I'm Fine

Her puttering around the kitchen, getting ready for holiday family diner, looking slight but I've come to know her well enough to not think her frail. I pouring coffee, the son-in-law, welcomed whole heartedly but still a bit of an outsider, just a little. She turns from the stove and moves to stand beside me at the counter. I see a look and think she’s trying to remember. Then I know there’s something wrong. Her right hand reaches for the counter and her face turns down. Gently I say her name and ask, “Are you alright”? She answers, “I’m fine”, a soft sing song voice. I don’t believe her.

Only five foot four, it’s not far from looking down, to face down in the brownies. The surprise is later when I can barely see the nose print and I expected forehead. As she’s leaning I’m moving behind her. As soon as she finishes bending enough to hit the brownies her legs give out. I catch her with two hands and am surprised how light she is. For a fraction too short to verbalize, I wonder what to do. I ease her to the floor.

I might have stopped to wonder then, but I didn't  I can’t find a pulse; I don’t try long, swiftly into the other room for the daughter. Nursing training; years ago but she remembers, prides herself on knowing what to do and I've seen her pressed before, she responds well in the moment. All these years I've never seen her out of a bed or room to room so quickly.

Not long in the kitchen and that small frame is moving, trying to get up but the body’s not ready. She speaks, she seems aware; she says she knows what’s wrong. “I’m fine”, the rise in pitch on the letters i, sing song. We help her up. Seconds and she’s going down again.

I have my phone in my hand. The daughters speaking with her, she doesn't want the EMT’s. Too bad, I've got the phone and I've seen too much to not call. We wait.

We try a chair because she won’t stay down with out being forced and that seems wrong though it may have been right. Seconds and she’s down again, slumped in the chair.

He’s in the bedroom still. I haven’t heard him stir. I think about him but go back to thinking about her.

No sirens, just a loud knock on the door. Five of them, her, the daughter, they fill the kitchen. I stand on the other side of the counter and watch. The daughter hears and points to the back of the house, “Get him before he finds a house full of people”. I turn and find him. I explain, just the basics. He’s past me and moving for her. I know his health is not great but all he has he invests in getting to her. She’s talking of some mysterious thing that happened before; he’s talking of this mysterious thing that happened before. She’s on the gurney and out the door.

Small mid-western town, early Sunday morning, I am surprised to find a bright, modern, well staffed hospital, the prejudice of a city boy. She’s in a bed in the emergency department by the time we get there. He can’t stand long so he parks in a chair below the foot of the bed, the daughter's at her head. Between them are four nurses, a doctor and I didn't count the equipment. I stand near him, near the door moving in and out as they shift machines and nurses back and forth.

Soon there are two daughters. They stand close together, close to her. The nurses bustle about. We wait. It quiets down. She’s getting stronger. Test results to come, we’re all hoping she’ll pass.

The daughters stand near her and talk, with each other, with her. I stand near him and watch. He doesn't hear too well and I know he’s only getting parts of what’s being said. I think about what that’s like, to be close, but removed. He looks at me and mater of factly says, “She’ll be alright. This happened before down in Florida”. I nod. And then a change, this tough old farmer who I’d swear never lets his emotions out, shows fear. “If she goes, I’ll die”, not a question, he has no doubt. Then fear turns to despair as dark and strong as I have ever heard and all he says is, “She’s my heart”. I just look at him not knowing what to say. He turns to look back at her. The daughters haven’t noticed.

I wonder if he’s ever told her, has she heard that terror in his voice? I’m sure she knows. She’s clever.

She’s fine.