Cyclone

by Doreen Cronin

  “Uhhh . . . oh.” Riley looked down at her legs; she was still wearing sweatpants! We had been so excited about getting her on the toilet that we forgot some of the basic rules of peeing.

  “Do you, um, want me to . . .” I really didn’t want to say “pull down your pants” out loud.

  “No.” She stopped me with wide eyes.

  “Okay,” I said, almost giddy with relief. “I’ll be right outside the door. Just call out when you’re done.”

  “No,” she said. She held her open hand in front of her.

  “No? You want me to help?” I asked. We didn’t have a lot of words in here. No Sophia, no ORB.

  “Perro,” she said, and opened her hand again.

  “Dog?”

  She opened her hand again.

  “Stay? Are you telling me to stay—like a dog??”

  “Yessi,” she grunt-laughed.

  “Oh my God.” I laughed as well. “I can’t believe you!” So I made the hand signal for sit. “Good dog!” I patted her on the head.

  Riley made her laughing sound again and motioned for me to turn around. We’ve never actually used the bathroom at the same time. We’d held the door for each other sometimes, when the lock on a stall didn’t work, but even then, just listening felt embarrassing to me, though, of course, Riley would say, It’s perfectly natural, everybody pees! This was different. Helping a sick person go to the bathroom is not the same as laughing outside a stall at the movie theater. It’s not the same at all. I heard a strange zhhipping, and she started to pee. I was so proud of her!

  “K,” she said. I turned around but then I wasn’t sure where to look, because I didn’t want to stare at her sitting on the toilet bowl, but more importantly, I didn’t want her to think that I thought it was gross to be in there. I stared at a spot a foot above her head. Seeing her without looking at her. I heard pee again, so I guess she hadn’t been finished after all. When it stopped, I looked down at her face. Her eyes were closed. Maybe she didn’t want to see me watching her pee. I should have closed my eyes. She was pulling up her sweatpants with one hand. Hard to watch. Even harder to do. I took a step forward to help, but she held up her hand. Stay.

  Riley tried to say something that sounded like “pup.” Up?

  “Okay, I’ll help you up,” I said. But she didn’t wait for me. She leaned forward to stand, but her feet were too close together. And then it happened. Riley lost her balance. She reached for the support rail and missed, grabbing at me and pulling us both down to the floor. I fell right on top of her. Her head practically bounced off the tile floor.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. “Riley! Riley!” I saw the emergency button on the wall next to the toilet and lunged for it, pressing it over and over again. “Help!! Help!!” I was screaming at the top of my lungs. “Riley! Riley! Are you okay?” She was looking at me, but she didn’t answer. Her eyes were big and scared, and she started thrashing around on the floor. “RILEY!!!!!!!” Blood was everywhere, a pool of it forming beneath her, my own hands covered in it as I tried to calm her.

  The bathroom door flew open and someone pushed me out of the way and crouched over Riley. I wriggled underneath the sink, closing my eyes as tightly as I could.

  “I need help in here!” the woman bellowed. Two people in scrubs came running in. They lifted Riley up off the floor and carried her back to her bed. The bathroom door closed behind them.

  “She was on the floor,” I heard somebody say.

  “Riley, Riley? Look at me, honey.” Dr. Mejia’s voice. Dr. Mejia was here.

  But Riley didn’t answer. She didn’t even beep.

  I curled into the fetal position, stunned. Did Riley hit her head when she fell? She did. I know she did. Did I manage to knock another blood clot loose? I curled into a tighter ball. Riley was right. The floor was cold, and now covered in blood.

  “There you go, honey,” Dr. Mejia was saying. “There you go. It’s all right.”

  I pressed my face against my knees and began to cry. And cry and cry.

  At some point, I heard a tap at the door. I ignored it. Then again, harder. “Nora? It’s okay.” It was Sophia’s mom. I still didn’t answer. “She’s okay,” she assured me. “I’m coming in?” She slowly pulled the door open and crouched down on the floor. “Everything is okay. Her IV line came out. . . . She’s okay.”

  I stared at the IV pole too. Hanging and dripping, splashes of blood beneath it, where the fall had yanked it right out of her hand.

