Lean on Me (Stories from hope haven)

by Leslie Gould

  Anabelle flinched. Of course, people wouldn’t want to move to Deerford if the hospital closed. If Hope Haven hadn’t been in Deerford when Kirstie had been hit by the car fifteen years ago, her daughter would have died. And how many residents would have succumbed to heart attacks if the hospital hadn’t been around? And how many motorists would have died in accidents on the highway if the EMTs hadn’t been able to transfer them to Hope Haven within minutes of the accident?

  “I can certainly see that traveling farther means greater risks when it comes to health care.” Anabelle looked Donald straight in the eyes.

  He nodded. “This is affecting the whole town,” he said. “Something has to be done. Please tell the advisory committee that all of Deerford is depending on them.”

  “You push me, Buela.” Izzy swung high, her long curly hair rising up behind her and then falling gracefully as she pumped her legs, back and forth.

  Elena stepped behind the swing and gave Izzy a push and then another.

  Sarah stood on the other side of the swing set, smiling. Elena knew she was enjoying the little girl. She’d been working a lot, including Sundays, and Izzy had commented on it, so Elena had called Sarah to see if she could meet them in the park. It was good for Izzy to see her mother and good for all of them to be outside with the spring sun shining down on them. It was a treat, with the days growing longer, to go to the park after school and work, even though it was still chilly.

  Elena pushed Izzy a few more times, but then the little girl was ready to stop. She slowed herself and then leaped to the ground, making Elena gasp. She didn’t want another trip to the ER, but Izzy landed on her feet and bounded over to the slide.

  Elena and Sarah followed her.

  “Rafael called the other day,” Sarah said. “About Izzy’s reading.”

  “Oh?” Elena hadn’t been sure whether her son had followed through with calling Sarah.

  “I told him to take it seriously.” Sarah exhaled slowly. “I had a hard time reading. It wasn’t until the third grade that I really got it, and by then the other kids—and most of the teachers—thought I was stupid.” She paused and then said, “I don’t want Izzy to go through what I did.”

  “What was the problem?” Elena felt compassion for the young woman.

  Sarah shrugged. “No one knew. All of a sudden it just started making sense, but no one at home read to me or worked with me the way you do with Izzy.”

  Elena didn’t respond.

  “Thanks,” Sarah whispered.

  “For?”

  “Being such a wonderful grandmother. I wish I’d had someone like you.”

  Elena put her arm around the young woman and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m not sure what to think of Izzy’s reading. She keeps getting flustered and upset when I try to see how she’s doing with her letters and all.”

  “That’s what Rafael said.”

  “I’m thinking we should have an evaluation done.”

  “Rafael thinks she’s too young,” Sarah said. “That kindergarten is for having fun. He says he wants to wait until next year to deal with all of this.”

  Elena wasn’t surprised.

  “All I know,” Sarah said, “is that by the end of first grade, I was already feeling stupid.”

  They were interrupted by Izzy at the top of the slide. “Look at me!” she yelled.

  Both women waved to her and then Elena gave her a thumbs-up. She turned her attention back to Sarah.

  “It wasn’t just school that the reading problem affected,” she said. “Pretty soon I didn’t feel like I could do anything right.”

  “Yippee!” Izzy yelled as she zipped down the slide.

  “I don’t want that to happen to her.” Sarah had tears in her eyes.

  “Neither do I,” Elena answered and gave Sarah another hug, wishing the young woman had had someone who believed in her twenty years ago.

  Chapter Twelve

  IN THE LATE AFTERNOON, POLLY ARRIVED AS JAMES wheeled Joel into the living room from the bath room. He’d agreed to work late to accommodate the woman’s schedule. After greeting the two, she said Joel should stay in his chair. “I have a stand in my truck I’m going to bring in,” she said. “We’ll start today’s session working with that.”

  “I’ll go get it,” James said, starting toward the door.

