Читать книгу The Grandfather - Jesse Thomas Becker - Страница 4

September 15th, 1995

Henry arrived with Lisa, Andrew, and Paul, parked the car and walked up to the entrance. A portly African American woman in a blouse just a bit too tight for her figure, as the thread holding the buttons had been stretched to their utmost point, was on the phone, not saying any more than just repeating, “Uh-huh.” Henry stood in line behind a skinny frail gentleman who had a cardigan that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the 70s when it was knitted by most likely his mother or grandmother.

Henry was in a hurry and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet as the woman continued to ignore both him and the Mr. Rogers fellow in front of him.

Finally, the woman said, “Ah, sir... sir,” firmly to get his attention, but then pulled the phone from her ear and hung up, whispering under her breath, “Oh no, he didn’t just call me that.”

The old man, not seeing his opportunity, just stood there, which annoyed Henry, so he attempted to jump the queue. He walked up to the lady and asked, “Excuse me, ma’am. Can...” but was cut off by the rotund lady. Not only was her figure on the larger size but her personality was too. She did not take kindly to those who didn’t follow the rules of the line.

With an angry face, she barked, “Excuse me, sir, but that gentleman was in front of you.”

Henry wasn’t expecting this, but not wanting to make the situation worse, he apologized and stepped back in line behind the stinky Mr. Rogers and rejoined his children.

He stood and continued to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet, checking his watch and letting out grunts of frustration and whispering under his breath, “Gosh, what is taking so long?” But he could only imagine what this old codger was talking to the receptionist about. He guessed it was something trivial such as parking validation or what kind of muffins are in the café. He noticed his two boys were starting to push and tease each other, so he quickly grabbed Andrew by the arm and told him to behave.

He asked his daughter, “Lisa, can you please look after you brothers?”

At that moment, Henry heard his name being called from behind him. He swiftly turned around to find his wife Gwen walking frantically towards him with a worried look on her face. He went to move towards her but was at that moment stopped by the shrill voice of the portly receptionist.

“Excuse me, sir. You’re next.”

Henry motioned for his kids to run over to their mom and walked up to the receptionist.

“Sorry about that, ma’am. My father has been brought here in an ambulance. His name is Joe Harper.”

She acknowledged his apology by feigning a smile and looked down at her computer and typed the name. As soon as the information was available on the screen, she looked it up and read it with little more emotion than a robot. It was obvious she only showed emotion when yelling at strangers.

“He’s in the intensive care unit. Level 3, E wing. Take the elevator over there on the left.“

Ding! The elevator bell rang as the family arrived on the 3rd floor. The doors jerked open with a slight vibrating movement common to older elevator doors made in the 70s. The Harpers stood for a second to make sure the doors were all the way open and then walked into reception. Henry looked to see a sign pointing to the left to intensive care. He turned and walked decisively, and the family followed just behind him. He arrived in the stale-smelling waiting room lit with neon office lights that formed rectangular panels in the suspended ceiling. The light lit up the white walls with minimal hangings on the walls. The few wall decorations were awkward oil paintings of stiffly posed people of interest to the hospital, like ex-CEOs and philanthropists, presented as if they were important pieces of art but really no one noticed them at all, and most of those individuals painted hadn’t set foot in this department unless they were there to meet their maker. The beige linoleum flooring was showing severe fatigue patches, especially around the reception counter. This hospital had definitely been built in the 70s and not renovated much since then.

Henry walked and stood on the fatigue patch in the flooring at the reception counter, and the family took seats in the uncomfortable metal and fabric waiting room chairs that were only there because of their inexpensive cost, as it surely wasn’t for design or comfort, as people would have to wait in these chairs for many hours, yet one could only really be comfortable for 15 minutes or fewer. There was a young blonde nurse sitting at the counter shuffling papers around, with a pen in her hand. Henry could tell she had worked there as a nurse, and she had stress lines on her forehead but a sense of confidence and a way of carrying herself just sitting in the reception chair that let people know she was responsible and of value.

Henry spoke. “Hi, I’m Henry Harper. My father, Joe Harper, was admitted to your department not too long ago.”

The nurse looked up and smiled slightly, trying to be friendly, but this was intensive care. She knew you had to tread lightly with grieving worried relatives.

“Hello, Mr. Harper. Yes, he was admitted about 20 minutes ago. I don’t have much information for you at the moment, but the doctors are with him right now and he is stable. But that is all we know at the moment. A doctor will be out to talk to you soon, ok?”

