Chapter Nine

 

 

The morning was overcast and muggy with intermittent showers. Shelly and Pam filled the trunk with the evening’s purchases—socks, underwear, slippers, easy-on slacks, pajamas. The only thing missing was Depends. Did he need them? Shelly guessed that the home would provide if he did. The question was, would he go to the hospital at all? There was no second-guessing. With the doctor set up to determine his competence, it would be so much easier to get everything over with all at once.

“Look!” Pam excitedly leaned forward as Shelly pulled into the drive. “The door’s open. I was so afraid he’d still be in bed.”

“Or worse, just not open the door.”

“Do you think Mom would like these?” He met them at the door with a package of glazed doughnuts.

“I don’t know, Dad. I think they have her on a special diet.” Shelly looked at Pam for backup.

“Yeah, lots of vegetables and fruit.”

“Oh, well, these are her favorite. I guess she can have them when she comes home.”

Shelly held her breath to see what would follow, but her father just pulled his sweater on and prepared to lock the front door. So far, so good.

 

* * *

 

The walk across the parking lot at the hospital took forever. She had no idea how frail her father had become. In a twenty-yard stretch he stopped three times to catch his breath and regain balance. And, it was apparent, he couldn’t see. Standing directly in front of the lighted entrance sign, he asked twice if this door was the one to use. It alleviated all guilt over the Club.

Their mother was sitting up in bed, sipping on a straw placed in a plastic glass of ice water. Her first words were devastating.

“Do I know you?” Her mother looked expectantly from one to the other. “There’s room to sit if you want.” She pointed to two chairs next to the bed. “Do I work with you?” This directed to Shelly.

“No, Mother, you don’t work. I’m Shelly, your oldest daughter.”

“Oh my, I don’t work? I thought I did. I have money.” She reached into the nightstand and pulled a dollar bill out.

“Nancy, stop talking nonsense.” Her father stepped up to the bedside. “We’re getting you out of here.”

Shelly caught a panicked look from Pam. This was not going well. Should she call the doctor? Probably a good idea.

“Pam, why don’t you let Dr. Sylvan know we’re here?” Pam nodded and disappeared into the hall.

“Did you have a good breakfast?” Shelly asked.

“Oh, I haven’t eaten. Is there a restaurant here?”

“They bring meals to your room.”

“This is a lovely motel.”

“Nancy, you’re in the hospital.”

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am. I’m your husband.”

“I don’t work. Do you think I’m lazy? Did I ever work?”

“Mother, you’re not lazy. You used to give piano lessons.”

“I don’t think so. You must think I’m lazy. If I don’t work, I must be lazy.”

“Nancy, just shut up.” Her father’s face was red as a beet and he was gripping the bed’s footboard.

Shelly was startled. She had never known her father to speak roughly to her mother.

“Are you my cousin? Are you Harold?”

“Harold’s dead. I’m your husband.” Spittle sprayed across the coverlet.

“My, but you’re a loud old man. Do you work here? I don’t work. I must be lazy.”

Shelly stifled a smile. If this entire exchange wasn’t so pathetic, it would be funny.

“She just ain’t no good anymore.” Shelly’s father, the anger gone, sat heavily in a chair behind him. “Just no good.”

“She needs special care, Dad.” Shelly took it as a positive when he didn’t answer.

“Well, looks like everyone is here. Nancy, how do you feel this morning?”

Dr. Sylvan swept into the room. She was a solid woman, more given to pulling a fetus calf from its mother if trouble arose than treating mere ill humans. She oozed action and take-charge technique. Shelly silently said a prayer. This wasn’t a woman to cross, but it was someone to put their trust in.

“I don’t think I can complain. I’m not sick; I’m just lazy.”

“Well, I don’t have a cure for that. And you? Mr. Walters, I presume? How are you this morning?” Dr. Sylvan shook her father’s hand.

“I guess OK, but my wife’s crazy.”

“I’m crazy as a loon. But then I ask myself what is a loon? Do you know?” Her mother sat up straight in bed and turned toward Shelly.

“Mother, a loon is a kind of duck.”

“Does it quack?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard one.” Where was Pam, the expert, when she needed her?

“Oh, I guess they’re just crazy. I’m crazy, you know, crazy like a loon.”

“Shelly, there might be less distraction when I interview your father if you step outside. There’s a gift shop and snack bar downstairs; I’ll meet you and Pam there when I’m finished—probably in about an hour. I’ve asked Dr. Taylor to join me. He heads up the case workers and will help us all make the right decisions.” Dr. Sylvan smiled. “I want this to be as painless as you do.”

One hour and ten minutes plus two cups of tepid, tasteless coffee later, Dr. Sylvan pulled up a chair.

“First, let me say that I’m admitting your father. There’s evidence of a recent stroke—possibly several. His cognitive abilities are severely diminished. This is not a man who can live on his own, cook his own meals, pay bills, attend to personal hygiene, let alone take care of someone as limited as your mother. I believe you told me you’ve reserved a double at the Manor?”

Shelly nodded. A series of strokes would explain everything—dropping the ball on the car registration, his license … She idly wondered what other surprises there might be. She needed to check his bank accounts. At least she was listed as a cosigner and wouldn’t have to have a court order.

“We may have to keep him sedated or at least in a locked ward while he’s here—and I’ll make the same recommendation to the home. He’s not going to want to do any of this. But I suggest that he not go to his own house again. In fact, he’ll probably react better with hospital personnel directing him. I know this will be difficult but I’m going to suggest that you don’t visit until we get him set up at the Manor. I anticipate we’ll move him Thursday morning.”

Shelly left a bag of clothes at the front desk—just things he would need in the next five days. The rest she’d drop off at the Manor later—tomorrow or Monday, whatever time permitted. She and Pam needed to at least get the valuables out of the house and begin to box the extensive sets of china and glass. They could start that this afternoon. With Pam staying, there wasn’t as much urgency. But Shelly had no idea when she could get back. It was a godsend that Pam was taking over this part of the ordeal.

Shelly would also try to hire some muscle. A couple guys to haul furniture out—maybe rent a dumpster to put in the driveway. All the carpet would have to go, the drapes, bedding, clothing … a dumpster was a good idea.

 

* * *

 

The two of them worked until one a.m. on Monday morning, then met again at ten and continued through the day. They saturated the house with air fresheners and hooked up three ozone machines, but still wore masks.

Pam took care of having a dumpster moved in and hiring day labor. She also contacted several contractors to get bids on a total refurbish. Shelly, in the meantime, picked up Dr. Sylvan’s diagnosis and saw a lawyer. By Monday afternoon there was a feeling of calmness, if not finality.

“I think I’ll head back in the morning. I’ll look in on Mom but I don’t really see a reason to wait until Thursday just to see Dad for ten minutes. You’re in good shape here. I close on a house next week and still don’t have anyone set up to tile the kitchen and bathroom floors.”

“Don’t worry about Dad. I’ll look in on him. You know, if the circumstances had been different, this would have been fun—I mean working together, getting to know each other again.”

Shelly hugged her sister. In spite of everything, it had been fun. A reuniting of kindred spirits that she wouldn’t have thought possible just a few days ago.

“I’ll continue to get Dad’s affairs in order. I’ll check on due dates, but I’ll cash out and reinvest his annuities and CDs as quickly as I can. I’ll draw on their capital to pay the hospital bills and the home—I’m having all those bills sent to me. I figured you had enough to do with the house. Let me know what you need. I’ve set up a personal house account in your name—use it. Oops. Almost forgot—here are the keys to the Club.”