  “No thanks.” Polly slipped ahead of him. “I can do it.” She returned hauling in a chest-high contraption of PVC pipes. “It’s sturdier than it looks,” she said. “And easy to move.”

  She maneuvered Joel’s chair away from the bed and into an open area of the living room and then positioned the stand in front of him. “I need your help,” she said to James. “Hold this side firmly.”

  James followed her instructions.

  Next she showed Joel how to grab on to the bars of the stand and pull himself up out of the chair. He complied. “Now sit down and do it again,” she said, her voice firm.

  “What’s the point?” Joel shot her a dirty look.

  “To build up strength so you can transfer yourself—and walk again.”

  He plopped down into the chair and then pulled himself up again. James steadied the stand as he did.

  “Do it ten more times.” Polly stepped away from the two of them and opened up the PT notebook. James was pretty sure she was ignoring Joel on purpose because she thought he would do better without her constant attention. She didn’t want to give him a reason to lash out at her again.

  By the time Joel had done six up-and-downs, he was sweating. By the time he’d done eight he couldn’t get back out of his chair. He sat for a moment and then tried again, pulling hard with his good arm to get himself to a standing position. Finally he made it but fell back hard, making the chair bounce a little.

  “Rest for a minute and then do the last two,” Polly said, not looking up. James was surprised that she had been keeping track.

  Joel waited a couple of minutes and then pulled himself up and lowered himself slowly. After another long wait, he pulled himself up a final time and then plopped back down. As he did he whispered, “Sorry.”

  “Pardon?” Polly turned toward him.

  “Sorry for how horrible I’ve been to you.”

  “Really?” Her hands were on her hips. “Does that mean no more bad language?”

  He nodded.

  “Or flying bedpans?”

  He nodded again.

  “Then, thank you. I accept your apology,” Polly said. “Back to bed for your stretching exercises.” James helped Joel with his transfer, aware that the muscles in the young man’s legs were still shaking from exertion and stress. James guessed it hadn’t been easy for him to apologize.

  He was getting a good workout. According to his chart, the doctors had said there was no doubt that Joel would walk again, but his muscles and nerves needed to be rehabilitated, and he needed to regain his strength.

  As Polly lifted and lowered Joel’s right leg, she told him he needed to start doing the exercises twice a day. Once with help and once on his own. “It’s part of your taking responsibility for your recovery,” she said.

  He groaned.

  James turned his attention to his paperwork, but it wasn’t long before Polly asked for his help again. She had him hold Joel’s right leg at a forty-five-degree angle while she lifted his left leg. Joel closed his eyes, and James asked Polly how long she’d worked as a physical therapist. “Two years,” she answered. “I got my degree at the university in Peoria.”

  “Master’s?” James asked.

  “Doctorate,” she answered.

  He was impressed. She was young to have completed so much schooling. She must have gone straight through.

  “It’s a great career,” she said. “There are lots of job openings, especially for those of us who specialize in working with people with disabilities.”

  James enjoyed helping her and intended to help Fern do some of the exercises, thinking they would help her strength and flexibility too.
/>   “Go ahead and put his leg down,” Polly said.

  As James finished his charting, Joel’s mother stepped into the living room.

  “I need to go into town,” she said.

  James stood. “Do you want me to stay until you get back?”

  “No,” she said. “I’ve called a neighbor to come sit with Joel. She’ll be here before Polly leaves.”

  After Melanie left, Polly told James he should go ahead and go. She nodded toward Joel, who still had his eyes closed. “I think I wore him out. I’m about done.”

  James gathered his things and headed out the front door just as his cell phone rang. It wasn’t Fern. The number looked like a Hope Haven number. He answered it quickly. It was Leila Hargrave.

  James’s heart pounded faster. “Hi, Leila.”

  “I’m filling in for the nurse supervisor who does the scheduling for Med/Surg,” she said, referencing his former department. “Would you like to pick up a short shift this evening? We’re shorthanded, and you know that floor better than anyone. Seven to eleven at the most. You may be sent home earlier if we have a couple of discharges.”