  “She wanted to use the bathroom,” I said, choking back a sob. I wiped my face and flinched at the smell of urine. That wetness, it was under me. I rolled over and stared. I’d been lying on a wet diaper. Oh, Riley. No wonder you wanted to use the real bathroom. How long had it been wet? And how long had she been wanting to take it off? I pulled it out from under me and Sophia’s mom took it and tossed it in the garbage without a word. “Clean yourself up and let’s get you something else to wear.” She washed her hands, pulled the pole out with her, and shut the door.

  I washed my own hands; they were still trembling as I ran some paper towels under the faucet, covered them with the pink, foamy soap, and cleaned myself off, all the while fuming at how stupid, STUPID I was. “Pup” was “paper”—toilet paper. That’s what Riley had been trying to say. The toilet paper roll was new, and she couldn’t undo it. That’s what she had needed. I was so stupid. I turned on the faucet and washed my hands again. Riley—she hadn’t washed her hands. I tossed the paper towel in the trash on top of the diaper. Riley hadn’t been embarrassed to pee in front of me; she was embarrassed by the diaper. I was ashamed to admit that I was embarrassed too. I’d spent so much time looking at her face and her trembling and trying to understand her speech. Those seemed like the biggest struggles to me. I hadn’t thought about something as basic as using the bathroom. Or worse, not being able to use it.

  Sophia’s mom was at the door again. “Nora, I have some scrubs for you.” She really knew her way around a hospital, that’s for sure. “Probably a little big, but they’ll do.” I opened the door just wide enough for her to hand them to me.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled. I put the scratchy blue scrubs on and pulled the string as tight as it would go on the pants. They were huge. Then I grabbed a few more paper towels for Riley and ran them under the water with some soap.

  When I came out, soggy paper towels in hand, Mom and Aunt Maureen were back. “Nora, what on Earth happened?” Aunt Maureen said, gaping at me. Sophia was out of her bed and standing next to her mother.

  “Why are you wearing those?” Mom asked, “and where’s Elayne?” I walked past them both without saying a word and sat down in my regular chair next to Riley, feeling jittery again. Sophia’s mom caught my eye and then closed the curtain.

  Dr. Mejia motioned for the grown-ups to wait for her out into the hallway, telling them she’d join them in a minute. One of the nurses had stayed behind too, redoing an IV pole and reattaching the monitor contacts to Riley.

  Dr. Mejia turned to me. “Nora, I know you are upset, but I need you to tell me what happened, and how it happened.”

  Still hiccuping from the cry, I did my best to explain. Dr. Mejia nodded thoughtfully, wanting every detail until I was finally done. “That is all good to know, Nora. That is important. Thank you.” She shifted her attention to Riley. “Riley, because of your blood thinners,43 we need to be extra careful about falls, cuts, and bruises. I had discussed this with your mother before, and I’m sorry not to have mentioned it to you earlier, but you are at high risk for internal bleeding. We’ll need to do a CT scan right away and then a few more over the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Do you understand?” Riley nodded. “I’m going to now go to talk to your mother about it, okay?”

  Riley looked stunned. “I’m so sorry, Riley,” I said the moment the doctor was gone. “Are you okay?”

  “Sí,” she said. “Sí.”

  “It’s all my fault,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook h
er head.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  “I’m sorry for all of it,” I choked out. I wanted to say more, but she shook her head again, this time reaching out and squeezing my hand. I didn’t know if she was comforting me, or if she was just too tired to talk, or if she was hurt all over again. I waited to see if there was something else she wanted to tell me, but she stayed quiet too.

  “We forgot to wash your hands,” I said at last. I took her good hand in mine and washed it with the paper towels. Then I took her trembling stroke hand, and as gently as I could, washed that one too.

  Dr. Mejia sailed back into the room. “We are going to take you down for that CT scan now, Riley.”

