Chapter Ten
“Hayden, could I have a cup of tea?” Kathleen’s voice was weak, barely above a whisper. Her skin was drawn taut on her thin—way too thin—frame. She looked almost skeletal.
Hayden forced a smile. It felt sharp and unnatural, as if she needed to control the volume of it, because if it got too big, too loud, it would shatter into a million little pieces. “Sure, tea sounds lovely. I’ll go start the water.”
In the kitchen, Hayden walked to the kitchen window while she waited for the water to a boil.
This had always been her favorite room. Large and airy, it had an old farmhouse kitchen feel to it. Bright yellow walls, checkered cushions on the chairs. She remembered sharing hot cocoa at the table with Kathleen, talking about this and that, about all minutia that seemed so important when she was young. Kathleen gave those talks all her attention, as if what Hayden had to say was the most important thing in the world.
This house, and even more specifically, this room, had always brought her a feeling of comfort.
But not today.
She stared out the window into the backyard. It was that winter sort of brown. The trees were bare. The grass was dried and looked brittle.
That’s how Hayden felt. Dried out. Brittle. As if the slightest bump would cause her to break.
Kathleen was going to die soon.
The signs were there, big and bold.
Kathleen was going to die. It wasn’t merely an occasional intrusion, but an in-Hayden’s-face, weighing on her every second, sort of thought. She couldn’t avoid facing it because each time she walked into the room and saw Kathleen, there it was.
Hayden had taken the time off work at St. Bart’s by using all her vacation and ten years of accumulated sick time. She owed Kathleen nothing less and so much more. But being here and watching her spiral downhill at such an alarming rate was hard because Hayden knew that nothing she did would stop, or even slow the eventual outcome.
The teakettle whistled, shaking Hayden from her darkness. She welcomed the business of making tea. That much, at least, hadn’t changed. She’d done it a thousand times. She carried two mugs down the hall and pasted yet another fake smile on her face. “Here you go. I put an ice cube in yours to cool it. It’s still plenty warm, but you’re not going to burn your lips on it.”
Hayden set her own mug down on the nightstand and handed Kathleen hers, but Kathleen’s fingers shook from the weight of the mug, so Hayden cupped her hands around Kathleen’s and helped her bring the mug to her lips.
Hayden would have to find something lighter for next time. Maybe a foam cup?
Kathleen took the merest of sips, not much more than wetting her lips, then pushed the mug back, handing it off to Hayden. “That hit the spot.”
With a sinking heart, Hayden knew that one sip was probably all Kathleen would drink of the tea. Her appetite hadn’t been great since she had come home a week ago, but the last few days had shown a marked decline. A sip or two of a drink, a couple bites of a meal was all Kathleen could tolerate.
In the hospital, she’d be on IV fluids, at least, but part of the hospice paradigm included doing nothing that might prolong a life. IV fluids fell into that category.
Palliative, not curative.
Comfort, not cure.
Long before Kathleen’s illness, Hayden had studied the hospice program. She’d taken ethics classes in nursing school. Hayden understood the theories and beliefs behind hospice’s stance, and most of the time she accepted that it was important for the medical community to know when to step back for the patient’s sake. Prolonging life without considering the quality, keeping someone alive only to suffer, went against the whole do-no-harm rule. But sometimes it was hard for Hayden to ignore her medical training and do nothing, when every fiber of her being longed to be more proactive than giving Kathleen a sip of tea.
She felt impotent and helpless.
Kathleen seemed to sense her unease. “Sit down, dear. Or better yet, take a nap.”
“Trying to get rid of me?” Hayden teased. Well, tried to tease. She was afraid that, like everything else, it rang false.
Kathleen shook her head, moving it from side to side without lifting it off the pillow, her face looking strained, as if the merest movement was too much. “Never. But I know how much work caring for me is. I was a nurse, remember?”
Was. That word hit Hayden with the jarring realization that Kathleen was starting to refer to her life in the past tense. Not I am a nurse, but I was a nurse, as if she were already putting it all behind her.
She was still speaking. “You need to take a break now and again.”
Hayden knew she’d have plenty of time when Kathleen was no longer with them. For now, she was selfish enough to want to spend every minute she could get with Kathleen. “I’ll sit down for a few minutes. I know how draining it can be to watch other people flit around.”
She paused and added, “Remember Marcy Finerman? Keeping her in her hospital bed at night was the biggest nursing challenge I ever faced. She—”
“How’re my girls today?” Brian boomed from the doorway with far more gusto than was necessary. He walked in and kissed his mother’s forehead, and then, almost as an afterthought, kissed Hayden’s, as well.
Maybe that was their trouble? So much was going on that they’d become an afterthought to each other.
“You’ve left work early.” It was a question, framed as a comment.
“I told them I’d be taking some time off.” He turned his attention to his mother. “So, how was your day?”
“Fine. It was fine.”
