entire night.”

  She looked at me. “Has she voided yet today?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  Her face darkened. “Nothing last night either.”

  “What this mean?” Mr. Gallo asked. His head shook back and forth slightly and the hand in his lap trembled visibly. He no longer looked concerned, he looked scared.

  “Mr. Gallo, your wife is severely dehydrated. She needs more care than we can give her here. She needs to go to the hospital to be put on IV.”

  He nodded uncertainly. “I go with my Bella?”

  “Of course you can.” Abby said. She left the room to go call the hospital.

  I helped Mr. Gallo pack a small bag of clothing and toiletries for his wife. His hand shook so hard he nearly dropped her dentures. He took a seat beside his wife and held her hand as I finished the rest of the packing.

  Twenty minutes later, Abby and I stood watching the paramedics wheel Mrs. Gallo, wrapped in blankets and strapped to a gurney, out of Dementia. Mr. Gallo shuffled out behind them, looking weary and suddenly much older.

  Abby shook her head in disgust and said in a low voice, “She should have been on IV through the night. I don’t know what they were thinking.”

  I went back to work with a heavy heart. A strange, overwhelming feeling of dread settled over me and followed me through the day.

  I went home right after work, straight to the laundry room to throw my scrubs into the washer on the hottest cycle. I jumped in the shower and scrubbed myself thoroughly from head to toe. It had become a routine for me since the outbreak. I could practically feel the germs crawling on my skin by the end of the workday. The last thing I wanted to do was take those germs home to my family.

  Gran and I were sitting at the kitchen island before dinner chopping vegetables for the salad while Mom made chicken-fried rice. I jumped when Gran touched my hand.

  “You seem preoccupied tonight, Sarah. Is everything okay?”

  “One of my residents was sent to the hospital today. I’m just worried about her.”

  “It’s out of your hands now,” she said, patting my hand. “There’s no point worrying. I’m sure you did the best you could to help her.”

  Tears of frustration sprang to my eyes. “That’s the thing. I know I did the best I could when I was with her, but someone last night dropped the ball. I should have made sure they knew how sick she was.”

  “Sarah, honey, there’s no point beating yourself up over things that have already happened. You could spend your whole life doing that and it won’t change a thing.”

  A tear trickled slowly down my cheek. I wiped it angrily away.

  “I can’t tell you everything will be okay, but I hope it is. Why don’t you go distract yourself with that sweet little bundle of energy of yours? We’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

  Kayla did distract me for a while, but I slept little that night. The feeling of dread still lurked there, clutching at my heart.

  * * *

  Abby was sitting at the nurse’s station when I got to work the next morning. She didn’t have to say a word. I knew as soon as I walked through the door.

  Mrs. Gallo had died during
the night.

  My morning routine should have been easier with one less resident to fill my time. Instead, it threw me off. That, and the lack of sleep the night before, left me struggling all day to stay focused on my work.

  Breakfast was over, beds made, and residents busy at their various activities. I had no excuses left for putting off what I’d been dreading.

  It was strange walking into Mrs. Gallo’s room, knowing she wasn’t there. The night staff had stripped the bed and disinfected the whole room. The curtains between the beds had been sent to laundry to be cleaned and sanitized. The room looked big, cold and empty and smelled of bleach.

  I went into the bathroom to gather up what hadn’t gone to the hospital with Mrs. Gallo. A few minutes later, I came out carrying a box of toiletries, to find a well-dressed woman with dark hair standing at the wardrobe. “Oh, hello,” I said, placing the box on a nearby chair. I swiped my fingers quickly across the dampness under my eyes.

  “Yes, hello. I am Gina, Mr. Gallo’s sister.” She pulled a suitcase out of the bottom of the wardrobe and tossed it on the bed. “Everything here belong to Isabella, no?” She gestured toward the wardrobe.

  “Yes, and this box as well. I packed her things from the bathroom.”

