“No, I didn’t. Lillian must have complained to her.”
“What?”
She kept working as though she could no longer hear me. I watched her for a moment and then left the kitchen quickly and went to the stairs. What was really going on? I wondered. It was very confusing and now very annoying. Just as I reached the upstairs landing, I stopped. Mrs. Randolph came out of Lillian’s room carrying a basin of water and a sponge.
My heart began beating rapidly, and my throat closed so tightly I couldn’t speak for a moment. I looked at Lillian’s closed door and then at Mrs. Randolph. She wore what I was beginning to think of as her “nonexpression.” Her forehead was so smooth, so wrinkle free, the skin looked synthetic. Her eyes were very still, and her lips were barely parted.
“What are you doing?”
“Shh. Lower your voice.”
“I thought you said my cutting the lawn was bothering Miriam. She said she never told you that.”
She relaxed her posture, contemplating me as though I were the one who needed special understanding and care. Her expression softened into the closest thing to a smile I had seen on her face since her arrival.
“And you believed her? Really, Mr. Oberman. Your wife is quite unbalanced. You can’t expect her to remember from one moment to the next, can you?”
“She usually does,” I said, but not with any confidence. Maybe I never noticed it or never wanted to notice it. The nurse was probably right, I thought. This would be something an outsider might spot right away. Someone who was emotionally aloof could see things that I was too close to. I focused on the basin of water. “Why did you go into Lillian’s room with that?”
“It’s what I told Miriam I would do. In the beginning it’s going to be very important for me, and for you, to actually do the things we say we are going to do. I have to win her complete confidence. You can understand that, can’t you?” She asked it as though she were talking to a grade school student. I felt myself redden.
“Of course,” I said. I heard the note of retreat in my voice and imagined that if anyone saw me standing there, he or she would think I looked very silly questioning the things the nurse was doing.
“Fine. After you shower and change, I have a list of groceries I’d like you to get,” she said, and she walked past me and down the stairs. I watched her descend, fascinated with her militarylike gait and her authoritarian composure.
Shower and change? I hadn’t intended on doing that, but I hadn’t intended on going into town either. I looked down at my shirt and jeans. Well, maybe I should, I thought. Then I thought, what groceries? I had just recently been to the supermarket. We had plenty of everything. Everything Miriam and I liked, that was.
Perhaps there were foods we needed for medical reasons. I didn’t know for sure. Mrs. Randolph hadn’t been here long, but I could see she had a habit of expecting me to understand everything. Orders were orders. I wondered whether all nurses were that arrogant. Doctors certainly could be. Maybe it came with the territory. I could understand some of it in a hospital, but it didn’t have to be that way here.
What could I do? I looked at Lillian’s closed door and thought about Miriam downstairs actually making a cake. I shook my head, shrugged, and hurried to my bedroom. I would shower and dress and go to town just as Mrs. Randolph commanded.
During the ride to town, I thought about the way things had begun at home and wondered how much of it Dr. Turner knew and sanctioned. He hadn’t mentioned any regular procedure for evaluation, and I wondered if he expected me to contact him. Why couldn’t these medical people spell things out more clearly? I thought they were deliberately unclear just to make themselves seem that much more important.
I decided to stop at his office before I went to the supermarket. His office wasn’t that far out of the way. It was in a newly built, fancy wooden structure called the Gardnertown Professional Building. It had a pine wood siding and a unique modular design. It was the kind of building most people would pause to look at and comment about but not choose for themselves.
I liked it because all of the offices had large windows, which made them bright and airy. There was no question it was on an ideal site: a high knoll looking down over the major highway and across at the Shwangunk Mountains. Miriam always commented about the view when we came here.
There was a small parking lot directly in front of the building. The spot closest to the building had a sign marked “Reserved for Doctor.” I knew he was in his office because his Jaguar was parked there. Actually, there were only three empty spots in the lot. That didn’t necessarily mean he was busy.
Besides Dr. Turner, the building housed an accounting firm, a lawyer, a dentist, and a surveyor. Even though it was only a two-story structure, it had a small elevator. There were large oil reproductions in the hallways. Most of them were landscapes. The walls and floors were always immaculate, and even though the building was five years old, it looked as new as the day it opened. I found out later that Dr. Turner was part owner and the structure had been built to provide a tax shelter for him and two investors.
Of course, I should have phoned before coming, but I wasn’t thinking so clearly that first morning. I had a long wait, and I wouldn’t have remained if I weren’t so concerned about Mrs. Randolph. Through looks and her tone of voice, Mrs. Greenstreet, the receptionist, let me know that she didn’t appreciate my barging in like that. Dr. Turner always had a “tight schedule,” and it was “difficult enough keeping him organized with his regular appointments.”
I skimmed through a dozen magazines, continually watching his inner office door, willing it to open with all my mental strength. While I was there, Mrs. Greenstreet lowered her voice during a number of phone calls. I think they were of a personal nature and she didn’t want me to know she did things like that on the doctor’s time. Finally, his door opened and a sullen-looking teenage boy came out. He glared at me as he walked through the waiting room. I actually felt threatened and pretended deep interest in the magazine article. It was a relief to see Dr. Turner in the doorway.
