The Private Room
*
Four hours after signing the severance paperwork and leaving for the day, Robert and I drove to the hospital.
“Bree, I know you’ve never seen someone dying—”
I grimaced, attempting to look out the car window and focus on anything else.
“Rob, I love you. Please stop talking.”
Robert scoffed but stayed quiet. He meant well—he always did—but I didn’t want support, not like this.
They don’t sell cards for “Your mother is dying a long, painful death, and even though you don’t like each other, you have to be there for her.”
So, Robert was attempting to provide me with that support. But I didn’t want it.
He was right. I had never seen someone die. When my grandmother died, my family drove four hours, and she was just a woman in a casket. The same applied to aunts, uncles, and cousins.
Having someone in your life who is dying is a different type of experience. It’s waiting for the inevitable. You know they aren’t going to wake up cured suddenly. So, you and everyone else sit around, waiting for them to die.
It’s ghoulish, and it made me feel sick.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t cut you off.”
Robert smiled softly, then replied, “You do not need to apologize. I just wanted to say you are in control.”
I raised a brow, and he nodded. “You heard me. If we get there and it’s too much, we can go.”
“But what about my mom—”
“Nope,” he cut in. “You should not put yourself in a bad position because of your mom. If you want to be there, we’ll be there. No one should force you to stay.”
I reached over and took his hand. I could feel my heartbeat calming down. He was right. He was always right.
But the tiny monster living in my mind began to whisper about how terrible I was.
“I wish you knew how cool you are.” Rob grinned as we crossed the parking garage. I raised a brow as he pointed to a license plate with the letters KWL 914 on it. I immediately groaned, then laughed.
“I’ll allow it.”
He reached for me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as we approached the doors.
I picked at my nails as we walked across the skywalk onto the hospital’s fifth floor.
I was immediately overtaken by the strong, sterile smell of bleach, with the fluorescents giving the white walls and floor a strange minty color.
I looked down at the floor and saw the bright yellow line labeled ONCOLOGY.
Robert must have sensed my hesitation because he reached for my hand. As our fingers laced, the hallway ahead of us stretched for miles. There were no windows, and it was silent. The lights looked dimmer.
Robert was right. I had not been around death before.
At this moment, this place felt like a crypt.
Like specters, we drifted to the nurse station, silent and unseen. One nurse was on the phone; another was staring at her computer screen, the only sound being the clicking of the keyboard.
Every second they weren’t looking at us, I felt as if it was another second of my time with my mother gone.
“One moment, dear,” the nurse on the phone said, sliding the phone down her jaw as she tapped on a box of face masks with her other finger on the counter.
I raised an eyebrow as she kept talking on the phone while the other nurse sighed. “You need to wear a mask. This is a high-risk area.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed as I reached for it, sliding it onto my face. Its suffocating scent hung over my nose as I took a deep breath.
The phone nurse hung up, then asked, “Who are you looking for?”
I cleared my throat, “Martha Soot.”
Her face fell.
It could have been anything. My mother was already dead. She’s in terrible condition, she—
“Is she your mother?”
I nodded, and she gave me a soft smile. “Okay, you look terrified. Let me prepare you.”
I could feel my eyes bulging out of my head like a cartoon.
“She had an appointment today where she was observed acting strangely, and we noticed leaking.”
“Leaking?”
“Yes, your mother had leaks in her stomach, and we kept her for observation.”
Robert choked at this. I didn’t think the idea of skin weeping would make him as squeamish as the smell of vomit. I rubbed his forearm as I turned back to the nurse.
“Wait, what do you mean by acting strange?”
The nurse slid on a mask and motioned us to follow her as she walked down the hallway. She calmly said, “She was confused, and then she fell. Your father was worried.”
We arrived at the door, and my brow creased. “What do you mean, confused?”
She pushed open the door, and I peeked in.
My mother was lying in a hospital bed, with my dad attempting to sleep on the couch next to her. I could see Matt’s work bag, but he and Glenda weren’t there.
My mom’s eyes lit up, and she smiled at me.
I immediately felt uncomfortable.
“Oh, you look so nice today!”
I grimaced and replied, “Thanks, Mom.”
She smiled and reached for her massive hospital cup of water. She sipped on the straw and then said, “I didn’t realize you were going blonde, but I really like it!”
At this, I was confused. My father sighed and said, “Maggie, that’s Bree, not Louisa.”
Robert looked like he was about to crack up laughing. I scowled at him. Of course, she only compliments me when she thinks I’m my sister.
I sat across from her as she touched her head and shook it. “Oh, you are just so grown up. I-I just…”
My father touched her hand, and I was surprised by their affection. He kissed my mother on the side of her head and said softly, “She’s not feeling great. She thinks it’s 1999.”
My mother scoffed. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”
My father smirked and leaned back, crossing his arms. “All right, Maggie, who is the president?”
My mom suddenly became embarrassed, chewing on her lip, shaking her head, and saying, “I don’t want to play your games.”
To my chagrin, my dad laughed, causing my mother to redden. I cleared my throat and said with a slight smile, “Are Matt and Eddy here?”
My dad nodded, and my mother frowned. “Eddy is at home, Bree. I asked Jean to watch him.”
My father sighed, then motioned toward the hallway. I followed as he shut the door, leaving Robert with my mother.
He let out a cough, then shook his head. “She’s going to be okay. We’re just here for a couple of days.”
“What happened?”
“She’s having complications from gastrocutaneous fistulas, and she’s having confusion due to the later stage of her condition.”
I clenched my fist to prevent myself from crying.
My mother and I did not get along. I didn’t even like speaking to her. But I loved her. The idea of her dying hurt me.
“What’s a gastro-oo-cut-?”
My dad chuckled and said, “The cancer is in her stomach now. She’s developing fistulas that allow acid to reach the skin.”
I wanted to cry, but my defenses kicked in first.
“Well, with her thinking it’s 1999, can I convince her to buy some stocks for me?”
My dad laughed and shook his head. He then yawned and said, “I’m glad you came. She’ll be glad you were here.”
I frowned. “Will she? Or will Louisa get the credit?”
“Shut up, Bree.”