  “You’re an old pro at those by now, right, sweetheart?” Aunt Maureen assured her, coming in behind the doctor. She was making an effort not to sound upset. Riley nodded, but she looked scared. “I’m going to take the ride with you and wait,” her mother added, just as two orderlies arrived to wheel Riley down, taking a nurse with them. Aunt Maureen wouldn’t even glance my way when she followed the bed out. I didn’t have much time to worry about that, though, because Elayne arrived with a tray of coffee less than a minute later—and my mother pounced.

  “How could you leave them alone, Elayne? What were you thinking? Do you know what you’ve done?”

  “What happened? What’s wrong?” Elayne set the tray of coffee down and stepped farther into the room. That was brave. I would have backed away if Mom was shrieking at me like that.

  “They just took Riley down for a CT scan. She fell in the bathroom—the doctors are worried about internal bleeding!”

  “Oh no,” cried Aunt Elayne, now backing away. “Oh no . . .”

  “Oh yes, thanks to you,” my mother finished between clenched teeth. She looked angrier than I had ever seen her. “You couldn’t stay here for ten minutes? TEN MINUTES??”

  Elayne knelt down on the floor in front of me, clearly shaken. “I’m so sorry, Nora.” Her voice was quivering. “I never should have left you. . . .”

  “But you did,” my mom seethed. “It was too much to ask! It’s just like Mom all over again. Show up late, make an appearance, and stay as far away as possible! Only this time, Riley has to pay the price. As if that poor girl hasn’t been through enough.”

  Elayne sat back on the floor and pressed her head into her knees. “What did I do?” She began to rock back and forth on the floor in front of me. I was worried that she was more than just upset, she was on the edge of something. Mom continued to glare, a cold, hard glare, at her sister. It was the only time I’d ever seen her not comfort someone who needed it.

  “I can’t even look at you, Elayne,” she finally said in disgust. “Nora, come on, let’s go.”

  I couldn’t get my thoughts straight, let alone my words. I walked around Elayne. She was crying silently now. My mother was already in the hallway—moving away from her sister, again. I knelt down next to my aunt and put my arms around her. She and I were in this triangle together. “It’s not your fault,” I said. “It’s mine. All of it.”

  She broke into full sobs while my mother stormed back in to grasp my arm and drag me away.

  * * *

  We stayed at the hospital that night, my mom and me, even after we found out that the CT scan was clear. Riley didn’t return to the eighth floor—they put her back in the PICU for the night. The medicine she was on—blood thinners—did exactly what it sounded like, so if she got hurt, or even had a bruise, her blood would flow much more quickly, and that was a problem. Dr. Mejia explained that the worry was a “delayed hemorrhage”—an internal bleed that might not show up immediately—and they would be better equipped to monitor her in the PICU. Two days of clear scans and she’d be allowed to go back to the eighth floor. I desperately wanted to see Riley, but Aunt Maureen was “emotionally exhausted,” my mother said, and wanted time alone with Riley that night.

  As much as I had missed being in the PICU family room, rather than the pediatric one, I didn’t want to have to be back here. Mom conked out in one of the big chairs, but I barely slept. I worried about Riley and I worried about Aunt Elayne, too, by herself in a hotel and feeling sick with guilt. I knew the feeling. Nobody had yelled at me, nobody had lectured me. Elayne was the target this time—a target nobody had when Riley had had the stroke, but only because nobody knew the target should have been me. Nobody but Riley, that is, but her post-stroke memory was unreliable—if she had remembered the Cyclone morning briefly a few days ago, it was gone now.

  After breakfast, twelve hours after Riley fell, Aunt Mo said Mom and I could see her now. I sprinted down the hall.

  * * *

  43 Blood thinners are very common for people who have had strokes because they prevent the blood from forming new clots. But it also makes for an awful lot of bleeding from even minor things—like an IV needle being yanked out of your arm.

  DAY 10

  Riley pushed herself right up with her good arm when she saw us.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey.” She was wide-eyed and now sitting up straight.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?” asked my mother. She tried to hold Riley’s hand, but Riley shook it off. She didn’t want to be babied.

  “Skay,” she said.

  “Good,” said my mom, taking the hint. “How are you doing?” she asked her sister. Aunt Maureen felt worse than Riley, if the purple rings below her eyes were any indication.