“Mr. Oberman insisted on seeing you, doctor,” Mrs. Greenstreet said. “I told him you were pressed for time and had to rush off to the state hospital in Middletown.”
It seemed very important for her to shift all the blame to me. I wondered whether Turner was a hard man to work for. That thought made me a little more tolerant of her.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s all right, Michael. I can give you a few minutes. Come in.”
I avoided Mrs. Greenstreet’s gaze and followed the doctor into his inner office. Turner was a stout man, built more like a professional wrestler than a psychiatrist. Later on I found out that he did wrestle in college. Although he was only in his early forties, his thick, dark brown hair had grayed considerably. He wore it a couple of inches too long in the back, a stylistic touch that I thought reminiscent of the sixties. He wore a full beard which had grayed down both sides and in the chin, but much of it was still sweet potato red, especially the mustache.
Dr. Turner had a wide forehead with bushy eyebrows. I always thought he had a sailor’s weathered look about his eyes. They were kindly and soft, but far reaching, as though he were used to looking over great distances. He would look at you when he spoke to you or listened to you, but it was as though he were looking beyond you. I asked Miriam about it, and she said it was as though he were looking into your soul.
A man in his line of work had to have attractive eyes. They were hazel green and bright. I wondered how many women came to him simply because of his good looks, for he had high cheekbones and a straight nose. Even I thought there was something sexy about the way he held his lips slightly open when he listened to someone.
Of course, he was a good listener, one who could make the speaker feel as though his every word were important. When he smiled, there was a brightness and life in his face that would cheer the most depressed individual. And when he smiled, that sea-weathered look about
his eyes took form in small wrinkles in his temples.
There was one thing about him that was definitely an asset to a man of his profession: his air of calm. He moved with an athlete’s grace and sat so still and so relaxed that a patient couldn’t help but feel relief just in his presence. His voice, though strong and confident, was soft. He slipped words and phrases in and out of his conversation with an ease I envied. Everything seemed to fit; everything was structured.
I liked the feel of his handshake, for it was always strong and definite. His fingers looked powerful, and the small dark hairs that grew just above his knuckles added a touch of masculinity. He took my hand as soon as I came through the door and gestured toward a seat.
“What’s up, Michael?”
“The nurse has arrived,” I said and sat down quickly.
“I know,” he said moving slowly to his seat. “She called me.”
“She did? She never told me.” He just nodded, waiting for me to specify why that was important. “I know she was critical of Miriam’s medication.”
“Well, we did discuss it. Now that she’s there, we can try to work Miriam off some of the drugs.”
“Then you agreed with her? I didn’t want to ask her what experience she’s had with this sort of thing. I didn’t want to appear critical from the start.”
“I understand. Well, she’s dealt with the senile; she’s dealt with people in trauma. She’s worked with disturbed children. She’s had a great deal of experience with that,” he said. He looked sad about it.
“Although her name is Mrs. Randolph, I get the distinct feeling she’s no longer married.”
“Divorced,” he said nodding slightly. “Recently, too. The agency says she’ll be able to give us a nice stretch of time. That’s important because we’ll have consistency. How does Miriam feel about her?”
“Better than I expected.”
“That’s good then.”
“I suppose.”
“You don’t like her, is that it?” he asked. He seemed to anticipate it. “Has there been some kind of problem?”
“Her methods strike me as unorthodox.”
“How so?”
“She’s very authoritative for one thing.” He smiled with understanding.
“Well, she’s been a head nurse; she’s had a great deal of responsibility. As long as she’s efficient and does her job well—”
“I think she humors Miriam too much. I think she’s going about it all wrong,” I said. It was what I thought so I said it straight out. Dr. Turner’s eyes grew small for a moment, but he showed no impatience or anger. In fact, his tone of voice was ingratiating.
“I don’t think you’ve had all that much experience with this sort of thing, Michael. You’ve never had a full-time nurse there.”
“I know.”
“So why not let her work? She has an enormous task, you know, and a major step will be for her to win Miriam’s trust.”
“That’s what she says.”
“She’s not lying.” He smiled again. I began to feel stupid for coming. Anything I would add at this point would sound petty, I thought. “We’re all watching the situation closely. You shouldn’t be anxious about it.”
“Right,” I said. I stood up. “Thanks.”
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I walked down the corridor quickly and practically ran down the short flight of stairs. When I got outside, I felt like a high school kid who had been kept in detention. For a moment I forgot where I was going. Then I remembered Mrs. Randolph’s list of groceries in my pocket and got into the car.
As I drove I thought about the way Dr. Turner had said, “She called me.” His tone of voice and the way he looked at me suggested that Mrs. Randolph hadn’t told him only about Miriam. She must have told him things about me as well. She might have complained about the way I questioned some of her first actions. What could I say in my own defense? Whom would Dr. Turner believe?
