Evie Interrupted, page 22
“Thompson, you know this lady?” the female said.
Butler blinked away the surprise of seeing me. “Yeah, I do.”
“Then how about you log her information.” The female handed the tablet to Butler before disappearing down the hallway to join the others.
Still slightly dazed, Butler glanced at me before turning his attention to the screen. “Your name?”
“You know my name,” I said.
“I’m not sure exactly what I know at the moment. Full name, please?”
“Evelyne Rose Chapman.” He caught my gaze at hearing my middle name. I never told him my middle name.
“Name of the patient?”
I hesitated before I said, “Evelyne Rose Chapman.”
Butler looked up from the screen. “I need the patient’s name.”
“Evelyne Rose Chapman is the patient’s name. She’s my mother.”
“Your mother? But I thought she was—”
Before Butler could finish his sentence the female paramedic and one of the firemen were walking toward us.
“How is she? What’s wrong with her?” I blurted out.
“She doesn’t seem to have broken anything, but she does seem very lethargic, and confused,” the female said.
“She has frontotemporal dementia.”
“How long has she had that?” the fireman asked.
“A little over six years now.”
The female paramedic looked at me with sadness swimming in her eyes. “We think it’s best if we take your mom to the hospital, so the doctors can run tests and get answers about what’s going on with her.”
I frantically nodded, fighting back tears.
“We’re going to get the stretcher and be back in a few minutes,” the fireman explained.
As the female passed by Butler, she asked, “Thompson, you done with the intake form?”
“Almost,” he mumbled.
They exited the house to go get the stretcher, leaving Butler and me alone.
“Um…they’ll need your insurance card to scan,” he said.
“Okay, I have everything in my room.”
I started down the hallway just as the stretcher arrived through the front door. When I reached Mom’s room, the other paramedics had her lying on her back in the bed. She was holding the hand of the cute dark-haired young man while he reassured her that she was going to be taken care of.
I grabbed my purse with all the insurance information and slung it over my shoulder. I stepped out of my room at the same time they were rolling Mom out of her room on the stretcher. I moved to her side, getting in front of her face. “Hey, you’re going to be okay. These nice people are taking you to the hospital, but I’ll be right behind you.”
Her hooded eyes looked lost and scared. “I love you, Mom. I’m here. You won’t be alone.”
As they rolled her away, tears streamed down my cheeks. My hand flew up to cover my mouth as a sob attempted to escape. Suddenly, I heard the muffled barks and whimpers of Linus who was still outside in the backyard. I headed quickly toward the kitchen and when I got there, saw Butler. I was shocked.
“I have to let Linus in,” I said.
Linus came barreling through the back door, zooming around the house like a crazed beast, in search of Mom. Realizing she wasn’t there, he finally noticed the strange man standing in the middle of the kitchen. With ease, Butler squatted down and gave Linus a satisfying ear scratch.
“Butler, I have to be at the hospital when my mom arrives.”
He stood, looked at me, and said, “Give me your keys. I’m driving you there.”
“But…um…I…uh…we,” I stammered, unable to form a coherent thought or sentence.
Butler stepped toward me. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but I do know your mom needs you, and you’re too upset to be driving. So, give me your keys and let’s get out of here.”
I handed him my car keys and he walked out the door without another word. On the way to the hospital, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. His arm muscles tensed as he gripped the steering wheel, his jaw rigid from grinding his teeth. I knew a million questions swirled inside his head. He deserved answers, but to his credit, he kept silent, focusing only on getting me to Mom.
Present
Butler and I pulled into the hospital parking lot right behind the ambulance that carried Mom. On the ride over I could tell he was resisting the urge to hold my hand or comfort me in some way, because he was a caring man in his soul. I had broken his heart with no explanation, treated him with total disrespect, and still he had this innate compulsion to alleviate my pain. That was one reason it had been so easy to fall in love with him. So much needed to be said during that fifteen-minute ride, but we both remained silent, neither of us having any clue where to start.
He pulled up beside the ambulance, allowing me to hop out of the car. With his eyes aimed straight ahead, he said, “Go be with your mom. I’ll park the car.”
Gazing at his profile, I wished he’d turn in my direction. When it became evident that wasn’t going to happen, I said in a low voice, “Thank you.”
I closed the car door, stepped back, and watched him drive off. Setting aside my Butler heartache, I turned my body and attention to Mom, who was being rolled out of the back of the ambulance.
I stayed glued to the side of the stretcher as the paramedics rolled her into the Emergency Room. Like a well-oiled pit crew, they pushed her into a curtained-off cubicle and quickly transferred her from the stretcher to a hospital bed. Several times she glanced over at me, looking confused, frightened, and tired. Within seconds, the nurses were attaching a blood pressure cuff and a pulse oximeter, and sticking a thermometer into Mom’s mouth.
There had been many times during this dementia journey in which I felt helpless. None of those times even came close to how I felt at that moment watching strangers poke, prod, and try to figure out what was wrong with Mom. The sensical part of me knew it was best to stay out of their way. The emotional part of me wanted to barge in and takeover.
