Stay Tuned

Chapter 53

“What’s wrong?” My heart contracted and released. I motioned to Chris. “Did something happen to Mother? Is she all right?”

“She started being a bit combative last night. Your mother wouldn’t eat, pushed her dinner away, threw her plate on the floor. Later, she slapped one of the nurses who tried to help her comb her hair and brush her teeth.”

I winced, the thought painful. “I’m so sorry.”

My regret was a minor speed bump.

“About twenty minutes ago, your mother tried to get out of bed. We think she fell, then tried to crawl toward the door. The nurses doing rounds found her on the floor. There’s a small bruise on her elbow. We just wanted to let you know what was going on. The doctor on call is checking on her now.”

“Thank you,” I said, already walking toward the door. “I’ll be there soon. I’d like to see her.” I looked at Chris. “Mother fell out of her bed and bumped her elbow. Her behavior’s getting worse. I need to see her.”

Chris blocked my way with his arm. “I’m going with you. I’ll drive.” He grabbed the keys to the car and hit the stairs. I gathered a comb from my purse and raked it through my hair.

Chris, already in the garage, cranked the engine when he saw me. The dashboard lit up and cast an orange glow as I slid into my seat and buckled in. We backed out of the driveway and onto the street. Chris didn’t hesitate, didn’t turn on the radio. The Volvo’s tires gripped the asphalt as we sped off.

I cursed Mother’s dementia. The disease. Cells being killed, hundreds at a time. The subtle changes were easier to overlook in the noise and daylight. More memory loss, confusion. Mother’s disconnect was easy to explain.

But what about Chris? When had this all happened? Why hadn’t he told me sooner?

In the darkness of the car, I searched for words, other explanations. For Mother, for Chris. All of it.

I stole a glance at Chris. He stayed focused, hands on the wheel, eyes on the street signs. One final turn.

Chris jerked the car to an awkward stop and cut the engine. The slam of our car doors echoed across the empty parking lot.
  
At the nursing home entrance, huge glass double-doors whisked open. The smell of antiseptic and cleaning solution permeated the air.

The doctor met us at Mother’s door. He talked quickly, in short bursts of medical jargon. Mother appeared to be fine. “We’ll do an x-ray in the morning to be safe, but her elbow doesn’t appear to be bothering her. Just bruised and tender.”

Chris and I exchanged a relieved look.
 
The doctor glanced at Mother’s chart. His thick finger ran down the top page. “The dementia. Diagnosed more than two years ago?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Sometimes, she’s her old self. She recognizes me and talks like nothing’s wrong.

Then, other times, it’s like I’m a stranger and she gets upset and overreacts to things, even when people are trying to help her.”

“She is very confused tonight,” the doctor agreed, “which has made her agitated. We gave her something to help her rest and relax.” He stopped and made a note on Mother’s chart. “You can go in and see her now. Just for a moment, though. She’ll be sleepy. I’ll be back to check on her in a bit.”

Chris’s keys jingled as he set them down on the table next to Mother’s bed. Her eyes fluttered open.

For a moment, Mother seemed to recognize me. She blinked several times, as if she were trying to bring my face into focus, raised one hand, and started to speak.

“Nurse, please, could you bring me something to drink?” she asked, her voice weak. One finger lifted from the bed and pointed at the water pitcher. “I’ve asked so many times and no one will help me.”

“Mother, it’s me, Melissa.” I reached for the water pitcher carefully. “And Chris.”

Mother regarded us both with suspicion. “I don’t remember you.” She squinted at my husband. “What are you doing here? What do you want? Her voice raised an octave and her mouth started to quiver.

“Mother,” I repeated slowly, one hand on my chest. “Don’t you remember? I’m your daughter. Chris is your son-in-law.”

Mother twitched with confusion. “Nurse,” she called out.

The nurse on duty appeared in the doorway. It wasn’t Sharice. “It’s late. Everyone’s tired. I can understand you’d like to visit with your mother. But she’s in no condition to have visitors right now. After she gets some sleep, she’ll feel better.”

“All right,” I agreed.

The nurse’s eyes were full of empathy. “Maybe she’ll recognize you then.”

Chris led me back to the car. I was overwhelmed with disappointment. We rode home, the nurse’s words playing over in my head. Every now and then, Chris reached over and patted my hand. He didn’t need to say a thing. He knew.
  
Maybe she’ll recognize you then.