18. Violet
CHAPTER 18
VIOLET
I sit next to my mother’s bed, holding her hand and trying not to see all of the tubes that run in and out of her. There’s an IV needle in her arm, a monitor attached to her wrist that tells her heart rate, and a catheter because she is incapable of getting out of bed right now.
My mother, once so strong and independent, looks so small and frail in the hospital bed. Her leg is encased in a bulky cast, elevated on a pillow to reduce swelling. I can’t stop looking at all the parts of her that have changed since I left for my shift. Was that this evening or is it already tomorrow?
Time seems immobile here as we hang suspended in these moments of suffering. The doctors got her leg set quickly and gave her a quick check over, but they are clearly tired and ready to sleep themselves. After her last check a few minutes ago, the nurse informed us that my mom is stable and that someone will come in around five a.m. to make sure nothing changed during the night.
Since then, the lights have been turned off except for a lamp beside my mom’s bed. I know that I should go lie down on the couch, but there’s a part of me that’s afraid that something could happen if I stop watching her. If I close my eyes and pass out, she might need me, and I won’t respond.
My mother stirs slightly, her eyes fluttering open. "Violet," she says weakly, squeezing my hand. "You should get some sleep. I’m fine here."
But my mom is anything but fine. This fall, I learned right after the surgery, was because she wanted to put something in the attic. She pulled down the ladder, which is rickety as all hell. I don’t even feel comfortable climbing that thing. But whatever my mother wanted to put up there was so important that she couldn’t just wait for me.
Now, we’re here. And my mother has lost a good bit of her independence. It’s her right leg, which means she won’t be able to drive for at least the time she is in a cast. I came to Maplewood to be here for my mother, and as furious as I am that she didn’t just wait for me to help her, I’m glad that this happened while I’m in town.
“I can’t leave you, Mom.” I glance over at the couch again. A nurse brought me a pillow and blanket, but the blanket is still folded neatly on one side of the couch.
She sighs, her face lined with pain and worry. "I can’t believe I fell. Everything happened so fast."
"It’s not your fault.” I want to scold her for thinking she could get to the attic without help, but she’s probably suffered enough tonight. “Accidents happen. The doctors said you’ll heal, but it’s going to take some time." She’s not as young as she used to be, and even though she’s still closer to sixty than seventy, she has to be more careful.
She looks down at her immobilized leg, tears welling up in her eyes. "They said I won’t ever be able to walk the same again. Even when I do heal, I won’t have the same speed or strength. At my age, six weeks without exercise atrophies the muscles too quickly. I feel like the rest of my life is being taken from me.”
“Mom! Don’t say that. It’s not that bad. We’ll get you back on your feet. Maybe you won’t walk the same again, but the doctor didn’t say you wouldn’t walk. Maybe it means you have to use a cane, but…”
“A cane!” My mother is getting upset by this conversation, and I think it’s time to put it away until morning.
It also dawns on me that it’s not the injury that’s upsetting her, not really. It’s that we’re in an emergency and for the first time in her adult life, Dad isn’t here for her. She feels just as alone as I do.
My eyes burn at the realization, but I squeeze her hand tighter, feeling her papery, cold skin between my fingers. "We’ll get through this together. We’ll find a way to manage. I’ll be here to help you every step of the way. Right now, you’re right. We both need some sleep. Let’s get some rest."
Her eyes soften as she gazes at me. "You’re such a good daughter, Violet. I’m so sorry to be such a burden."
I shake my head, not liking that my mother is referring to herself that way. "Don’t say that. You’re not a burden. You’ve always taken care of me, and now it’s my turn to take care of you."
“What about your job? You’ll be gone for hours at a time. If I can’t even get to the bathroom by myself…”
“We’ll figure it out, Mom. Just maybe not right this second.”
She nods, her eyes closing again as exhaustion takes over. I stay by her side for a moment, watching the readout on her heart monitor. I don’t want to be here. I wish this could just be a regular night where I curl into my bed and watch TV until I fall asleep. But it’s not. My mom needs me, and this is where I’ll be until she’s discharged.
I glance over at the small couch in the corner of the room. It doesn’t look comfortable, but it’s better than nothing. After clicking off the bedside lamp, I fluff the pillow and put it on one side, glancing at the door to the room, sure that a nurse will rush in with something forgotten. But the hall is mostly quiet.
I settle onto the couch, pulling the thin blanket over me. My mind races with worry about my mom’s future and how I’m going to manage everything, especially if I’m not able to return to my job anytime soon.
Sometime after eight a.m., the doctor arrives with a grim face. I can tell by the sympathy in his eyes that something is wrong. I wonder what could possibly be worse than what’s going on right now, but I stand by my mother’s side and rest a hand on her shoulder, so she doesn’t feel alone.
"We’ve discovered that your kidneys aren’t functioning as well as they should be.” He shuffles some papers and shakes his head again.
I don’t like the mournful look on his face. I took science class as a kid, but that doesn’t mean I remember exactly what every part of the body is used for. Kidneys have something to do with making urine, but I don’t know much else.
“This could be causing some of the pain you’ve been experiencing. We’re going to need to keep you here for a few more days to monitor your condition and make sure you’re stable. We’re also going to get you on an antibiotic that will kick out the infection in your kidneys and keep them functioning as well as they can."
I nod, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. "Thank you."
“I… I have a question,” my mom says, not willing to just take the news like that. As she lifts her hand like a schoolgirl, she seems so frail. I’ve never noticed that about my mother before. “I’ve only had pain for a couple of days. It’s possible that it’s just a virus, right? It will pass.”
The doctor smiles patiently. “Do you remember the x-ray we performed last night after we set your leg?”
My mother looks confused. “Yesterday was a bit of a blur. Everything happened so quickly. I was in so much pain.”
“I understand. Look, I’ll show you on here.” The doctor leans forward and shows my mother some pictures of her kidneys. He explains how the dark spots could be an infection or could be blood filled cysts, but it’s difficult to tell without an MRI.
I tell myself it’s good that someone has noticed this. If there’s an infection, it could spread. It could get worse. But at the same time, I don’t know if I have the strength to be emotionally there for my mother. I need a quick walk around the halls.
After my walk and finding the cafeteria where the food isn’t too bad, I feel better and more able to face my mother. I sit beside her bed, and we talk for a couple of hours about what the doctor said and what it means for us. We try to figure out what life will look like when she’s released from the hospital.
Sometime after my mother begins taking an afternoon nap, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and pull it out to see Jay’s name on the screen. My stomach churns with anxiety.
I should have already been at The Rusty Oak for my shift today, but I’ve completely forgotten about anything outside of the hospital walls.
I step into the hall so I don’t disturb my mother’s rest.
Taking a deep breath, I answer the call. "Hello?"
"Violet, where the hell are you?" Jay’s voice is sharp. "You were supposed to be here over an hour ago. You can’t just skip your shift without telling anyone."
Guilty, I wince, trying to think of how I can excuse myself without giving details of my mother’s situation.