  “Sure,” James answered. He wasn’t going to pass up work, that was for sure. As he drove toward Deerford, a flock of starlings turned upward and then swooped toward a red barn in the distance, heading for home. James couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like at the hospital. He hoped he wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable. At least it was the evening shift, and the administrators would soon be headed for home.

  Not too long after he arrived, signed in, and changed into hospital-provided scrubs, word got out that James was picking up a shift. Face after friendly face stopped by Med/Surg to greet him.

  “I don’t have anyone to banter with anymore,” Elena complained.

  “What?” James retorted. “No one is as clever as I?”

  Elena slapped her hand toward his shoulder, brushing his sleeve. “Now don’t go putting words in my mouth. I didn’t say that.”

  Anabelle stopped by to say hello and so did Candace. Even Leila Hargrave sashayed through the Med/Surg and talked with him for a moment.

  “Anabelle Scott told me this afternoon that you’ve taken a home health position. From the way she put it, sounds like you’re enjoying it.”

  “It’s work; it’s keeping me busy. It’s temporary though,” he said.

  “So you’re still hoping to come back to Hope Haven?”

  “Definitely, yes,” James answered.

  He was assigned seven patients, all listed by first name on the whiteboard at the nurses’ station. He made his way from patient to patient, checking in with each one. Five were postsurgery, one had pneumonia, and the last one, a man named Gary, had alcohol poisoning. He was shocked to enter the man’s room and find Gary Morris huddled in the bed, sound asleep.

  James opened his chart on the computer. He’d been found at eleven in the morning, passed out in Deerford Park. Detective Cesar Rodriguez had called an ambulance, and the ER team had pumped his stomach. He’d been dehydrated and suffering from hypothermia, which explained both the fluid bag on the IV pole and the mountain of blankets piled high on top of the man.

  There was no indication of how long he had been at the park. Neither Joel nor Melanie had said anything about Gary’s being gone all night—not that they would have. James looked around for any sign of Melanie—a purse, a book, or a sweater—but there was none. He checked the fluid bag on the IV pole and noted it was half empty. He’d be surprised if Gary spent the night, but he might, depending on his fluid levels and temperature. James decided to check on his other patients and then come back to Gary, hoping the man woke up in the next hour or so.

  Two hours later, when James poked his head in the room for the sixth time, Gary’s eyes were open.

  “How’s it going?” James stepped into the room.

  Gary struggled to sit.

  James showed him the button on the railing to raise the bed and Gary pressed it, turning his face toward James. “Have we met?” he asked.

  James nodded. “I’m Joel’s home health nurse.”

  Gary groaned. “Lucky me.”

  “No worries,” James said. “How are you doing?”

  Gary closed his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? And I don’t want Melanie or Joel knowing about this either.”

  James didn’t respond as he reached for the thermometer. He wondered if Melanie already knew—if that was why she’d come into town. Perhaps she was out in the waiting room, trying to decide what to do about her husband.

  James took Gary’s temperature—it was up to ninety-seven—removed the stack of covers, and put a fresh blanket from the warmer over him and then layered three more over that. “Are you warm enough?” James asked.

  Gary nodded.

  “Hungry?”

  The man shook his head.

  James checked his blood pressure. It was still low—90/60. Of course, alcohol was a depressant, so his blood pressure would stay low until it was out of his system.

  “I’ll be back shortly,” James said after he recorded Gary’s vitals in his chart.

  “Just do what you have to do, and leave me alone as much as possible,” the man responded, his voice low.

  A half hour later, James was on his way to the Med/Surg nurses’ station when he saw Cesar at the desk.

  “How’s it going?” Cesar shook James’s hand and gave him a hearty pat on the back.

  “Good.”

  “Heard you’ve got my guy tonight. How’s he doing?”

  “Better. I’m guessing he’ll be discharged in a few hours.”

  “Where’s he going to go?”