Henry asked, “Do you know what happened to him? Was it a heart attack?”

The nurse replied, “I’m sorry, we don’t exactly know yet, but it appears to have been a stroke.”

Henry smiled and nodded his head at the nurse and said, “Thank you.“

He walked back and sat down heavily in the chair next to his wife, placing his arms on his elbows on his knees, leaning the weight of his upper body on his thighs. He breathed a heavy breath out to relax his nerves and calm himself down. He’d been racing ever since the golf course and this was the first time he was able to think about the gravity of the situation. Gwen gently rubbed his mid-back and looked at him, trying to get eye contact to talk to him and to console him.

“Did they let you know what happened?”

Henry replied, “They don’t really know but he is stable. They think it was a stroke.”

“Is he going to be ok?”

Henry breathed heavily again and looked up, connecting his eye with hers. “I don’t know, honey. She said a doctor will be out soon to talk to us.”

Across from them, the boys were sitting next to their sister. Both had grabbed a magazine. Andrew had picked up Sports Illustrated and Paul had picked up People. Both were flipping through, looking at the pictures only, both more interested in the other’s choice than the magazine they had chosen. Lisa had picked up a People as well but was engrossed in reading an article about Jenifer Aniston with great intent.

Andrew looked up and saw that his dad had finished talking with his mom. “Is Pop Pop ok?”

This drew attention from Lisa and Paul. Both looked at their dad, waiting for a response.

Henry looked at all three of his children with love in his eye and sadness behind his voice that they may not get to experience their beloved Pop Pop in the same way again. His voice cracked with nervousness as he answered, “Pop Pop is stable, kids. We don’t really know much else beyond that.”

Lisa, being the one who had called 911 and finding him first, was very intrigued and asked the question, “What happened to him?”

Henry responded with reluctance. “They don’t quite know but it was potentially a stroke.”

Young Paul, being only nine and being more comfortable to ask his mom, looked at Gwen. “Mom, what is a stroke?”

At that moment, Lee and Linda walked into the waiting room. Gwen started to respond to the question but saw them and asked her daughter, “Lisa, can you please tell your brother what a stroke is while I go and talk to your aunt?” with a voice of annoyance, but as she finished her sentence, she realized she had left the description of a stroke to an eight-year-old to a 13-year-old. But by the time her brain had comprehended what she had asked, she was already standing up to go and see her brother and sister-in-law.

Lisa, with great surprise and respect, could not believe her mom had just asked her to do this. Her mom had progressively been giving her duties to help with her brothers and just recently had trusted her to look after her brothers when Pop Pop was busy, but her trial solo babysitting had not taken place yet, as Pop Pop had always been available. But just knowing the trust and confidence her parents put in her to look after her brothers gave her great joy. She turned and looked at her brother, who was anxiously waiting to hear what a stroke was. Lisa knew but didn’t know exactly how to describe it.

She started. “Paul, you remember last year when the toilet got blocked up in the basement and water flooded the downstairs?”

Paul looked at her and laughed. “Yeah, I remember the carpet stunk for weeks and we had to get those big fans in that dried the carpet but made an awful noise. Our house smelled weird for weeks.”

Lisa looked at him. “Do you know why the toilet got blocked up?”

Paul thought for a second and said, “They said there was a blockage from roots and the doll’s head me and Andrew flushed down the toilet.”

Lisa remembered and kind of smiled but she was still a bit angry because her little brother had ruined her doll. But she was getting a bit old for dolls, so she responded with acknowledgment. “Exactly. Well, a stroke is kind of like that doll’s head. It is an object known as a clot from another part of the body that is stuck in the pipes of Pop Pop’s brain.”

Paul thought for a second and nodded with understanding. “So what happens when there is a clot plugging up the pipes?”

Lisa thought for a second, and, trying to stick to the analogy, continued. “Well, just as the head blocked the water from getting through the drain, the clot prevents blood from getting past and the plumber fixed it the Doctors are going to do the same.” When she said this, she realized how dangerous a stroke was and a look of worry rushed over her face.

Paul asked, “What is going to happen to Pop Pop now?”

Lisa, smart enough to console her brother, lied. “Pop Pop is going to be fine, Paul.”

But a look of worry came over her face. She did not know if Pop Pop was going to be fine, and the more her brain analyzed the facts of the seriousness of a stroke and the state she saw him in, she started to doubt that Pop Pop would indeed be fine. She looked over and caught a glimpse of her mother, who was talking with Lee and Linda. Her mother looked over periodically, trying to figure out how well Lisa had done with the task of discussing a stroke with her younger brother, knowing that she had probably made a poor decision. And as soon as there was a lull in the conversation, she returned to Lisa, who had a look of fright on her face as she contemplated the seriousness of Pop Pop’s condition.

