Eight
In hindsight, the start of Dottie’s slow descent was obvious. What seemed to be a basic, run of the mill cold slowly morphed into something deeper, a pneumonia that left her breathless and weak, two words that had never been used to describe her before. But in the early days of her illness, no one suspected that a simple cold would have such a profound effect on a woman who had survived three kinds of cancer, a cracked vertebra from a horseback riding accident and splitting her head open after falling on an icy sidewalk.
Slowly, she began to avoid doing things that she once enjoyed. The first time Kathy realized that something was wrong was when her mother asked her to return clothes to Winslow’s for her because she didn’t feel up to going to the mall herself. Soon she started skipping lunches with her friends, and then canceling appointments with the hairdresser. To look at her, you would have seen an average 85 year old woman, but Dottie had never shown her age. She didn’t go out because she didn’t feel well and she didn’t feel well because she didn’t go out. She became weaker and weaker, her shoulders more stooped and her walk less steady. By the time spring arrived, she was barely leaving the house; by mid-summer, she could hardly make it up the stairs to her bedroom. In mid-September, Kathy and Steve set up a mini-bedroom in Dottie’s dining room, and she never climbed the stairs again.
Yet she remained defiant as always. Her mind was sharp even as her body softened. She continued to do the daily crossword puzzle and shout the Jeopardy! answers at the television screen. Kathy visited at least twice a day, and helped her prepare small meals for herself, but Dottie was still largely independent.
With the arrival of another winter came another bout of pneumonia. Dottie spent nearly a week in the hospital, and in spite of the fact that they sent her to a transitional physical therapy unit to help her regain strength after six days in bed, her physical capacities had greatly diminished, and her mental acuity was only a fraction of what it had been just a few months earlier. She could no longer rise from her chair without assistance, and she required Kathy’s assistance to get into bed at night. Kathy left a phone beside her bed so that she could call if she needed anything before morning, but Dottie was too proud to even consider such a foolish thing. By the time she most needed Kathy’s help, in the middle of the second winter, a combination of fading memory and declining motor skills left her unable to dial the phone.
Kathy was hysterical about the turn of events. Her initial optimism about her mother’s recovery was replaced, not with an acceptance of her death, but an almost paralyzing fear of long term incapacity. She started to spend her nights at her mother’s house, sleeping upright in the armchair, listening for signs of distress. During the day, she would take short breaks and go back to her own house to shower, do laundry and generally pretend that everything was still normal. But Dottie’s condition deteriorated further still, and slowly Kathy began spending all of her time at her mother’s house, watching the hollow shell of her mother stare off into space.
Sarah would get calls from her mother five and six times a day. Kathy, desperate to speak to someone, would call Sarah at work. Most of the time she would try to keep the conversation light, chatting about neighbors—what else?—and the endless amounts of daytime television that she was watching throughout the day.
“I was watching Maury this morning,” she would begin, and Sarah would tune her out. Periodically she would hear words like “paternity” and “in tears”, but for the most part, Sarah didn’t care about the plight of the women that went on national television for those “Who’s my babydaddy?” shows. I mean, wasn’t it bad enough that these girls were pregnant? Did they really need to announce on national TV that they didn’t know which of five guys was the father? Sarah was no prude, but she found that those sorts of shows gave her the creeps in a way that no other television could.
Jared popped his head up over the wall. “Is she talking about Montel again?”
Sarah muted her headset. “Maury.”
“Same difference,” Jared scoffed. “Why on earth doesn’t she watch something better?”
“Have you ever been home during the day? Have you seen what’s on? Let’s see, you have the horrible acting of the soaps. You have any one of a dozen choices of courtroom shows that might as well all be called ‘Judge Jackass’. And then there are the talk shows. They’re as bad as the soaps, but at least they have the excuse of being unscripted.”
Jared shook his head. “You have thought about this waaaaay too much.”
“Remember last month when I was home with the flu for three days? I had hoped that I was just hallucinating how bad the shows were. I wasn’t. They were still that bad after the fever broke.”
“So what do you think?” Sarah heard Kathy ask.
“Shit!” Sarah fumbled for the mute button. “I’m sorry, Mom. Someone came into my office.” She fired a look at Jared, who laughed. “What was that last part?”
“I was asking what you thought about me taking Mom to someplace warm. For a vacation. You know, to rehabilitate her.”