  James had the feeling Cesar knew more about what was going on than he did. “Home?”

  Cesar shook his head. “Not according to his wife. She said she’s done.”

  James’s eyes popped wide. Poor Melanie. She had enough to deal with as it was.

  “Mind if I go chat with him?” Cesar took a step.

  “Are there legal ramifications for overdosing on alcohol?”

  Cesar pulled out his notebook. “Probably not. He wasn’t driving, but I need to question him now that he’s conscious.”

  James led the way down the hall and motioned to Gary’s room. He entered after Cesar.

  “Do I need a lawyer?” Gary struggled for a moment to pull his hand out from under the layers of blankets to push the button and raise the bed to a sitting position.

  “It’s up to you,” Cesar said. “You’ve been down this road before.”

  “I wasn’t driving. And I’m past my parole on my violation from five years ago. I stayed sober, honest. It’s just been a couple of times, all in the last month, that I’ve fallen off the wagon.”

  “What’s your plan now?” Cesar asked.

  Gary turned his eyes toward the windows.

  “Rehab? AA? Both?” Cesar sounded like he was talking to a delinquent.

  “I’m not sure,” Gary said, his voice still low. “It’s not like I have a full-blown problem. Just a relapse.”

  Cesar’s eyebrows shot up. “What does your wife say?”

  “That’s just it. I’m not sure if I heard her right.”

  “I think you did,” Cesar answered.

  Gary looked straight at the officer. “She’s not going to give me a second chance?”

  “She already did,” Cesar said. “You might not remember it, but I’m the one who hauled your sorry self into the ER two weeks ago too. If you can’t get yourself into rehab, then I’ll bring charges and the court will mandate it.” With that, Cesar nodded his head brusquely and said good-bye. He shook James’s hand on the way out.

  James stepped forward to check Gary’s vitals. As he worked, he prayed for the man, for Melanie, and for Joel.

  Gary’s temperature and blood pressure had improved, but James knew he was a sick, sick man. After he’d charted the new information he turned back to Gary. “Do you have any questions?”

  The man sh
ook his head, barely. He wasn’t as tall as his son, and in the hospital bed covered in a pile of blankets, he looked a little shrunken, as if he were sinking into himself.

  “Do you want to talk?” James asked.

  Gary shook his head again, but his eyes grew watery. “Just leave,” he said. “Please leave.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  ELENA FLIPPED THE SWITCH ON HER COFFEE machine and immediately the rich scent of decaf brewing filled the kitchen. She had made a cobbler from berries in her freezer for the evening, hoping some refreshments would make the advisory committee more bearable—that, and holding the gathering in her house instead of in the sterile meeting room at the hospital. Maybe a change of scenery would finally get things moving for the group. It was the least she could do, considering Dr. Hamilton had asked everyone to meet later than usual, at eight o’clock in the evening, to accommodate his schedule.

  She turned toward the back door, thinking she’d heard a car. Cesar’s face appeared in the window. She met him at the door.

  “Long day,” she said and then kissed him.

  “It’s good to be home.” He started down the hallway. She knew he was heading straight to his safe to lock up his pistol, just like he did when he arrived home after every shift he ever worked. She appreciated that he always put Izzy’s safety first.

  “Your dinner’s in the oven,” she called after him. “Do you remember I have a meeting here tonight?”

  He groaned in response. She’d had the feeling he would forget.

  She pulled the pan of ziti from the oven and busied herself dishing up a plate for Cesar, adding salad, green beans, and a slice of sourdough bread. He appeared a few minutes later wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. “Where is everyone?”

  “Rafael has class and Izzy’s putting on her pajamas. Can you put her to bed during my meeting?” She handed him his plate.

  “Sure.”

  She let him eat in silence, pulling the cobbler from the oven and putting the ice cream out to soften. The committee members would be arriving soon.

  “I hauled the same guy into Hope Haven again,” Cesar finally said.

  “What guy?” Elena had no idea what he was talking about.