“Are you okay?” I asked when we found her on the floor again, for the third time in two weeks.
“Just my pride is hurt,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve had a bit of an accident.”
“I’ll say,” Tom said.
She had soiled herself. A trail of feces led from the bathroom to the side of her bed where she had again managed to knock the phone off the nightstand to make the emergency call.
“You know you really ought to either get a nurse to sit with you overnight or else get one of those medical alarms to go around your neck. Push the button and say, ‘Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.’”
“I suppose I should.”
“You can’t drag yourself to the phone. Who is going to find you? How often are the visiting nurses coming in?”
“Once a week. And the grocery service comes once a week, but on the same day.”
“You fall the day after, no one finds you for a week. Look at you now, imagine you after a week.”
“I guess I see your point.”
Tom made a point of snapping on his gloves. “Time to get you up.”
“Hold on,” I said. “We can’t put her in bed like this.”
“You have another plan?”
“We have to clean her up.”
“I don’t do clean up.”
“I really don’t want to be a bother.”
“Do you have a towel I can use from the bathroom?”
“Yes, go right ahead.”
“I don’t believe you,” Tom said.
I got a towel and ran warm water on it. We lifted her up to her feet, and then removed her gown. Tom had her hold onto her walker. Once she was balanced, he said, “I’ll be down in the ambulance.
I didn’t answer.
“You’re awfully sweet to do this,” she said, as I toweled her off, scrubbing at the dried stains. I didn’t like the smell much and fought back a gag when I caught too heavy a whiff.
I felt a shaking in her body and saw that she was sobbing.
“It’s okay,” I say. “You’ll be done in a jiffy.”
“It’s not okay,” she said. “It’s humiliating. I’m sorry. You are kind. Forgive me. Don’t get old. “
I cleaned her off in silence, not knowing what to say. Classical music that she later told me was Mozart played on her stereo. I had to use a fresh towel and warmer water to get off all the stains. I draped a bathrobe over her and then, as she directed, found a fresh nightie in her drawer. I pulled the bedspread back for her and helped her in, then pulled the covers up. I thought of Tom sitting down in the ambulance and, while I knew he would tease me, I thought, “Fuck him.” I would do what needed to be done.
I made her some tea, and then sat by her side. I knew what it was like to be lonely.
“I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you,” she said. “I’m sure there’s other people who could use your assistance.”
“It’s not a trouble at all. Our job’s not just about shootings and car crashes.”
“You have a good heart.”
“What about him?” I asked. I pointed to the picture of the man in the straw hat.
“No, no, he didn’t,” she said. “But he was handsome.” She laughed, and then she looked wistfully at the ring on her finger.
“You were married?”
“No… engaged.”
“What happened?”
“He died in an accident.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.’
“Don’t be, but tell me about your girls. I remember you said you had several. Are they pretty?”
“I pretty much just have one. She’s pretty. At least, I think so.”
“Does she please you?”
“Yeah, she does all right in that department.”
She laughed. “Good. Do you love her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t tell her you do.”
She started crying again and I felt terrible. I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, and said, “You are a beautiful woman, Miss Broadbent.”
She took my hand and held it to the side of her face. I felt her warm tears on my skin. She held it there for the longest time. I just sat and listened to the Mozart and looked at the diamond ring she wore and tried to imagine just what it was that had happened to her and broken her heart so long ago. After about fifteen minutes, she had closed her eyes and lightened her grip and while I don’t know if she was truly asleep or just feigning it so I could leave, I slipped my hand out, turned off her light and left.
***
“I can’t believe you wiped her butt,” Tom said to me when I got back in the ambulance. “That is just not in the job description.”
“I couldn’t leave her there covered in shit.”
“I could. Roll down the window. You stink of that lady.”
I rolled the window down.
“And what the fuck where you doing up there for so long?”
“I was just talking to her.”
“Talking to her? I don’t know about you sometimes,” Tom said. “I just don’t know. I think you might be some kind of freak.”
I thought I was a good partner. I did whatever he said and I never ratted him out when he screwed up, which wasn’t often (not even our best medics were infallible) or when he was inappropriate. Just that afternoon, tired from picking up a repeat psych patient who’d tried to slash his wrists by cutting himself horizontally, Tom had grabbed the razor and said, “Look, you want to do the job right? Cut this way. Vertically, down the length of the artery, split it wide open, not this sissy cut you’re doing. Either fucking get serious about it or quit wasting our time.” He stormed out and I had to tech the call. Another EMT might have reported Tom or, if the patient complained, ratted him out.
The last thing a medic wanted was a partner who didn’t watch his back, and Tom knew I had his. Maybe I was just being sensitive, but on this night, his words hurt me. I didn’t feel he said them in an endearing way, but in a way that made me feel he really did think I was odd, and not in a good way.