Sarah paused, looking for a way to delicately point our that her grandmother had become an incontinent invalid and couldn’t sit up on her own couch, let alone in a car or airline seat, and the prospect of getting onto a plane might very well kill Dottie altogether. “Well, you know, it’s a nice idea and all that, but I wonder if it might not be too… uh… ambitious.”
“I didn’t say it was going to be easy,” Kathy said. “I would probably need your father to come along. Or you. Maybe we can go to Florida.”
“Uh, how? Driving?”
“Sure, why not? The three generations on a road trip!” Kathy was so excited about the idea that Sarah wondered if she was on something.
“Wow, that’s quite an idea, Mom, but I think that maybe….” She stopped, unsure of how to proceed. “My travel schedule is pretty tight this month. Let’s talk about it again when I’m back from Singapore.”
“You’re avoiding the topic, aren’t you?” Kathy accused.
“Well, yes. Actually, I am.”
“Don’t you understand?” Kathy’s voice sounded like a plea. “I need to get away from here. Even if it’s just for an hour.”
“What about an elder care nurse?” asked Sarah. “They can come in and take care of the basics for you.”
“Absolutely not!” Kathy exclaimed. “I’d be afraid that they would steal your grandmother’s things.”
“What things?” Sarah asked. “She has nothing of value.”
“She has some glassware that’s valuable,” Kathy said defiantly.
“Really? What?”
“Those blue and white earthenware pitchers. They’re antiques.”
“They’re also hideously ugly,” Sarah noted. “I’ve seen those things for nearly 30 years and always assumed that they came from a flea market. I doubt that any home care nurse will be well-versed in ugly earthenware pitchers.”
“I can’t take that chance,” Kathy said.
“Honestly, Mom, that’s ridiculous.”
“Well, what about her baseball cards?”
“Where are they?” Sarah asked.
“In the attic.”
“Let me get this straight: if you take two hours to go out on your own, you think that a visiting nurse will get the ladder out of the garage, haul it up the stairs, go into the attic, rummage through all the boxes and maybe—just maybe—find a dozen valuable baseball cards? And then put everything back the way it was so that you’re not suspicious when you get home?”
She could hear Jared in near hysterics on the other side of the wall. She pounded on the panel with her left fist, which only made him laugh harder.
“You make it all sound so ridiculous,” Kathy said huffily.
“I don’t think it’s me….” Sarah said, leaving the thought hanging.
“Oh, shut up. You could at least be nice to me. I’m under quite a lot of stress, you know!’
“I know, Mom,” Sarah said. “I’m sorry that I can’t be there to help you. I know that you need a break.”
“No, I’m fine, really,” said Kathy unconvincingly. “I just need to build Mom’s strength up a bit more, and then she can start doing things for herself again. Maybe I can talk with her doctor about getting her back into some sort of rehabilitation or physical therapy program.”
Listening to her talk that way saddened Sarah. She knew that her grandmother was beyond the point of no return, and she was concerned that her mother hadn’t yet come to grips with that fact. Nonetheless, it was easier to go along with it than to rock the boat and confront her with the truth.
“When was the last time you talked to her doctor?” Sarah asked.
“About a week ago. I wanted to see what I could do for her… digestive distress.” Her mother never spoke openly about unsavory things; she merely hinted at their existence. “He didn’t really have much of a solution, but I’ve been feeding her more bananas every day and that seems to help the problem.”
“That’s… good, I guess. You certainly want her to be as comfortable as possible when she can’t really help herself out.”
“Once she’s feeling better…”
Sarah never heard the rest of the thought. She pulled the headset from her ear and placed it on the desk, rubbing her forehead to make the sharp pain go away. This was starting to happen every time she spoke to her mother. The collective stress of three generations manifested itself in a red hot poker behind Sarah’s left eyeball. She popped two Excedrin, put the headset back on and noticed that her mother was still talking, unaware of her absence.
“Listen, Mom, I have to go. Someone’s here for a meeting. Can I talk to you later?”
“Of course. Love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.” Sarah hung up the phone and turned to find Jared standing in her doorway.
“She’s killing you, isn’t she?” he asked.
“Slowly but surely.”
“Have you had your coffee yet?” he asked.
Sarah surveyed her desk. No cup was in sight. Maybe this was the source of her headache today. “No, I don’t think I have. Want to take a walk?”
