21

 

Marcy McKinney is large and loud, with a ready laugh and a deep accent that is redolent of the heritage of the Mountains. She’s a bit opinionated and quick to take offense at suggestions. Her bright blue eyes are probing and challenging, but in a non-threatening way. She, as Carmen did, calls me Miss Rachel, even though I told her, as I told Carmen, to just call me Rachel. I can’t figure out why they both think the “Miss” is necessary. But she can call me anything, as long as she stays. She is a caregiver extraordinaire.

I’m in my study, sipping coffee, reading a book and relaxing—something I haven’t done in months. She grabbed control of the situation the first morning she stepped through the door. There’s nothing tentative about her. Her boisterous personality is not in accord with Dad’s low-key demeanor, but she makes him laugh and encourages him to help himself when he can, and she does it with kindness. There’s actual mental and physical improvement in Dad this first week.

There’s been no need to train her. It’s obvious she’s very adept at taking care of an incapacitated person.

The only real conflict we’ve had is the administration of Dad’s insulin shots and medications. She considers that part of her job, but I don’t want anyone besides David or me to touch those things.

A number of medication mistakes were made when Dad first moved into the assisted living facility in Florida, with some alarming side effects. Crestview always got it right, and I intend to keep it that way.

She’d argued her point. “I gave my grandmaw her pills and diabetes shots for years. You ain’t never gonna be able to leave him for long if you don’t trust somebody else to take care of him all the way around, includin’ givin’ him his medicine.”

“I never need to be away from him so long that it’s an issue,” I’d countered. “And besides, if I’m not here, David can do it.”

“What about you and your husband takin’ a few days away? How are you going to do that if you can’t trust nobody else? I could get some time off from the hospital and stay with him.”

I had laughed out loud and set the record straight. “A few days off? Marcy, I can’t take a few days off. I can’t afford to go anywhere, and I can’t afford to pay you to take care of him for that long.”

Marcy’s eyes widened as she looked around at the expensive furnishings of my home. “Miss Rachel,” she had said, “I don’t know about affordin’ it or not, but you look plumb worn out. You could use a few days off.”

Now, recalling Marcy’s remark that came on the heels of Adam and Jennie’s similar observation, I think, Hell, did everyone have to comment on my haggard appearance? And what’s so bad about it? I shower every day, and I put on a little makeup and fix my hair. My clothes aren’t designer clothes, but neither are they tattered or mismatched. In other words, I’m not rags and bones. I believe I’m holding it together pretty well, all things considered, and David certainly hasn’t complained.

I’d responded, “I am plumb worn out, Marcy, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be able to take any time off. There are still twenty hours left in the day when you’re not here. Believe me, those hours are full, and much of it relates to caring for Dad.”

“I hear that,” she’d said with a note of commiseration in her voice, and I was glad the argument was closed. One thing about Carmen, she didn’t speak enough English to chastise me or argue with me.

Getting used to Marcy’s sass is going to take some time and patience . . . but didn’t just about everything these days?

I decided that staying out of her way was the best thing I could do during those four hours she’s with Dad. Sometimes she comes upstairs to find me and ask me a question, but other than that, she’s devoted to caring for Dad.

 

 

It’s the beginning of her second week on the job, and I’m going down to ask Dad if he wants to come up on the deck for lunch today. It’s such a pretty day, and I’d like to eat outside myself.

Despite wanting to stay out of Marcy’s way, I find excuses to go down there once or twice each morning because I want to get a better sense of how they’re getting along. This morning I find them in the bathroom. Before I can ask Dad about going outside for lunch, Marcy asks, “What’s the story with Joe and that dog? He don’t like that dog, huh?”

I don’t like it when people talk about Dad as if he isn’t there, but I’m not going to get into that with her right now. I tell her about Dad’s bad experiences with dogs and ask him, “You’re still getting to know Nick, aren’t you Dad?”

It shocks me when Marcy harrumphs, looks Dad in the eyes and says, “Why, that’s foolish. What’s to get to know about a sweet dog like that, Mr. Joe? He ain’t gonna bite you.”

“Marcy, please don’t talk to Dad like that.” There’s strong reproach in my tone. No one can speak to Dad like that, and I have to make that clear. I would rather have her walk out the door and leave me stranded than have her think she can do so.

Well, maybe not; but still, she’s being rude.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Miss Rachel.” She turns back to Dad. “You ain’t foolish, Mr. Joe, you just got an old worry that don’t make much sense anymore. When was the last time you was bit by a dog?”

Dad is in a vulnerable state. He’s having his butt wiped by a woman who has just called him foolish. His teeth are clenched and he won’t look at Marcy. I’m so proud of him when he takes a deep breath and turns to face her. “Been a long time. Doesn’t mean I’m likely to forget it, though.” Well said, Dad!

Marcy nods, then finishes up with Dad without saying another word. I don’t care if she’s offended by either Dad or me. She has to learn there are boundaries that can’t be crossed. And disrespecting my dad is something I will not tolerate.

But I’ve never had that much exposure to someone who was born in the more rural mountain areas and who has different ideas about what constitutes foolish and what doesn’t. Survival through the generations has required mountain people like her to get past their fears. I suppose she does think it foolish that Dad would be afraid of such a docile dog. But why had she even asked the question?

“What made you ask that, Marcy? Did something happen between Dad and Nick?”

“No, I just wondered why Nick don’t come in here. Just seems natural he would now and then. I figured it had to be ’cause one of ’em didn’t like the other.”

“I like him well enough.” Dad says, and I have to clamp my jaw tight before it drops.

“He likes you, too, Dad.”

“He does?”

“Sure. Why do you think he stays right beside you during therapy?”

“Huh.”

“And he always lies next to your chair when we’re out on the deck. Speaking of which, would you like to go up on the deck for a while, get some fresh air? It’s so nice today. There’s just a hint of fall in the air.” Even though it’s only August, there has been a refreshing change that promises autumn is coming.

Autumn is Dad’s favorite season, and I can see he’s taken with the idea. “Marcy, would you mind taking Dad up on the deck? I’ll make us some sandwiches. It’s a bit early for lunch, but that way you’ll get to eat before you have to go to the hospital.”

“That sounds good, Miss Rachel. How’s that sound to you, Mr. Joe?” Marcy is being solicitous now.

“Good,” Dad grunts. I think he’s still upset with Marcy, but it will pass soon enough.

“What do you want on your sandwich, Dad?”

“Dog meat,” he deadpans.