“Don’t talk silly. Enjoy the party. There’s a woman coming tonight I want to introduce you to. She’s divorced, has three young sons, two of them twins. And is quite attractive and smart and considered tops in her field, and with a terrific sense of humor.”
“No, thanks. At least not for tonight. And I know I’m usually hustling out of your party early, but I have to go. I feel so bad for her. Abigail. And I don’t want to see that prick of a guy’s face ever again. I could really kick myself. Kick myself till it hurts. Shit. Thanks for inviting me all these years,” and he puts down his glass, gets his coat out of the closet and leaves.
A Different End
I’m all confused. What if she hadn’t gone to Emergency that last time? She didn’t want to go. I told her she had to. “Listen, you’re sick. You can’t stay at home. We can’t chance it. You have what seems like pneumonia again. After four times in two years, I can recognize the signs. You’ve been talking gibberish. I don’t mean to be mean. Not gibberish. Just that at times you don’t make any sense. For a few moments you didn’t know who I was. Like the last time you went there, they’ll move you to ICU and put you on antibiotics and a couple of IVs to keep you hydrated and fed, and you’ll be cured in a week. Maybe two. I don’t want to lie to you to convince you to go. But no more than two weeks, I’m sure, and this time no post-hospital rehab in some critical-care center.”
“I’m not going to the hospital. Don’t take me. Don’t force me. Don’t have the emergency medical people strap me down on a stretcher and drive me there. You have no right. If I’m a patient, I have my rights. I don’t sound confused to you now, do I? I can hear myself talking and I don’t.”
“No, you sound good. But you don’t look well, my sweetheart.” I put my hand on her forehead. “You have a temperature. That I can tell just by touching you. Your forehead’s burning. And your face is red, especially your nose. All those were signs of pneumonia before. An infection in your chest. Your lungs.”
“What before? What are you talking about? Am I sick, do you think? Then I have to stay home. The hospital will kill me.”
“Even there, see? You’re saying things you don’t know you’re saying. I’m saying, they make little sense. Let me call 911. The EMS, or whatever the fuck its name is — the ambulance truck. They’ll come and the paramedics in it will examine you right here in your bed and maybe they’ll say you don’t need to go to Emergency.”
“I’m not going to Emergency. If I have to die, I want to die here, but in my regular bed.”
“You’re not dying. You’re going to be all right. Can I call Marion and have her come over and look at you and speak to you?”
“Why would you call Mary Anne?”
“It’s Marion. She was once an Emergency room nurse and she’s become your best friend here. You know she’ll level with you. If she says you should go to Emergency, will you go? I won’t force you. We’ll do what you want. You get to make the final decision, but first let Marion have a look at you.”
“Call Marion. Call. Call anybody you want. I don’t care.”
“So I’m going to call.”
“Isn’t that what I’m saying? Call her. Call my mother, call my father, call the police. But what I’m saying is what I’m saying. Nothing will make me go.”
“Even if Marion says you should?”
“You’ll just get her to side with you. But we’ll see.”
“Let’s hope she’s in.” I put my hand on her chest above the breasts. “You’re warm here too, and sweaty. More signs. I don’t know what I’m going to do if she doesn’t answer.”
“I hope she doesn’t. I want to stay here. If I am sick, I know I’ll get better staying home. I at least won’t get worse.”
“Okay. I’m going into the other room and calling. I’ll be right back.” I went into our bedroom. Abby was in our older daughter’s room, which I had set up like a hospital room. Hospital bed, oxygen if she needed it, other equipment and machines and supplies to take care of her for various things. I dialed Marion’s cell phone, her only phone. It wasn’t a working number. I went back to Abby. “You okay?” She just stared at me. “Are you feeling all right?” She continued to just stare at me. “I tried calling Marion. Thought I knew her number by heart. Do you remember it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine. Why are you calling Marion? The house is crowded enough.”
“It must be in your address book. Are you comfortable? Do you need another pillow behind you? Something to drink?”
“Nothing.”
“I’ll only be gone a minute.” I looked up Marion’s phone number in Abby’s address book. Dialed. She was in. I told her Abby’s very sick again. “I’m almost sure it’s pneumonia. All the same signs. Temperature. Confusion. Everything. But she won’t let me call 911. I thought if you came over and told her she needs to go to the hospital, she would.”
“I’ll leave right away.”
I went back to Abby’s room, pulled a chair up to the bed and held her hand and kissed it and stroked her forehead. “Still warm. But you’ll be all right. We’ve been through this before. We’re old hands at it. I love you, my sweetheart. Everything I do is for you. Marion should be here soon.”
“Good. I like her. Better than I like you. She doesn’t make me do things I don’t want to.”
“I understand.”
Marion came in ten minutes, was in the room with Abby about five minutes, with the door closed. She said she’d be able to reason with Abby more if I wasn’t there. “Girls’ heart-to-heart, okay?” She came out—“We’ll be right back, Abby. I have to give Phil something”—walked me to the living room and said “She doesn’t want to go, but she probably should. She’s not well. Her temperature feels like a hundred-three. I don’t need a thermometer. Disoriented. A little trouble breathing. She should be in intensive care. But we can’t force her. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Even if it might be saving her life?”
“Even that. She might hate it so much and fight everything they try to do for her, it could make her even worse.”
“Let’s try. Maybe the two of us can get her to agree.”
We went into Abby’s room. Marion sat on one side of the bed and I the other. I said “Please, my darling Abby; for me and the kids. But for you mostly. Let me get you to a hospital. And by that I mean calling 911 and them taking you to it in a special van. Anytime you want to leave the hospital once you’re there, I’ll take you home in our van, no questions asked.”
“You’re lying.”
“Believe me, I’m not. If I were lying you’d never trust me on it again.”
“What does Marion think? She told me I don’t have to go.”
“She meant we can’t force you.”
“No, she meant I’m not sick enough to go. And that if I am a little sick, I’ll get better faster by just staying home. That being in my own house with you is the best medicine I can get.”
“Marion, what do you think? Be honest. Do you think Abby would be better off staying home?”
“You probably should go to the hospital, Abby. It’ll be best for you. You’ll get a complete checkup, possibly some medicine to take, and you might not even have to stay overnight. In and out. But we can only do that if you go.”
“Do I have to go in the ambulance? I hate them. They hurt my head and back.”
“That way they’ll be able to deal with you faster at the hospital than if Phil wheels you inside in the chair.”