  “Okay, good. I pack the rest. My brother is not good to be here today.” Gina turned her back to me and began removing Mrs. Gallo’s clothes from the wardrobe.

  I had the feeling I’d been dismissed. “Would you like me to help you with that?”

  “No, no. You are busy. I can do.”

  I left the room without another word, feeling strangely relieved. Gina’s dismissive, aloof behavior was so much easier to deal with right now than kindness.

  Lunch was the hardest part of the day. Mrs. Gallo’s spot at the table was glaringly empty. Edie sat in her usual chair, across from Mr. Gallo’s empty seat, eating her lunch in silence. I sat with my back to the table so I wouldn’t have to look at the empty chairs.

  I went to the nurse’s station earlier than usual that afternoon, did my recording, and left a few minutes before the end of my shift. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. I needed to get out of there.

  I called Gran to let her know I’d be late, and then drove to the park down the street. It was an oasis in the middle of the city and a place I went often when I needed to be alone. There were footpaths everywhere leading to secluded little clearings near the water. I stuck to the main walkway. The park was deserted and strangely quiet and the paths too muddy and slippery to attempt. I sat on a bench overlooking the water. It flowed cold and fast over the rocks. Downstream, where the river narrowed, ice and snowdrifts hugged the shoreline. Big, wet snowflakes fell gently from the sky onto the trees and tall, brown grass, turning the world around me white.

  One lonely goose, left behind when the others flew south, swam toward me hoping for an easy meal. He looked cold and hungry and I was sorry I had nothing to feed him. I had heard that Canada geese mated for life and wondered if his mate had died.

  I thought of Mr. Gallo, suddenly alone in the world without his mate. Fifty years of loving her. Fifty years of Christmases spent together, reliving traditions and creating new memories. This Christmas he would be without her.

  The thought overwhelmed me and I began to cry. I don’t know how long I sat there, but when I left the park, the sky had begun to darken and I was a wet, shivering mess.

  Later that night, I lay in Kayla’s bed and held her close as she drifted off to sleep. I felt sad and, at the same time, incredibly lucky to have someone to love.

  Chapter 9 - Merry Christmas

  FINALLY, AFTER NEARLY TWO EXHAUSTING weeks, the outbreak was over. Those who had been sick had shown no signs of illness for at least forty-eight hours and no new cases had surfaced in that time. Mrs. Gallo was the sole casualty.

  On the twenty-third of December, with the sound of carols drifting through the halls and snow falling gently outside the windows, the staff and residents spent the afternoon bringing Christmas to Dementia.

  I sat in a quiet corner of the lounge, sipping a mug of hot chocolate and watching the residents. It was like watching children on Christmas Eve as they prepared for Santa’s arrival. They chattered excitedly and sang along to the old carols of their childhood while stringing popcorn and transforming colorful strips of construction paper into chains to hang on the tree.

  The room even smelled like Christmas. It was filled with the wonderful aromas of chocolate, cinnamon and pine. It nearly covered the sharp smell of bleach that still lingered in the air and reminded me of death.

  The sound of the residents’ happy laughter should have made me forget the calamity of the past few weeks. Instead, it made me painfully aware of who was missing.

  Edie finished the string of popcorn she’d been working on. It was so long she had to loop it over her arm three times to carry it to the tree.

  I put my mug down and went to help. We worked together silently, draping the delicate garland carefully over the branches, then stood back to have a look.

  I felt Edie’s comforting hand on my back.

  “It wasn’t your fault, lass. These things happen sometimes. You shouldn’t take it so hard.”

  My chest tightened and my eyes welled up with emotion. I managed to hold back the tears and gave her hand a squeeze of gratitude.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, I dropped most of my residents off in the auditorium for the Christmas Eve service, and headed to the nurse’s station where I pulled the chart for the woman who would be taking Mrs. Gallo’s old bed. She was coming in that day to unpack her things and have a quick tour, but wasn’t staying. She would go home to spend Christmas with her family, then come back later in the week.