He had made it clear to me that he had great respect for the nurse. Someone down at the agency gave him an opinion, and he was impressed or wanted to be impressed. Surely he would place greater value in the thoughts and comments of another medical person than he would in whatever I might say. I could just hear him make a remark like, “Well, you do have big problems in your house, Michael. It has to have taken its toll on you.” I mean, my views could be completely disregarded.
Now I was convinced that when he said, “She called me,” there was a conspiratorial tone in his voice. What he really meant to say was, “We’ve discussed everything already, so what the hell are you coming around for?”
Even so, I wasn’t going to stop being cooperative, especially since this situation had really just gotten started. How could I? But I wasn’t going to be pushed out of all the important decisions. It was my home, and what happened in it involved me.
This new sense of determination made me feel better, stronger. I was glad I had barged into his office and had even that short conversation. At least I had an idea of the way things were going to go, and at least he knew I was someone who wanted to be involved. I wasn’t just going to throw off everything to the nurse and Dr. Turner. There was a great temptation to do so. Most people would, I know, but I’m not most people.
When I drove up to the house after completing the shopping, I was surprised to see Miriam sitting on the front porch. She rarely came out during the day lately. From the way she looked when I pulled into the driveway, it was apparent that she had been waiting anxiously for me. She got up quickly, an excited smile on her face, and stood at the top of the steps. For a moment I thought Mrs. Randolph might have left and Miriam was happy about that.
“Hi,” I called, and I went around the car to take the packages out of the trunk.
“Oh, Michael,” she said, “Michael.” She came down the steps. She looked so bright and alive. It was a pleasure simply to watch her. She moved with an energy that reminded me of the old days before my father died. What a light she had brought to this house then. I was always so anxious to get home from work just to be with her, to be around her.
“What’s up?” I said. I stood there with my hands on my hips, smiling widely myself. I nearly laughed at her eagerness to get to me.
“It’s Lillian,” she said. She was out of breath from the excitement. She put her right hand against the car and held the fingers of her left hand against the bottom of her throat. I could see that her hair had been brushed with a great deal more care. It was shiny and bright in the sunshine. There was that small quiver in her upper lip again. I used to like to touch it softly and then kiss her.
“What about Lillian, dear?” Instinctively, I looked up at Lillian’s window. The curtains were still open, the window up.
“She’s sitting up in bed,” she said. “She’s sitting up.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Mrs. Randolph got her to do it. We were talking about Lillian and how she has to start trying harder, and Mrs. Randolph said, ‘Well, she should be sitting up.’ Then she went right upstairs and got her to do it. Just like that, Michael. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yes, dear. It’s wonderful.”
“And that’s not all, Michael. You’ve got to do it; you’ve got to.”
“Do what, dear?”
“Put a television set in her room. She wants her own television set.”
I kept smiling. It was frozen on my face. Miriam was still breathing hard. I looked to the front door, expecting Mrs. Randolph to appear, but she wasn’t there.
“In whose room, dear?”
“Lillian’s room, Michael.” The excitement left her face. “Whom do you think I’ve been talking about? Now that she’s sitting up, she wants to watch television. I should think you would be a lot more excited and happy about it.”
“Oh, I am,” I said. “It’s just such ... such a surprise.”
“Yes,” she said, “isn’t it?” Then she leaned toward me and whispered, “It’s because of Mrs. Randolph. That woman can wo
rk miracles.”
“I can see that,” I said, but it didn’t make any sense to me. I wondered if one had to be a doctor or a nurse to understand.
“You will do it, won’t you, Michael? You will put a television set in Lillian’s room?”
“If that’s what she wants, dear.” Was it really what Mrs. Randolph wanted also?
“She does.”
“OK. First I’d better get some of these perishables into the house.”
“I’ll help you.”
“No, I—”
“I said I would help you, Michael. I’m not helpless, you know.” She looked aggressive, determined. Miriam’s changing, I thought. She’s really changing. But I wasn’t sure I liked the change.
“Of course, dear,” I said, and I handed her a fairly heavy bag. She didn’t seem to notice or care. She was too excited and too happy. I watched her head directly for the house, and then I grabbed the other two bags and started after her. I looked for Mrs. Randolph when I entered, but she wasn’t in the hallways, the living room, or the kitchen.
“Where is the nurse?” I asked. Miriam was already unloading her bag. She stopped and took on an intense look before she spoke in a subdued voice.
“She’s upstairs doing her yoga, Michael. She does it faithfully for one hour every day, and while she does it, she can’t be disturbed.”
“Is that right?” I deliberately spoke loudly and looked toward the ceiling.
“Shh, Michael. Whatever she does takes great concentration. She is going to teach me how to do it.”
“Won’t that be swell,” I said. I looked down at some of the unloaded groceries. “Look at this stuff: organic vegetables and health cereals. This stuff is expensive, and if you ask me, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. Soya milk, for Christ’s sake.”
“Michael!”
“Well ...”
“Nothing is too big of a sacrifice or an effort if it will eventually help Lillian,” she said. She said it as though she had been taught to memorize it. What could I say? All I could do was nod and continue to unload and put away the groceries. Suddenly Miriam grabbed my arm.
Tender Loving Care Page 4