  “Weird to be back here again,” said Aunt Mo.

  “We shouldn’t be back here at all,” fumed my mother, looking as angry as Aunt Mo looked tired. “Is it really so hard to be the adult and sit in a room?” Aunt Maureen avoided my mother’s eye, but that didn’t stop her tirade. “Maybe Elayne will have enough sense to head back to California now. I swear she does more harm than good. Why is she even here?”

  “Not now, Paige, please,” Aunt Maureen pleaded. “Not now.”

  “Em here.” Riley was leaning forward on her bed, reaching toward my mother. “Em here.”

  “Huh?” I thought there was some Riley Spanish in there, but without Sophia, I was lost. Riley laid her hand on her chest. “Em here,” she repeated. She looked to me for help. Em here. Em here.

  “I’m here,” I announced. “She’s saying ‘I’m here.’ I think she means Aunt Elayne is here because Riley is here. She’s here for Riley.” Now my mother began fidgeting with her handbag, looking embarrassed. I avoided looking at her.

  “ORB,” said Riley. She wasn’t quite finished with the conversation. I fished it out of my bag. Riley went straight to the family page, presumably to say something else about Aunt Elayne. She looked confused for half a second—and then she snickered. Not laughed, not smirked, not smiled, but definitely snickered.

  “What is it?” Her mother leaned in and Riley turned the page toward her. Aunt Maureen did not snicker—she burst out laughing and then quickly covered her mouth.

  “What? What’s so funny?” My mom and I spoke at the same time—and then I saw it. Aunt Elayne’s work for sure!

  Mom went purple. She grabbed the ORB out of Riley’s hands, but Riley reached up and grabbed it right back!

  “M-m-mine,” Riley said, placing her hand on her chest. “M-m-m-mine.” Her heart rate was up a tick.

  “She’s right, Paige,” said Aunt Maureen, trying hard not to laugh. “It is her book.”

  “It’s not funny, Maureen,” argued my mother, even more uncomfortable now at the receiving end of Elayne’s prank. “Elayne was completely irresponsible yesterday and—”

  “And that was yesterday, Paige,” answered Aunt Maureen, no longer laughing. “And—it wasn’t entirely her fault either,” she added, shooting looks at both Riley and me. I braced myself for her to say more, but nothing came.

  “But Mo—”

  “But nothing, Paige.” Aunt Maureen was done with it—case closed. Riley’s eyes had been bouncing between the two of them, but she stopped, confident that her mother had had the last word.
Riley’s attention was on the notebook again.

  “Uh-oh,” she said, angling it toward me so I could get a better look, and cupping the drawings for privacy. Oh. That. I hadn’t had a chance to share that page with Riley yet.

  There were no labels in either English or Spanish. Riley caught my eye and raised one eyebrow—a skill I had completely forgotten she had. Riley got it.

  “Fuz, hep, jay,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Our mothers were staring at the page, clueless.

  Aunt Maureen leaned back into her chair, a flash of recognition registering on her face.

  “Huh?” My mother was still lost. Riley let out a heavy sigh.

  “F-bomb?” I offered, trying to clear it up for my mother.

  On the very off chance that Mom did not get this, Riley tilted her head to one side and then slowly—and dramatically—raised her middle finger. “Fuuuzzz.” She added the single eyebrow. I completely lost it.

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” My mother threw her hands up.

  “Paige!” admonished Aunt Mo.

  “Hep,” said Riley, moving on to the caped devil.

  “And this is . . . Jesus,” I said apprehensively, worried that this was the one that would upset my mother—and Aunt Maureen—the most.

  “Jay,” declared Riley. “Fuz, hep, Jay.” She closed the book with slow-motion flair. Aunt Maureen beamed at Riley, at how animated, how not-hurt-from-the-bathroom-incident she was.

  “You don’t need those words, Riley.” My mother looked beyond exasperated.

  “You really don’t,” agreed Maureen. “There are better ways to express yourself.”

  “You guys use these words all the time, Mom,” I informed them. “And it’s not just Aunt Elayne. Aunt Maureen dropped the F-bomb five times the other day when she was yelling at you guys by the elevator!”