  I looked over her information while I waited. Her name was Georgia Jones, and according to her chart she was ninety-eight years old. I continued skimming the medical charts. She’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s eight months earlier. The only other medical condition listed was mild hearing loss. There was an additional, barely legible note at the bottom of the page: Patient occasionally indulges in cigars and whiskey. I raised an eyebrow and turned the page.

  I was preparing to read a surprisingly short list of medications, when I heard a loud voice.

  “Lord Jesus in heaven, save us from fools.”

  I looked up to see a tall woman striding down the hall toward me. She wore a long, flowing, multi-colored kaftan and a deep purple head wrap. Gold hoops dangled from her ears, nearly touching her shoulders and jingling with every step.

  A middle-aged man followed behind, struggling to keep up. The woman’s coat was draped over his one arm and with the other, he pulled a large wheeled suitcase.

  “This is no hospital. Don’t you dare be lyin’ to your Ma.” She paused to wave her cane at the man.

  “I’m not lying. People come here to be taken care of when they’re sick.”

  “I am not sick. I’m healthy as a horse and you know it. I can take care of myself just fine.”

  He lowered his voice as they approached the desk. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not staying; you’re coming back home with me for Christmas. We’ll talk about this later with the family, okay?”

  I smiled at them as I stood up and walked around the desk. I held my hand out to the woman. “You must be Mrs. Jones.”

  She shook my hand. Her grip was surprisingly firm. “Yes, I am, but I prefer Georgia.”

  “Nice to meet you, Georgia. I’m Sarah.” I marveled at how few wrinkles there were on her smooth, coffee colored skin. This woman could not be nearly a century old.

  She turned to the man and said, “Did you hear that? She’s been named after a desert.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s Sarah, not Sahara.”

  “That’s what I just said. Clean your ears out, son.”

  I chuckled and held out my hand to the man. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

  “Lloyd, her grandson,” he said, sha
king my hand.

  Georgia made a startled sound, put her hand to her chest and looked more closely at Lloyd. “My grandson? Lord have mercy, you’ve grown up all of a sudden. I was thinking you were your pa.” Her face softened, and she reached for his hand. “You look just like him, you know.”

  “I know, Ma,” he said, patting her hand reassuringly. “Only I’m better looking.”

  Georgia snorted. “I doubt it. Conceit is not attractive, my boy.”

  I was enjoying their banter, but I needed to get Georgia settled before the end of my shift. I gestured toward her suitcase. “If you’d like to come with me, I’ll show you where to put your things, then we can take a quick tour.”

  Georgia stared at the bag as though seeing it for the first time. She looked at Lloyd in confusion.

  Before she could say a word, he put his arm around her shoulder and spoke quietly, but clearly, into her ear. “It’s Christmas Eve, Ma. Most of the family will be there when we go home. And look at you, all dressed up, ready for a party. Let’s get this done, so we can go home, okay?”

  She looked up at him uncertainly before she nodded. “Fine, let’s go get it over with.”

  They followed me down the hall toward Georgia’s room. I pointed out the dining room and lounge as we passed by. Georgia had an opinion about everything. The dining room was too crowded with tables. The lounge was dark and drab. The whole place could use a coat of paint and some brighter colors.

  When we stopped to look at the lounge, Sam, and Tracey’s resident, Mrs. Martin, were the only ones there. The TV was on. I shook my head at the sight of Ricky Ricardo explaining Santa to little Ricky while waving a cigarette in the air between them.

  Sam sat on the couch drumming his fingers against his leg and humming along to his music. Mrs. Martin, who had been a librarian once, rearranged the books on the built-in shelves along the back wall.

  Lloyd asked, “Is it always so quiet in here? Where is everyone?”

  “Oh no, it’s rarely this quiet. Most of the residents are at the Christmas Eve service in the auditorium,” I explained.