Lisa was staring into space, not noticing anything at all, just allowing her eyes to focus on the tired painting of an overweight chief of medicine that had worked from 1965-1985. Her mother returned and sat next to her. She was so focused on the thoughts in her own brain that she barely recognized her mother had just sat down next to her. Gwen placed her arm around her daughter’s shoulder and reached up and brushed her wavy brunette hair around her ear.

“Is everything ok? How did you get on describing a stroke to Paul?”

Lisa, once she heard her mom, snapped out of her pondering. She shook her body slightly to get out of the internal labyrinth she had wandered into.

“I’m fine. It went well. Pauli understood.” She paused for a second, then looked up with the same frightened look that had overcome her once she thought of the seriousness of Pop Pop’s condition. She looked into her mother’s eyes, which had the same look, just not as intently frightened as Lisa’s, and asked, “Mom is Pop Pop going to be ok?”

This immediately drove Gwen’s eyes to register a level of fear and panic equivalent to Lisa’s. “I don’t know, honey. We haven’t heard from the doctors yet.” Trying to be consoling, just as Lisa had with her brother, she added, “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

At that moment, Paul interrupted Lisa and Gwen, loudly interjecting, “Hey, Mom, is a stroke really like a doll that clogged up the basement toilet? That’s what Lisa told me.”

Gwen laughed slightly, as that question had taken her by surprise. Giggling under her breath, she responded, “You know what, honey? It is very similar, except the obstruction isn’t a doll’s head. It’s known as a clot in the body.”

Paul, who didn’t know whether to believe, Lisa, said, “Oh, ok, so Lisa was right.”

Gwen, looking with pride first at Paul then gleaming at Lisa, responded, “She was.”

The family sat in relative silence for 30 minutes. Henry checked his watch and moved back and forth in his chair sporadically. He was agitated and wondering what was taking so long. He had got up to ask the nurse if there was any change in Pop Pop’s status when the doctor came through the door. He was in scrubs with his head smock still on and a mask pulled down around his neck.

“Harper family,” he said aloud, as Henry and Lee stood up. He asked them over to a secluded corner of the waiting room. The rest of the family looked very interested in what was being said. Lisa tried to read the doctor’s lips, but a thick black/gray mustache, which meant that the doctor could have been a ringer for General Grant in a civil war reenactment, was covering most of his mouth, making it impossible to see. All she could see was him talking and her father and her uncle shaking their heads with looks of worry. This went on for about 10 minutes. Henry and Lee then shook the doctor’s hand and said, “Thank you.”

The doctor replied, “Your father is in good hands.” These were the only words Lisa could read on the doctor’s lips.

Her father and uncle returned to the family all sitting together. Henry began to speak. Lee let him talk, as he knew this was information only one of them should tell the whole family, and Henry’s personality suited this role. Henry was the patriarch of the family after Pop Pop. It didn’t bother Lee, and Henry never used his position in the family to advantage over Lee. This made decisions like this easy and Lee didn’t envy Henry in times like these. If anything, he envied his brother for his calm and composed approach that came so naturally to him. Lee may have been a lawyer and have given depositions in front of hundreds of people in his lifetime, but his brother’s confidence and composure were rock solid. It was something he admired and made him jealous of his brother his whole life.

Henry spoke. “Dad is stable. He’s had a severe stroke. He is alive but in a coma. The doctor said he doesn’t know if permanent damage to his brain occurred, but, given the severity of the blockage, it is likely. Tests to his brain show the blockage has impaired the left side of his brain. He has partial paralysis on his right side and decreased brain activity in his left lobe.“

Gwen spoke as Henry took a breath to let what he had just said settle in. “Is he going to be ok?”

Henry, taking a deep breath replied, “I don’t know, honey. He’s in an induced coma. The doctors put him in it to help with the swelling and inflammation in his brain. They have to follow standard protocols for stroke patients, and more will be known once the initial treatment is completed.“

Lisa, who was very confused, asked, “Daddy, what does this mean for Pop Pop? “

Henry looked into his daughter’s eyes with sincerity and confidence and said, “I don’t know, honey.” He looked up and addressed everyone. “We won’t know for a few days, maybe even weeks. They will slowly take him off the medication, keeping him in a coma, and see if he comes out of it.” He paused to let everyone let this sink in. He continued, “The doctor did say it was a severe stroke and many patients don’t fully recover. He suggested we go home, as we will not be able to see him today. He will let us know if anything changes and when we can visit.”