These people knew what they were doing, but I knew how my mom felt. Judging from the speed at which her eyes were flitting around the room, her anxiety was hitting a high of nine. She needed a distraction soon or a meltdown was in the near future. Unwrapping my arms from around my body, I looked around for something, anything, to hold up and get her attention. I noticed a supply cart a few feet away.
As inconspicuously as possible I made my way over to it, noticing an open box of bright pink latex gloves. Pulling a few out, I slipped them inside my purse for later, then snatched two for now. I found a quiet corner away from the action, put the end of one glove to my mouth, and blew. Once it was nice and puffy, I tied the end off, and repeated the same thing with the other glove. With my arms down at my side, a balloon glove in each hand, I discreetly made my way back to Mom.
Standing just outside of the curtained partition I rummaged around in my purse, pulling out my emergency headband. I put it on and shoved the loose ends of the gloves underneath the band. With a toothy grin and neon pink glove “antlers” on top of my head, I leaned toward the opening and tried to catch Mom’s attention.
I saw her shift in the bed and then look right at me, the hint of a smile crossing her thin pale lips. My one and only goal was to make that smile grow. I started with a head bob, making the glove antlers wiggle at their full potential. Mom’s smile hadn’t changed, but her gaze was still on me. Swaying from side-to-side, I added a shoulder shimmy to the mix, followed by a raise-the-roof hand movement. The staff was so focused on their jobs no one seemed to notice my craziness, otherwise a psych eval would surely be imminent.
“Ma’am are you related to Mrs. Chapman?” an amused female voice said.
Halting my dance routine, I looked at her sheepishly. She was dressed in scrubs and clutching an iPad tablet.
“Yes, I’m her daughter.”
“I need to get a little information from you. If you would, follow me over to the desk.” She turned and started to walk away.
“I can’t go over there. My mother won’t be able to see me.”
She looked at me. “The nurses will take good care of her.”
“I know they will, but my mother has dementia, is confused, and anxious. It’s better if she can see me nearby.”
A warm and understanding smile spread across her face. “We can do it here.”
I repeated what happened that morning, signed consent forms for different tests to be run, and supplied Mom’s insurance information. With the initial assessment and drawing of blood over with, I was able to go sit by Mom’s side as we waited to be seen by a doctor. Now that the activity had died down a bit, she had relaxed and dozed off. While she was asleep, it dawned on me that Butler had gone to park my car and had my keys. Not wanting to disturb her, I quietly walked out of the cubicle.
I pushed through the large double doors that led to the waiting area and my gaze landed on him, sitting across the room, elbows on knees, his head down. He must have sensed that I was staring because within a second his eyes lifted, meeting mine. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let go. But I didn’t because I didn’t deserve his comfort. As I closed the distance between us, Butler stood.
“Hi,” I said, letting out a breath.
“Hey.”
It was probably my imagination or wishful thinking, but I thought I detected a slight smile on his chiseled face.
“Evie, why do you have gloves on your head?”
My eyes rolled up as if I could see the ridiculousness atop my head.
Reaching up, I tugged on the gloves, freeing them from the headband. “Mom was anxious, so I was trying to distract her and make her smile.”
“How’s she doing?”
I couldn’t get over that I’d lied to this man for weeks and the first thing out of his mouth was concern for my mom.
“She’s resting. They’re running blood tests and scans. I’m waiting for the doctor to see her.”
He nodded, paused, then said, “Um…your car is across the street in the parking deck, fourth level. Here’s the ticket and your keys.”
As Butler handed off my stuff, the tips of his fingers grazed my palm, causing a jolt of electricity to run through my body. Butler twitched, obviously feeling the zap as well. We held each other’s gaze for several seconds, but then Butler blinked.
“I need to get going,” he said.
My lower lip quivered, as tears pushed behind my eyes. “I’m sorry…for everything.”
“You better go check on your mom.” His voice was strained, his jaw set with anger.
Without another word, Butler turned and walked out of the Emergency Room, and my life. His retreating back tied my stomach into a bundle of knots. I wanted to go after him, but I fought the urge. I wasn’t worthy of a man like Butler. He deserved someone who could give him their heart and soul, unobstructed. A person he could trust. I’d broken that sacred bond from the very beginning with us. Even after he disappeared around the corner, I stood frozen in place hoping…praying he’d come back. That he’d allow me to explain. That he’d forgive me.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
I’m such an idiot.
Turning away from the love of my life, I headed back through the large doors toward Mom. When I reached her area, I found a tall, lanky, middle-aged man in dark framed glasses and scrubs standing by her bed. My hackles shot up, not knowing who he was or why he was there. I’d learned many things about myself over the course of the six years caring for Mom. But it wasn’t until today that I realized how protective I was of her. Being sick and unable to communicate left her even more vulnerable than usual. God help my children if I ever have any.
“Uh…hello?” I said, prepared to go all momma bear on this dude.
Looking up at me, he smiled. “Hi, I’m Dr. Webber.”
He was the spitting image of Anthony Edwards, who played Dr. Mark Greene on the TV series ER. Sure, a George Clooney or Noah Wyle look-a-like would have been awesome, but Mom and I weren’t fans of doctors who had Hollywood good looks. Somehow older, average-looking, and with a bit of gray hair, all translated into wisdom in our minds. Dr. Webber’s familiarity and the caring vibe he radiated gave me instant peace of mind.