“It’s better than working!” Jared practically skipped towards the door.
“You do realize that you can be gay without acting gay,” she pointed out.
He rolled his eyes. “Oh honey! Where’s the fun in that?”
Slowly, she began to avoid doing things that she once enjoyed. The first time Kathy realized that something was wrong was when her mother asked her to return clothes to Winslow’s for her because she didn’t feel up to going to the mall herself. Soon she started skipping lunches with her friends, and then canceling appointments with the hairdresser. To look at her, you would have seen an average 85 year old woman, but Dottie had never shown her age. She didn’t go out because she didn’t feel well and she didn’t feel well because she didn’t go out. She became weaker and weaker, her shoulders more stooped and her walk less steady. By the time spring arrived, she was barely leaving the house; by mid-summer, she could hardly make it up the stairs to her bedroom. In mid-September, Kathy and Steve set up a mini-bedroom in Dottie’s dining room, and she never climbed the stairs again.
Yet she remained defiant as always. Her mind was sharp even as her body softened. She continued to do the daily crossword puzzle and shout the Jeopardy! answers at the television screen. Kathy visited at least twice a day, and helped her prepare small meals for herself, but Dottie was still largely independent.
With the arrival of another winter came another bout of pneumonia. Dottie spent nearly a week in the hospital, and in spite of the fact that they sent her to a transitional physical therapy unit to help her regain strength after six days in bed, her physical capacities had greatly diminished, and her mental acuity was only a fraction of what it had been just a few months earlier. She could no longer rise from her chair without assistance, and she required Kathy’s assistance to get into bed at night. Kathy left a phone beside her bed so that she could call if she needed anything before morning, but Dottie was too proud to even consider such a foolish thing. By the time she most needed Kathy’s help, in the middle of the second winter, a combination of fading memory and declining motor skills left her unable to dial the phone.
Kathy was hysterical about the turn of events. Her initial optimism about her mother’s recovery was replaced, not with an acceptance of her death, but an almost paralyzing fear of long term incapacity. She started to spend her nights at her mother’s house, sleeping upright in the armchair, listening for signs of distress. During the day, she would take short breaks and go back to her own house to shower, do laundry and generally pretend that everything was still normal. But Dottie’s condition deteriorated further still, and slowly Kathy began spending all of her time at her mother’s house, watching the hollow shell of her mother stare off into space.
Sarah would get calls from her mother five and six times a day. Kathy, desperate to speak to someone, would call Sarah at work. Most of the time she would try to keep the conversation light, chatting about neighbors—what else?—and the endless amounts of daytime television that she was watching throughout the day.
“I was watching Maury this morning,” she would begin, and Sarah would tune her out. Periodically she would hear words like “paternity” and “in tears”, but for the most part, Sarah didn’t care about the plight of the women that went on national television for those “Who’s my babydaddy?” shows. I mean, wasn’t it bad enough that these girls were pregnant? Did they really need to announce on national TV that they didn’t know which of five guys was the father? Sarah was no prude, but she found that those sorts of shows gave her the creeps in a way that no other television could.
Jared popped his head up over the wall. “Is she talking about Montel again?”
Sarah muted her headset. “Maury.”
“Same difference,” Jared scoffed. “Why on earth doesn’t she watch something better?”
“Have you ever been home during the day? Have you seen what’s on? Let’s see, you have the horrible acting of the soaps. You have any one of a dozen choices of courtroom shows that might as well all be called ‘Judge Jackass’. And then there are the talk shows. They’re as bad as the soaps, but at least they have the excuse of being unscripted.”
Jared shook his head. “You have thought about this waaaaay too much.”
“Remember last month when I was home with the flu for three days? I had hoped that I was just hallucinating how bad the shows were. I wasn’t. They were still that bad after the fever broke.”
“So what do you think?” Sarah heard Kathy ask.
“Shit!” Sarah fumbled for the mute button. “I’m sorry, Mom. Someone came into my office.” She fired a look at Jared, who laughed. “What was that last part?”
“I was asking what you thought about me taking Mom to someplace warm. For a vacation. You know, to rehabilitate her.”
Sarah paused, looking for a way to delicately point our that her grandmother had become an incontinent invalid and couldn’t sit up on her own couch, let alone in a car or airline seat, and the prospect of getting onto a plane might very well kill Dottie altogether. “Well, you know, it’s a nice idea and all that, but I wonder if it might not be too… uh… ambitious.”
