HOPE FOR CHANGE... But Settle for a Bailout

by Bill Orton

  “Keep her? What do you mean, keep her? Where is she?”

  “They can have the cow for all I care,” said Calvin.

  “Where is she?” yelled Larry.

  “Long Beach Memorial.”

  “I thought it was just going to the doctor? What’d they say is wrong with her?”

  Calvin took another bite. “She got dizzy. So now she is safe from falling. You should fuckin’ thank me, you sniveling ingrate.”

  “We can go to the hospital in my car, sweetie,” said December, looking to Larry. “Let’s go see your pa-ma.”

  “Not taking visitors,” said Ca1in. “She’s out, right now.”

  “Out?” Larry looked to Lori, to December and then to Ed, each of whom nodded. The four rose and made their way to the studio, where December ducked into the changing room and emerged in a tank top and shorts.

  .

  “You can’t all be in here,” said a nurse, to the four gathered around Emma Mathilde’s bed. December, Lori and Ed looked to Larry, who had not broken his concentration on the tubes, needles, bandages and medical devices in and on his grandmother.

  “I want to see her doctor,” said Larry.

  “Are you all… family?” asked the nurse.

  Olive skin, white skin, dark skin; all said yes.

  The nurse shook her head.

  “Look,” said Larry, “I’ll buy a new wing for the hospital, but please just get the doctor.”

  The nurse walked out of the room.

  Lori sat in one of the chairs near the bed. “Damn, my foot is killing me.”

  “Oh my God! Baby! You’re bleeding everywhere!” said December, pointing to the floor. One of Lori’s white high-tops was soaked through with blood, which had then formed drops that pooled on the floor.

  “Oh my God,” said Ed, quickly stepping out of the room.

  “Oh, fuck,” said Lori, pulling her foot up to her upper thigh. She quickly untied her shoe and loosened the laces, pulling off the shoe and then her sock. Each was dripping with blood. As Lori used her fingers to probe and open the source of the blood, the glinting tip of a piece of green glass protruded from a jagged rip on her heel.

  “Nurse!” yelled December. “Somebody!”

  The nurse returned.

  “My baby’s hurt!” yelled December. “She’s bleeding!”

  The nurse leaned towards Lori’s foot, looked without touching, reached to the counter into a jar of gauze pads, handed a stack to Lori, urged her to apply direct pressure and said she would return.

  “Look,” said Larry, to the nurse, “I’ll pay out of pocket today for both my grandma and my friend, but please get someone who can help her now.”

  The nurse exited.

  December, on her knees, gently rubbed Lori’s calves and leaned forward to kiss Lori’s knee. “You’ll be okay, Soldier Girl.”

  “Larry, Dee, look up there for tweezers or something,” said Lori, holding a half-inch pad of gauze with her bare hand to her foot. Larry rifled through several drawers before producing a pair of long-stemmed scissor-like grips with a narrow, tweezer-like tip. “Bullseye, Bix,” said Lori, grabbing the tool. December brought the jar with gauze pads and pulled out a handful. Lori leaned forward and instructed December to support her foot with both hands, with gauze ready to catch falling blood. Lori used her fingers on one hand to open the ripped skin and the tip of glinting glass rose slowly from the crevice. Lori opened the tweezer tip of the tool and clamped down gently. “Got’cha, sucker,” she said, pulling until a jagged shard of green glass about the size of a dime came out. December applied the gauze directly to the wound and Lori held the gauze over the wound.

  “Aw, baby, yer so brave,” said December, again on her knees, kissing Lori’s knees.

  “Larry, is there some sort of wipe and anything like alcohol up there?”

  As Larry sifted through the open drawer, the nurse and a doctor, in a white coat, entered. “Excuse me,” said the woman in the white coat, “this isn’t self-service.”

  Lori, still holding the clamp in her hand, lifted the tool, offering it to the woman, who took it and examined the shard dripping with blood. December, still on her knees, with Lori’s leg pressing into her chest, pointed to the bloody foot.