I stepped up to the other side of the bed and held Mom’s hand. “I’m Evie, her daughter.”
“Nice to meet you, Evie. Although I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances. Miss Evelyne was just telling me some interesting things.”
“In case you haven’t read her history, Mom has frontotemporal dementia, language variant.”
“I’m aware. My dad suffered from it as well. It’s a bitch of a disease.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“I’ve gotten the results back from the CT scan. No stroke was indicated, which is very good. She does have a urinary tract infection.”
“It’s an ongoing battle,” I said.
“And the blood work indicates a bacteremia.”
“English, please.”
“Sorry. Your mother has a bacterial infection in the bloodstream.”
“What? I don’t understand how that could happen. She’s not been acting sick.”
“With dementia patients it’s hard to tell what’s going on because of the lack of communication.”
“I know every one of her signals and what they mean. I…I…I…would have picked up on it if she felt really bad,” I stammered in disbelief.
For several years we’d been dealing with frequent UTIs. I had gotten so good at detecting them, I knew the minute Mom had trouble walking or got very sleepy she had one. But somehow, this time I had missed not only the regular signs, but ones that indicated a condition of much greater magnitude.
“Usually, there aren’t any signs because the bacteria in the bloodstream isn’t a threat to the body. If the bacteria survives, it travels in the bloodstream and accumulates, causing infection, and can be dangerous,” Dr. Webber said it as if he were reading from a medical textbook.
I felt lightheaded, a million questions swirling in my head. I finally landed on the most important one. “Is my mom going to be okay?” I said, panic settling in my chest.
“We’re going to move her to a room upstairs, get her set up on IV antibiotics, and keep an eye on her for at least the next four days.”
I attempted to take a deep breath but couldn’t, anxiety was setting in. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“The infection is fairly widespread. With patients who are in the final stage of dementia we take things on a day-to-day, sometimes hourly, basis.”
I couldn’t figure out if that was his longwinded way of telling me my mom was going to die or not. So, I stood there trying to process his words, my thoughts, and my feelings. Dr. Webber must have taken my silence as understanding and acceptance, because he went to put in his orders for Mom’s treatment.
Keeping her hand in mine, I sat next to the hospital bed that made her look so small, the bright fluorescent light beaming down. Her vacant eyes were hooded, her cheeks caved in and hollow, and her mouth turned down into a slack, lazy frown. A few hours ago, she looked like my mom, at least that’s what my memory was telling me. I placed her hand against my cheek as tears spilled over the rim of my eyes.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t get you here sooner,” I whispered through quivering lips. “Mom, please don’t leave me.”
Saying goodbye to my true love shattered my heart into a million tiny pieces, saying goodbye to my north star on the same day would destroy my soul.
Present
The days in the hospital dragged on at a snail’s pace. Mom slept most of the time, while I read, watched TV, and paced the room. She refused to eat, which didn’t concern me much at first. After all, it was hospital food. But even when I brought her favorite juicy cheeseburger she wasn’t interested. She looked as if she’d aged twenty years since being admitted, and I felt as if I had aged just as much.
Maine was a lifesaver, taking Linus to stay at her place and stopping by each evening after the café closed to bring me an overnight bag stuffed with essentials, food, coffee, and boxes of goodies to keep my sugar and energy levels high. When I put a lemon doughnut in front of Mom, she stared at it briefly, but even that didn’t hold her interest for long.
Each day blood was drawn, and each day the results came back positive for bacteremia. When the room wasn’t filled with nurses or doctors, my imagination ran wild. What would I do without Mom? Would I live in the house or sell it? How would I spend my days? What would my purpose be?
On day four, there was a light knock on the door before a pretty brunette poked her head inside.
“Hey, is it okay if I come in for a few minutes?” she said in a low voice.
I sat up straighter in the recliner. “Sure.”
She was professionally dressed in a pair of black pants and a purple cardigan with a nametag pinned to it, carrying an iPad, and a handful of pamphlets.
Extending her hand to me, she said, “Hi, I’m Heather with Hospice and Palliative Care.”
I stared at her, stunned at what she’d just said. Did this woman know something I didn’t? Had the doctor told her to come in here to talk with me because there was no hope?
“I’m Evie, the daughter,” I said dazed, but taking her hand.
Heather glanced over at my mom sleeping. “She looks like she’s resting comfortably.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t act like she’s in any pain, which is good.”
Taking a seat in the chair next to me, Heather explained the reason for her visit. “Dr. Webber wanted me to come and chat with you about your mom.”
“Uh-huh,” was the only thing that would come out of my mouth.
“I know your mother has end-stage dementia. Have you made any plans or thought about what you’re going to do if or when she’s discharged from the hospital?”
She wasn’t saying anything that hadn’t crossed my mind while sitting here day after day. But hearing it spoken out loud was a gut punch. “End stage” and “hospice” had always been terms hanging out somewhere in the distant future. Her future was happening now, and I wasn’t prepared in any way, shape, or form.
