Chaos to Care
The week had passed ever so slowly. Both sisters had become increasingly uncomfortable. For Dez, the bed seemed to grow more lumps, the pillows flatter and harder. The meals were regular and hot - mostly. She got to choose her own meals - sort of. They seemed to be all the same - choose between bland chicken or even blander fish. “Oh, be grateful Dez. At least you’ve got food. And you’re alive.” After her own talking to, the chicken never tasted any better. At least she always had ketchup to give it some taste. For the first time she appreciated her own cooking. Even more for Cook’s meals. Her meals, bread, scones, anything she put her hand to was the stuff of dreams. But, she’d not be getting out to the Estate for quite a while. Her old car was in the Impound and had been totalled. Already on her last pistons, the accident had ended the last few years on her tires. She’d have Matt help her get a new used car, but that would be a while.
She had so many different nurses. There was the young man, Jamie, full of life, cheer and kindness. Cheryl, who had helped with her first bedpan adventure. Thankfully it had been her last. She had also showed her the controls for the morphine. It had been weaned off over a couple of days. Now it was just acetaminophen or ibuprofen. Then there was this one night nurse, Edith, stiff and starched, who marched in every hour on the hour, flashed her flashlight around, harrumphed and left for another hour. In between all of their shifts there were so many others she had to be reintroduced to everyone.
All the staff were masked, some with gowns and gloves. Even so, Dez had given little thought to any pandemic issues. Her x-rays had not shown any breaks, but her legs were still very sore. The doctors told her that she had severe muscle spasms from braking and from the collision. That was why the morphine was discontinued so quickly, to Dez’s disappointment. The nurses had her up out of bed every day. “You’ll need to use this walker. Crutches when you go home. They offered her a prize of going to the bathroom, which to Dez was like offering a teenager twenty dollars if they cleaned their room. The first day that Dez stepped out in the hall and saw all the equipment and beds in the hall, she saw some patients sleeping restlessly, some moaning, and became frightened. She’d heard all the stories of people that died, people that were recovering but none that she had known. It was then that Dez realized the hospital was still in the clutches of the pandemic. The scene in the hall made it all too real. She hoped Em would stay home and away from it all.
Two days before she was to be discharged, she was in her bathroom. She heard someone come in her room, her bed being moved and heard animated conversation that chilled her. “We have to do this, Jim. There’s no other space! Both these women are going home soon, they’ve both been vaccinated and, besides we’ve been given our marching orders.” Dez made sure she was decent before coming out of the bathroom. “Cheryl, what’s going on? Why are you moving my bed?”
“Oh, Miss Eliot. We didn’t know you were in there. You’ll have a roommate for the rest of your stay. The hospital is overloaded and we’ve go no more room, even in the hallway. We’ve just admitted another man from Emergency that should be in ICU.” Cheryl hesitated, afraid she’d given too much information. “I’d love to stay and give you more details, but I was sure you would understand.” Pushing Dez’s bed to the window, she and Jim left the room. “We’ll be back with Mrs. Godfrey, her bed and other things.”
~~~~~
Emelina was concerned about her sister. She was getting the best of care. That was not the problem. She was frightened for herself and everyday it seemed to get worse. She had to steel herself to walk from the front doors of the hospital, onto the elevator and to Dez’s room on the second floor. She made certain she was by herself on the elevator and wore a double mask. Feeling like a foolish child, she just wanted to get in and get out with as little contact with people as possible. Always in her mind, was ‘What if I bring this virus home?!’ She no longer spent time in the cafeteria unless she could have a corner table. The hygiene protocols were excellent but as case numbers increased, her anxiety increased. Living at the Estate, secluded from the chaos that her husband lived every day, she had become complacent, feeling quite untouchable. Jeremy never talked about his work, just glad to be away from it all. Now Emelina understood. She passed the patients in the hallways on her way to Dez’s room. Machines beeping and wheezing, patients calling out for a nurse. Emelina just wanted to get Dez out of there and home.
At home, she had talked with Martha and Cook about her worries, telling them about her fears for Dez. “How will she manage in her apartment? I’ll take groceries to her and get her outside while she’s getting better. She’ll be on crutches for a while and will have physiotherapy exercises to do. Probably will need to get to appointments. I can take her to those as well.” Martha just listened patiently, getting her a fresh cup of tea or a tissue. Cook kept working, getting Samuel’s lunch ready, saying that “Miss Dez will be just fine, Miss Em.”
As the women commiserated, James came out of his office for fresh coffee and scrounged cookies from the cupboard. Quietly he said. “Why don’t you get a bed down her for Miss Dez and get her out here. She’s up and around now but still needs a lot of bed rest. It wouldn’t necessarily be good for her to go back to her apartment. Out here we could all care for her. She would have the track to walk on to get her legs back in shape. It is autumn and Samuel can give her some training about care for her orchard.” With that he turned to Cook and to Martha “Thank you Elizabeth. I’ve taken the last of those ginger cookies. Martha, I’ll see you later for our walk home.” Walking back to his office, he stopped, turned back to his employer and said quietly “Miss Emelina, your sister will be just fine. And so will you.”
“Thinking will not overcome fear but action will.”
~ W. Clement Stone