“I didn’t say it was going to be easy,” Kathy said. “I would probably need your father to come along. Or you. Maybe we can go to Florida.”
“Uh, how? Driving?”
“Sure, why not? The three generations on a road trip!” Kathy was so excited about the idea that Sarah wondered if she was on something.
“Wow, that’s quite an idea, Mom, but I think that maybe….” She stopped, unsure of how to proceed. “My travel schedule is pretty tight this month. Let’s talk about it again when I’m back from Singapore.”
“You’re avoiding the topic, aren’t you?” Kathy accused.
“Well, yes. Actually, I am.”
“Don’t you understand?” Kathy’s voice sounded like a plea. “I need to get away from here. Even if it’s just for an hour.”
“What about an elder care nurse?” asked Sarah. “They can come in and take care of the basics for you.”
“Absolutely not!” Kathy exclaimed. “I’d be afraid that they would steal your grandmother’s things.”
“What things?” Sarah asked. “She has nothing of value.”
“She has some glassware that’s valuable,” Kathy said defiantly.
“Really? What?”
“Those blue and white earthenware pitchers. They’re antiques.”
“They’re also hideously ugly,” Sarah noted. “I’ve seen those things for nearly 30 years and always assumed that they came from a flea market. I doubt that any home care nurse will be well-versed in ugly earthenware pitchers.”
“I can’t take that chance,” Kathy said.
“Honestly, Mom, that’s ridiculous.”
“Well, what about her baseball cards?”
“Where are they?” Sarah asked.
“In the attic.”
“Let me get this straight: if you take two hours to go out on your own, you think that a visiting nurse will get the ladder out of the garage, haul it up the stairs, go into the attic, rummage through all the boxes and maybe—just maybe—find a dozen valuable baseball cards? And then put everything back the way it was so that you’re not suspicious when you get home?”
She could hear Jared in near hysterics on the other side of the wall. She pounded on the panel with her left fist, which only made him laugh harder.
“You make it all sound so ridiculous,” Kathy said huffily.
“I don’t think it’s me….” Sarah said, leaving the thought hanging.
“Oh, shut up. You could at least be nice to me. I’m under quite a lot of stress, you know!’
“I know, Mom,” Sarah said. “I’m sorry that I can’t be there to help you. I know that you need a break.”
“No, I’m fine, really,” said Kathy unconvincingly. “I just need to build Mom’s strength up a bit more, and then she can start doing things for herself again. Maybe I can talk with her doctor about getting her back into some sort of rehabilitation or physical therapy program.”
Listening to her talk that way saddened Sarah. She knew that her grandmother was beyond the point of no return, and she was concerned that her mother hadn’t yet come to grips with that fact. Nonetheless, it was easier to go along with it than to rock the boat and confront her with the truth.
“When was the last time you talked to her doctor?” Sarah asked.
“About a week ago. I wanted to see what I could do for her… digestive distress.” Her mother never spoke openly about unsavory things; she merely hinted at their existence. “He didn’t really have much of a solution, but I’ve been feeding her more bananas every day and that seems to help the problem.”
“That’s… good, I guess. You certainly want her to be as comfortable as possible when she can’t really help herself out.”
“Once she’s feeling better…”
Sarah never heard the rest of the thought. She pulled the headset from her ear and placed it on the desk, rubbing her forehead to make the sharp pain go away. This was starting to happen every time she spoke to her mother. The collective stress of three generations manifested itself in a red hot poker behind Sarah’s left eyeball. She popped two Excedrin, put the headset back on and noticed that her mother was still talking, unaware of her absence.
“Listen, Mom, I have to go. Someone’s here for a meeting. Can I talk to you later?”
“Of course. Love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.” Sarah hung up the phone and turned to find Jared standing in her doorway.
“She’s killing you, isn’t she?” he asked.
“Slowly but surely.”
“Have you had your coffee yet?” he asked.
Sarah surveyed her desk. No cup was in sight. Maybe this was the source of her headache today. “No, I don’t think I have. Want to take a walk?”
“It’s better than working!” Jared practically skipped towards the door.
“You do realize that you can be gay without acting gay,” she pointed out.
He rolled his eyes. “Oh honey! Where’s the fun in that?”
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