  The doctor leaned forward, pulled away Lori’s hand, with the already-soaked gauze, and looked at the broken skin. She reached to a box of latex gloves affixed to the wall, slid on first one and then a second glove, and probed the heel, drawing a grimace from Lori when she spread the ripped skin so she could shine a pen-sized flashlight into the wound. “Good extraction. No evidence of any remaining foreign object. Have you been admitted here? Or did this just happen?”

  “Earlier today...,” said Larry. “She stepped on broken glass in a boat. But like I told the nurse, I’ll pay cash today for her and my grandma.”

  The doctor turned to the nurse. “Admit her and x-ray the foot, after cleaning the wound.” The nurse stepped out. “You should be fine, miss. You’ll probably just be off that foot for a couple of weeks.” The nurse returned with a wheelchair, indicating with hand signals for Lori to take a seat. “Does she not speak English, too?”

  “I speak English,” said Lori.

  “Oh, the resemblance was so close and this patient hasn’t said a word that anyone on staff could make out.”

  Lori climbed into the wheelchair and December took up position behind, ready to push. The nurse led the two out of Emma Mathilde’s room, leaving Larry alone with the doctor and his grandmother.

  “You don’t have to promise to build a new wing to our hospital just to get care here,” said the doctor. “Things may not work all that well healthcare-wise here in America, but we haven’t quite reached that point.”

  “We’re all Americans,” said Larry. “My grandmother, me, my friend….”

  “Oh,” said the doctor. “I thought you were visitors. I’m Dr. Bosch. Your grandmother should be fine… when… when this all clears up.”

  “When what clears up?”

  “Disorientation, more then anything,” said the doctor. “She should be fine. She’ll be out today, but when we bring her back around tonight or tomorrow….”

  “Bring her around? What has she got?”

  “When her son brought her in a few hours ago, she was unable to walk, vomiting, displaying signs of what appears to be vertigo. We are not able to find anything physically wrong. And vertigo is a virus, so that could prove to be the cause.” The doctor closed the drawer that Larry had been rifling through and straightened the items on the counter. “In a couple of hours, we will perform a CAT-scan to see if your grandmother suffered a head injury…. So we can rule out what it is not.”

  “W’ull,” said Larry, reaching for the chair Lori had been sitting in, “she has insurance, but I also have a lot of money, so whatever she needs, okay? Do I have to like sign papers?”

  “The man who brought her in, is he… your father?”

  “My dad? Looks like a pig? Yeh, he’s who brought her in.”

  “Your father signed admission papers for his mother, so everything is fine.”

  .

  “Sorry about that, man,” said Ed, as Larry walked into the ER waiting room. “I don’t do blood.” Ed offered Larry his opened bag of Skittles. “Taste the rainbow?”

  “Naw, it’s okay, thanks,” said Larry, slumping in a bucket-shaped chair near Ed’s. In the distance, near the entry to the ER, two teenagers held a third teen by the arms, walking in short, wobbly steps.

  “So yer grandma’s admitted and Lori’s in,” said Ed. “You wanna hang here or blow this joint?”

  “What’ta’ya mean, blow this joint?” said Larry.

  “We could hit someplace, ya’know, instead of staying in a hospital, with sick people and blood.” Ed poured the remaining candies into his mouth, releasing the wrapper, letting it float to the floor.

  Larry looked at Ed and then to the wrapper. Ed leaned back in his chair and looked towards the TV, which show
ed CNN Headline News, with Barack Obama soundlessly addressing a crowd and then showing the smiling, young president shaking hands with a grizzled man and a woman, each in an orange reflector vest and hardhat.

  “Pick that up.”

  Ed looked casually to Larry. “What?”

  “The wrapper,” said Larry, pointing to the red bag on the floor.

  “Oh… man,” said Ed. “Be real.”

  “Pick it up,” said Larry, his voice hardening. “Don’t... litter.”

  Ed laughed. “Funny, man.”

  “I’m serious. You’re not gonna work for me if you’re a… a… litterbug.”

  Ed, doing an exaggerated double-take, demonstrably leaned forward, picked up the wrapper, and placed it on the table that separated his seat from Larry’s. “Dude,” said Ed, “priorities.”

  “Throw it away,” said Larry, pointing to the trash can.

  Ed stood and walked to a trash can near the entry, and dropped the wrapper in. He returned to the seat next to Larry. “So, c’mon, dude, let’s blow this joint.”