The adults said their goodbyes. Lee and Henry kissed each other’s wives on the cheeks and hugged their respective kids. Henry and Lee got in their cars with their families and drove home.

Henry, driving home, noticed it was 7:15 pm and asked the kids if they were hungry. Lisa was starving, so was Paul.

Paul said, “I am, I am!” with extreme gusto, not being totally aware of the sadness he should feel for Pop Pop, as he didn’t quite understand the severity of what was going on. No one in the family really did. Being only nine, Paul’s juvenile maturity wouldn’t allow him total understanding. However, age and maturity didn’t seem to help, because his parents felt as hopeless as their nine-year-old son. No one in the family knew what was going to happen to Pop Pop. All they knew was that he was alive but in a coma.

Henry pulled into a McDonald’s to appease their hunger. Gwen didn’t really like the choice but was a bit peckish as well, so only showed her distaste through her look at her husband, who knew, but felt quick and easy was more important than health at this time, which seemed a bit ironic, as it was possibly Pop Pop’s love for a Big Mac that had put him in the situation he was in. Pop Pop loved Mackie D’s, as he called it, and would only order one thing: a Big Mac meal. His eyes would shine more than usual after his first bite. He loved taking the grandkids to Mackie D’s and would take them there for small celebrations such as an A on a paper or goal scored at a game. If there were no special event or prize, Pop Pop would make up some sort of celebration of the mundane to allow him his second indulgence beyond Jameson. And he would find himself with a Big Mac and at least one grandchild in the playroom a minimum of twice a month. Gwen tried to be health-oriented and only indulge when Pop Pop wanted to go, which made the trip to McDonald’s even more poignant the day of Pop Pop’s stroke.

The family ate their meals hardly speaking. They drove to their home with the kids in silence, and, by the time they pulled into the driveway, the children were asleep. By the time they got home, it was close to 10 pm. Henry picked the boys up from their seats in the car as though they were bags of rice. Paul half woke up and stirred but went directly back to sleep in his arms as their father carried them to bed. Lisa was asleep until the bump pulling into the driveway woke her up. She got out of the car and slouched towards the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Lisa finished cleaning her teeth and spat silently into the sink. She turned on the taps and ran warm water and gently washed her face. She was very meticulous about this, as she had just recently got her first pimple. She did not fixate on her first blemish, as she was not a vain high-maintenance young woman. She knew that personality was far more important than looks. Pop Pop had emphasized this to her. But she did want to minimize the potential for zits, so she meticulously washed and treated her face. She had just recently been allowed to wear makeup and would hesitate, as she knew foundation could clog her pores and cause more zits.

She looked at her face in the mirror, drying the water off it. She lingered, staring at her skin, contemplating what had occurred. Her eyes were sad and confused. She pulled the plug out of the sink and walked to her room. She got into bed and turned off the light. She tried to force herself to go to sleep

Lisa could hear her dad in the next room putting her brothers to bed. She heard the mumbles of her brother’s voice, so tired that he sounded like he was whining. Paul would get very crabby when he was super tired. He’d been known to get so tired and cranky that he’d cry until his head hit the pillow, at which point he’d already be in deep sleep. It was something Pop Pop and Henry used to tease him about, now that he was a bit older and could take mild harassment about mild character flaws.

She heard her dad say good night to Paul and close his door. She was trying to sleep, even though she was wide awake. She lay with her eyes closed, listening for clues from her father, who was walking past her room. She was too old to be tucked in but just young enough that she missed the times her parents would and was almost jealous of her younger brothers for getting the attention while she had to say her prayers and go sleep on her own.

Henry walked by and opened the door a crack to see if she was asleep. He had not done this for a while, but he wanted to check on all his children tonight. Lisa heard the door slightly open, and opened her eyes, and sat up, supporting herself on her elbow in a body motion that encouraged her father to enter and tuck her in.

Henry realized this opportunity and said, “Good night, honey.”

Lisa hesitated for a microsecond, then replied in a low voice which didn’t sound very confident, “Good night, Dad.”

Henry had started to exit but realized something was not quite right, so did a double-take. He returned and asked, “Is everything ok?”

