Chapter 34 #2
They’re still not making eye contact with me or even attempting to include me in this conversation.
All their jargon is making me feel like I’m on the outside of a big secret.
It’s making me want to scream. None of them have even looked at my aunt besides a cursory glance when they first entered the room.
The nurse, who has remained in the room since I arrived, is bustling about, addressing the monitors and adjusting the medications that are pumping into her patient.
“Excuse me,” I finally cut in after at least five minutes of conversation that I’m struggling to understand.
The doctors look startled, as if they had forgotten I was even there.
“This is Lady Graf’s great niece,” the nurse supplies.
“And have we been in contact with the next of kin?” pencil skirt asks.
“I am the next of kin.” I try to keep the wavering from my voice. I don’t want them to mistake my anxiety for anything but worry over my aunt. Technically, the next of kin is Uncle Jonas, but lord knows where that man is.
“Very well, then. And your name is?”
I straighten in the hard plastic chair. “Aurelia Sumner.”
“Miss Sumner, has your aunt expressed any of her wishes to you?”
“Wishes?”
Pencil skirt moves to the side of the hospital bed across from me.
I can read her hospital badge at this distance, Doctor Monceaux.
Neurology. Her eyes travel the length of Aunt Sarah’s body before she comes to rest on me.
“Lady Graf is showing no improvement after receiving the medicine to break down the clot causing the stroke. Ideally, we would see some changes by now, either in movement or level of consciousness.”
“What does that mean?” I wish someone would speak plainly in here. I have a basic understanding of strokes, but only enough to have me jumping to all kinds of horrific conclusions, and I hate this guessing game they’re playing with me.
Scrubs puts a hand on my shoulder. “It means that despite our efforts, the likelihood of recovery is slim.”
I blink a few times, thoughts bouncing around in my head, but not really making sense. Eventually, I stammer out, “But slim chance means there’s still some, right?”
“Negligible might be a better word,” the student puts in.
My eyes start to prickle, and my throat feels tight. The room feels suddenly very cramped and very cold.
“There are a few options from here, Miss Sumner, but it is unlikely any will make much of a difference in this case.”
I nod. I think I know where this is going, and if none of them have the guts to say it out loud, I will. “So, your initial question about her wishes, you mean what she wants when she’s dying.”
I flick my gaze among all of the doctors around me. Now they look right at me. Young guy looks stunned at my frankness; the other two are subdued but not shocked.
“Yes, Miss Sumner, how does your aunt wish to live out her last days?”
How do I even answer that question? This wasn’t something we had ever talked about.
Maybe we should have. I know Aunt Sarah is old; she was old when my father was a kid, but she never really seemed old.
Certainly not close to dying anytime soon.
I’m not her child. Heck, I’ve only known her since moving here five and a half years ago.
With Uncle Jonas gone no-contact, I guess the burden falls to me.
“Aunt Sarah is…” I trail off. What is the right word for my aunt?
“Vivacious. Exciting. Stubbornly independent.” I pause again, trying to will myself to say the next words.
I clear my dry throat and stroke my thumb on the back of her soft but boney hand.
Her skin is perfect, not mottled by spots like many older ladies.
Her nails are beautifully manicured as always.
This is a woman of pride and gentility. “She wouldn’t want to live like this.
She’d think it an indignity to be so reliant on others. ”
We just had dinner together a few days ago, and everything had seemed fine. Aunt Sarah was her usual, spicy self. She had been giving me pointers on getting over heartbreak and even suggested I try this hookup app she had heard about.
Less than a week ago, my aunt was encouraging me to go on a full-blown sexcapade, and now she’s unconscious and maybe dying. I can’t make it make sense.
Doctor Monceaux nods to the young doctor who steps up to the foot of the bed.
“Miss Sumner, I am Doctor Cohen. I’m a resident in the palliative care department. Part of my job is end-of-life care.”
I can barely get a breath. Every sound in the room is magnified.
I swipe at something hot and wet on my cheeks and am surprised at the tears on my fingers.
This is all Friedrich’s fault. I never cried before him.
The young doctor’s words are garbled, like he’s talking to me while I’m underwater.
He hands me some papers and a brochure, his mouth still moving, though I can’t hear any of it.
Scrubs squeezes my shoulder, bringing me out of whatever haze had fallen over me. “We’ll give you some time, Miss Sumner.”
The doctors leave, the nurse makes one last pass around her patient and exits the room as well.
There’s a quiet knock on the door, and Margaret tiptoes in, right on time for me to completely lose control over my emotions.
She’s by my side in an instant, holding me tight in her arms as I lay my head on the bed and weep.