  “We don’t have a car, and I’m not leaving my grandmother and Lori here.”

  “Dude,” said Ed, “you could order a frickin’ limo and we could be at a titty bar in ten minutes.”

  “Hi,” said Lori, from a wheelchair, as December pushed her into the ER waiting room. The two men watched December and Lori approach, one in a tank top clinging to her enormous breasts and the other toned and tanned like a goddess, in a short tee.

  “Of course,” said Ed, watching the pair, “we don’t have to go.”

  “You okay?” asked Larry.

  “Foot’s okay,” said Lori, “but doctor says ocean swims won’t work until the wound completely seals. Too much bacteria.” Lori had one hand on December’s, resting on her shoulder.

  “What about your training?” said Larry.

  “I’ve been going to meets for almost three years,” said Lori, as December’s hands moved from shoulders onto Lori’s arms and upper chest. “It’s all points and formula and shit…. Pat’s tracking all that Olympics stuff.”

  “Olympics, as in, the Olympics?” said Ed.

  “Maybe.”

  “Who’s Pat?”

  “Mrs. Pat’s Champs,” corrected Larry.

  “Pat won back-to-back gold in Fifty-Two and Fifty-Six; Women’s Diving,” said Lori. “She knows the whole head thing. That’s where you win or lose it. But ocean swims are my strength swims and I can’t get what I need in a public pool. I’d need to be in a training center with this foot; someone watching it.”

  “A training center…,” said Larry, slowly repeating Lori’s words.

  “Doc says it shouldn’t keep me from re-upping, if I go that direction, so, whatever. Long-term, short-term; it’s all good.”

  “My baby’s so brave,” said December, leaning forward to kiss Lori’s cheek.

  “Tongue kiss ‘er,” yelled one of the teens.

  .

  “Bix,” said Lori, from the door of Emma Mathilde’s room, causing Larry to stir from his sleep. He sat up in the chair. “December drove me to your place to get clothes and some basics.” Lori entered, looking over her shoulder back to the door. “And these two... insisted....”

  “Hal-lowww,” said Tres von Sommerberg, from the doorway. He entered the room and a split second later, Lena, camera on her shoulder, followed. “I’m really sorry to hear....”

  “Really sorry,’ said Lena, keeping the camera on Tres, Larry and the unconscious Emma.

  Dr. Bosch entered, looking at the film crew before she sat next to Larry. “More… family?”

  “Idiot cousin,” said Larry.

  “Would you like privacy for our conversation?” asked the doctor.

  “It’s okay,” said Larry. “They’re fine.”

  “Okay,’ said Dr. Bosch, looking at the camera just a couple feet from her. “The tests on the brain show no physical abnormalities. Blood work shows nothing unusual. Based on your account of her recent history, there isn’t anything that would lead us to suspect any chronic condition. Actually, she is in remarkable shape for a woman who is almost 90. If you’re going to stay with her, that will be very helpful… no one was able to connect with her… the language barrier seems to have stranded her on an island…. She’s alone among many.”

  “Danish,” said Larry.

  “What’s that?” said the doctor, absently. “I don’t know that we have anyone on staff....”

  “But what is it?” asked Larry. “I’ve been here a day and she hasn’t stirred.”

  “I gotta go, Larry, said Lori, handing him the bag she had brought. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Dee and I will come back tonight.”

  “It’s okay,” said Larry. “Don’t worry about tonight. Rest your foot.”

  Lori, walking with a slight limp, exited, as Lena followed the departure with the camera.

  “Your grandmother is unconscious because your father authorized her to be sedated when be signed the original admission papers,” said Dr. Bosch, holding a file folder.

  “My dad said put her out?” asked Larry. “What other papers did he sign?”

  “He filed a DNR, a next of kin, and...,”

  “DNR? What’s a DNR?”

  “Do Not Resuscitate,” said Dr. Bosch. “The instruction was to not authorize use of a respirator, feeding tube or other heroic measures, should she fall into a vegetative state or should her body fail catastrophically.”

  “Where do I sign reversing that? I’ll pay for anything that needs to be done to keep her alive.” Larry reached into his shirt pocket and smiled when he produced a Southwest Airlines pen.