Lisa sat all the way up and tucked her knees under her arms, holding her legs tightly in a position her father with his lengthy appendages would have found unbearably uncomfortable, but his daughter with years of gymnastics found to be extremely comfortable. She had wanted to talk to her father about something all day and now had the opportunity.

She lifted her chin off her knee cap and said, “Dad, when Pop Pop was going through the stroke, he started speaking in a really weird language. Do you know what it was and why he would do that?”

Henry, who had not really remembered her telling him this during the frantic phone call, had to refresh his memory. He replied, “I don’t know, honey. Strokes affect the brain in weird ways. We won’t know until Pop Pop wakes up.”

Lisa replied, with slight trembling in her voice, “Ok, Dad. I really hope Pop Pop is going to be ok.”

Henry replied with the same emotion in his voice. “I do too, honey. I do too. Try and get some sleep. Pop Pop is being looked after by amazing doctors. He’s going to be fine.”

She knew what he said was just what loving fathers tell their worried 13-year-old daughters, but she also knew that Pop Pop may never be the same again, that he may never wake up and that he may die. This lay heavy on her mind. She lay back down, still with her knees tucked up to her chest, and lay on her side, cuddling her legs.

“Good night, Dad.”

Henry walked over to her, leaned over and kissed her forehead, and said, “Good night, sweetie.”

Lisa replied, “Good night,” and closed her eyes and pretended to sleep for a while until she finally succumbed to her exhaustion and fell deeply asleep.

Lisa awoke in the morning around 8 am. The phone was ringing and had stirred her out of deep sleep. She heard her mother pick the lineup. She got up and slipped her feet into her Little Pony slippers that she had received on her seventh birthday. They still fitted, and even though they were a bit childish, she loved those slippers. She had religiously worn them every weekend, especially on Saturday mornings when she was allowed to watch cartoons.

She proceeded to walk down the stairs ready for Saturday morning, just as she had done for almost every Saturday morning for six years. When she got down, her mother had just got off the phone and was putting on her coat in a frantic mood, with Henry standing near her impatiently.

“What is going on?”

Gwen looked over and saw her daughter, as she checked her pockets and purse for the house keys.

“Hi, honey. That was the hospital. Pop Pop woke up. He is going in and out of consciousness, but they want immediate family there to see if this calms him down. Can you look after the boys until we get back?”

Lisa replied, “Yes, sure. What do you mean ‘calm him down’?” She was worried about Pop Pop.

“We don’t know, but apparently he woke up this morning around 7:45 am and became very agitated while mumbling incoherently. He was continually agitated until he passed out again.”

Lisa, wondering about the incoherent mumblings, asked, “Do you know what he was mumbling?”

Gwen, mildly frustrated with such a specific question, looked at Lisa with a mild sense of displeasure and replied, “Honey, we don’t know much. Your dad and I have to get to the hospital to talk with the doctors, and hopefully, we will be there when Pop Pop wakes again so we will know more answers then.” She reached over and kissed Lisa on the forehead and gave her a half hug. Henry was already in the car waiting for her. She looked her daughter in the eye and said, “Be good now and keep an eye on your brothers.”

“I will, Mom.”

Gwen and Henry sped off. They arrived at the hospital and walked directly to the ward where Pop Pop was. They saw the same nurse as the night before, who looked more tired than any human they had ever seen. She led them into Pop Pop’s room and spoke with impatience. They could tell she was close to finishing her double shift.

“He keeps waking up every hour or so and mumbles, then falls back to sleep. The doctor will be here shortly to talk with you.”

They sat in the uncomfortable chairs waiting watching Pop Pop. His chest rose and fell like an old squeezebox to a metronome. He was pale and looked frailer than he had ever before. The beeps from the cardiogram echoed from the machine and emphasized each second that passed.

Suddenly, Pop Pop awoke. His eyes stared violently, as though he were having a nightmare. He started mumbling. Henry got up and placed his hand on his father’s shoulder. Speaking loudly, he said, “Dad, it’s Henry. You are going to be fine. Calm down!”

Pop Pop recognized Henry and murmured his name, “Hem, Hem, Hem,” and he became very agitated.

Henry looked at Gwen. “I think he’s saying my name.” Pop Pop became more agitated. Henry put his hands on his shoulders to help calm and slightly restrain Pop Pop. Pop Pop reached out with his left hand and grabbed Henry’s arm, pulling him in close with a strength that surprised Henry.

Pop Pop mumbled, “Ich bin kein schlechter Mensch…. Ich bin kein schlechter Mensch…. ICH BIN KEIN schlechter Mensch!!” Then he passed out.