Chapter Twenty-Three
Amiya
A vie’s father, Rupert, meets us at the airport in Atlanta and drives us to Emory University Hospital.
Grandma fell out of her bed sometime during the night and was found when the nurse at the care facility was making her early morning rounds, so she couldn’t have been on the floor for longer than two hours.
Two hours.
Lying on a floor, in pain and disoriented.
My heart aches at the thought.
Rupert pulls up to the entrance of the hospital and lets us out. We rush to the sliding glass doors and make our way inside, stopping at the nurses’ station where we are directed to her room located on the fourth floor.
When we enter the room, she looks small and frail in the bed. Her silver hair is matted, and her skin is so pale that it’s almost translucent.
I sit next to her and take her hand in mine while Avie takes a seat in the recliner against the window. We wait for the doctor and advocate from the nursing facility to arrive.
“Hi, Grandma. It’s me, Amiya. I’m here,” I whisper more for myself than for her.
They warned me that she would be heavily sedated and probably wouldn’t be awake much, if any, while I was here.
I lay my head on the side of her bed and close my eyes.
After dinner last night, Avie called Naomie and had her pack her a bag. Then, Sebastian ran home to get it and drop Leia off with her mother so she could stay the night with me. She climbed into bed beside me and held my hand while I cried. Neither of us got much sleep.
This morning, Lennon took one look at us and refused to let either of us drive to the airport. He forced me to sit and eat an egg and a slice of toast, then made me hand over my keys so he could load our bags and take us to Wilmington.
I must have dozed off because I’m startled awake when the doctor and Mrs. Shytle from Everbright Memory Care enter.
“Miss Chelton?”
I stand and shake the doctor’s hand.
“Yes, you can call me Amiya. This is my friend Avie.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Amiya. I’m Dr. Cameron, and I believe you know Mrs. Shytle.”
“Yes,” I say as I wave to the woman.
The doctor looks over Grandma’s IV before returning to the end of her bed and filling us in.
“Your grandmother fractured her hip in two places. As I’m sure you know, a broken hip at her age isn’t easy to treat, but a broken hip for someone her age who is suffering from advanced dementia is much worse. Not only does the injury affect the patient physically, but studies have shown that they’re most likely to experience functional decline as well. Making rehab difficult because they’re unable to accurately communicate their pain levels, creating an obstacle for verbal consent and humane rehabilitation.”
“Okay. So, what are our options?” I ask.
“In cases like this, we suggest palliative treatments, such as nerve blocks, opioid medications administered subcutaneously, or regional anesthesia as an alternative to surgery,” he says.
“In cases like this?”
“When life expectancy is short,” he says delicately.
“Oh,” I mutter.
Mrs. Shytle steps forward. “Surgery is invasive, and the recovery would be very taxing for her. She wouldn’t be able to walk or move really. She would have to have rehab to learn how to walk again, and there’s no guarantee she even could with the effects of the medications and the distress from not understanding what’s happening. She’d most likely be confused and frightened. With palliative care, they would keep her comfortable and pain-free,” she explains.
“How long?” I ask.
“Pardon?”
I bring my eyes to hers.
“How long does she have?”
Her eyes well with sympathy and her voice grows soft.
“No one knows for sure,” she begins.
I look from her to Dr. Cameron. “How long?” I repeat.
The doctor clears his throat. “My best estimate is three to six months.”
I nod. “Thank you,” I whisper.
I fight back the tears threatening to fall as Avie rushes to my side and wraps me in her arms.
“I’ll let you guys talk, and I’ll be back to check on her later. I’m very sorry it wasn’t better news, Amiya,” Dr. Cameron says before excusing himself.
“Will she still be able to stay at Everbright?” I ask Mrs. Shytle after a few moments.
“Yes, of course. We would set everything up with Palliative Care.”
“Good. I don’t want to move her somewhere unfamiliar.”
“I’m going to step out and get the paperwork started and arrange for transport back to the center while you guys spend some time with Mrs. Chelton,” she says. “You’re making the right decision, Amiya. I promise we’ll take excellent care of her.”
I give her an appreciative smile.
Once we’re alone again. I drop back into the chair at her bedside.
Three to six months.
I knew her time was limited. Truth is, she’s been leaving me for a while now. Bit by bit. And I know she’s ready to go. She’s told me so herself, but I’ve been holding on so tightly because I wasn’t ready.
She’s my anchor, and I’m afraid of what will happen if I let go.
I try to send Avie to my apartment to get some rest, but she refuses. She stays with me while I sign paperwork. She stays with me while I talk to a Palliative Care representative. She sleeps in the recliner while I sit and hold my grandmother’s hand all night. She’s there with me when the transport arrives in the morning.
She stays with me until her dad picks us back up to take us to the airport.
She never leaves my side.
That’s what friends do.