  “You can file competing instructions, but unless one of you holds conservatorship or, at minimum, a power of attorney, disagreements like these would either need to be resolved within your family, or through legal clarification.”

  “What?” said Larry, “you mean, like, in court, with lawyers?”

  .

  “I know it’s late, Emily, but I really need your help. Can you come to Long Beach Memorial?”

  .

  “I’m tax,” said Emily Kashabara, sitting in the second chair beside Emma bed. “All tax. I can make calls and maybe draw someone in, but are you sure you want to start by sicking a lawyer on your dad? Don’t you want to at least try starting with conversation?”

  .

  “Bix,” said Lori, standing with December in the doorway of his grandmother’s room. The two entered, followed by Calvin, who sat in the second chair.

  Tres von Sommerberg and Lena entered, Lena carrying the camera, but setting it down just inside the doorway once they entered.

  “What the hell are they doing here?” said Calvin. “Another trap to make me look like a dick?”

  “Dad, they’re… they won’t film.... I told them not to,” said Larry.

  “Larry, Dee and me are gonna go to....”

  “Don’t go, granola girl,” said Calvin. “I need all the distractions I can get right now. Why don’t you and hot stuff make out or something.”

  “Such a pig,” said Lori, turning. “We’ll be in the cafeteria, Larry. Call when you need us.”

  “Too bad,” said Calvin. “Instead of eye candy, I get heartburn.”

  “Look,” said Larry, “between insurance and me, whatever grandma needs, it’ll be paid for, so just please sign, saying they can do whatever they need to, okay?”

  “No way, boy,” said Calvin. “I’m first in line, and if she’s ready to go, then it’s her time to go.”

  “Don’t be a complete asshole,” said Larry.

  “She’s 90 years old,” said Calvin. “She has no friends. She lives alone. Aside from you mooching food and money, she’s got no interaction with the world. What the hell is there to live for?”

  Larry began crying.

  “I know you hate me,” said Calvin. “But look at it from the Cow’s perspective. She’s got one grandkid who will never have kids… Hell, you’re ne
ver even gonna have a woman. You’re miserable all the goddamned time, whether you have money or no money.”

  “But she’s got me, and we have each other,” said Larry, tears rolling down his cheeks.

  “Let’s suppose that’s enough for today. Your grandmother loves you. Ring the bells. But what about next week and next year on Treasure Island? Do you have any clue what she’s going through medically? I’m not saying ‘kill the cow.’ I just said don’t act like heroes, pulling out all the stops.”

  Larry sat silently, holding Emma’s hand and using his other hand to wipe away tears. “I do hate you,” said Larry. “And you obviously hate her, and that makes me hate you more.”

  Calvin turned to von Sommerberg and Lena. “Why don’t you flip on the camera so you don’t miss a moment of all the family love and affection.”

  “Can we?” said von Sommerberg.

  Lena slapped his hand, as he reached for the camera.

  “I’m next of kin, boy,” said Calvin. “That gives me some rights. I’m not changing instructions and you’re in no good position to get your way.” Calvin stood up. “Damn, wish granola girl and hot stuff were here doing a show.” He turned to the door and walked out.

  .

  Emily Kashabara stood alongside a 40-ish man in a green-checked jacket and khakis, across the hospital bed from Larry.

  “You can challenge the DNR order, though your outcome will depend on whether there are papers establishing your father as the signatory for your grandmother,” said the man, “but absent such papers, your odds are almost as good as his if it isn’t summarily dismissed first.”

  “Uh, well, do it,” said Larry. “Whatever you need to file. Whatever it takes. You and Emily.”

  “Larry, I’m all tax,” said Emily.

  “Ms. Kashabara,” said Larry. “I need your help. You may be a tax person, but you are also tapped in to where I am at, even if that isn’t about laws. Please. Can you work together?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Trials

  December Carrera held an enormous coffee cup in her hands as she sat alongside Larry on the bleachers overlooking the San Diego Kroc Center aquatic competition pool. The sun, barely risen, was losing its daily fight with the morning fog, leaving those gathered for the Western Regional Trials to fend for themselves for warmth.