If he’d asked Hayden, she might have told him that Kathleen’s day was anything but fine. His mother’s Duragesic patch wasn’t working, and Hayden had been forced to give her morphine for the advanced pain. She’d a call into Marti at Hospice to get a stronger patch so that Kathleen could keep coping. He wouldn’t ask in front of his mother, but he’d probably ask Hayden later, and she’d fill him in. They’d talk about his mother, about her care, about the logistics of their lives … They’d say the words, but in the end, they wouldn’t say enough.
Brian watched Hayden with Marti and he was struck again by how hard Hayden worked to keep his mother as comfortable as possible.
Hayden did so many things for his mom that he couldn’t help with, from dealing with her medications to handling her personal needs.
It was wearing on her. He could see how tired she was. He knew she hadn’t slept a night through since they’d brought his mom home. He did what he could, but the frustrating thing was, he knew it would never be as much as he’d like to do for his family. He wanted to find a way to make everything all right, the way it used to be, though he knew that was impossible. Their lives had altered, and nothing was going to change them back.
“Bri, is something wrong?” Hayden asked, having stopped her conversation with Marti long enough to notice he was standing there. Her question made him realize that he must have let some of his feelings show. He tried to wall them off, not wanting his mom and Hayden to see how much he was hurting. “No. No. I’m going to switch clothes and come spend some time with Mom.”
“Okay. We have to get this patch on her.”
“Well, I guess I should leave you to it.” He leaned down and kissed his mom’s cheek. It felt papery, cool and soft. Not like his mom at all. She’d always seemed warm and strong. The thought was another wound. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Mom.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
He was almost out the door when his mother called. “Brian?”
He turned around and she smiled, mouthing the words I love you, as if saying them out loud took too much energy.
He worked to get his words past the lump in his throat. “Love you, too.” Then he raced out of the room and down the hall, needing to put some distance between himself and the situation.
Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, leaning back against the cold wall, he closed his eyes and gulped for breath.
“Dad?”
His eyes snapped open and he found Livie standing in front of him, studying him, her concern evident. She’d come in at some point while they were all preoccupied with his mom.
In the past, someone had always greeted her when she got home. His mom, Hayden, and later, himself. But now everyone was so busy with his mother that no one even noticed that she was here. She was sixteen, but she still needed their attention, especially now.
“Hey, Liv. How was school?” At one time that was enough to start her on a half-hour litany of the daily trials and tribulations of being a teen. But that, like everything else in their lives, was no longer the same. Rather than a litany about her day, she asked, “How’s Nana?”
“The pain was worse. Marti came with a new pain patch that should help control it, they said.”
Livie nodded. “How’s Mom doing? She’s been so down lately.”
“Fine. She’s fine.”
Livie shook her head, red curls flying. “None of us are fine, Dad.”
He was struck by how grown-up Livie was. How she’d moved beyond childish concerns.
He hoped his mother didn’t realize how much her illness had matured Livie. The knowledge would hurt her. She’d feel guilty that her being sick had robbed Livie of her last bits of being young and carefree.
But because Brian did know, because it cut at him that Livie had slipped into adulthood without anyone noticing it, he reached out and pulled his daughter into a hug. Months ago, she’d have complained and tried to wiggle out of his paternal embrace, feeling she was too old for such silly needs. But he figured she needed the connection as much as he did, and rather than fighting against it, she hugged him back.
“How much longer?” she asked softly, so soft that he almost hadn’t heard it.
He wished he hadn’t heard it, because he didn’t know how to answer her. Should he give the doctor’s answer, or the one his heart prayed was closer to the truth?
In the end, he settled for, “Too soon.”
Hayden walked out of Kathleen’s room, Marti in tow. They came down the hall talking medical talk.
“Hi, Mom,” Livie said.
As if she’d been shaken out of a stupor, Hayden started. Her eyes focused. “Oh, Livie. I’m sorry. I lost track of time.” He saw panic set in. “I wasn’t supposed to drive today, was I?”
“No, Mom, it was fine. Mrs. Franz said she’ll drive all the time for now.”
Hayden scrunched up her face, obviously not happy about the arrangement. “That’s not fair to her. I won’t forget again. I’ll make it work. Maybe—”
“Hayden, people want to help.” He understood their friends’ needing to feel useful because he felt the same way, as if he couldn’t feel useful enough, in fact. “It’s something she can do. And it’s a kindness to let her.”
He knew how much Hayden chafed at asking for anything, but this time she’d have to put her pride aside and accept it. She couldn’t do everything. She might not get that, but he did.
Even Livie did.
“But—”
He just looked at Hayden, waiting for her to acknowledge there wasn’t much of a choice. His mother had reached a point that she couldn’t be left too long, and Brian couldn’t always get off work to drive Liv.
He saw when it finally sank in. Hayden smiled, but Brian knew it wasn’t a real smile. That she was forcing it into place for Livie’s benefit. “That will be a huge help. Tell Mrs. Franz I said I appreciate it.”
“I will, Mom.”
Hayden turned back to Marti, back to the what-fors and what-nots of his mother’s care, Livie’s new daily ride already forgotten.
Brian felt a surge of frustration. He’d spent his life helping other people, trying to make their lives better, but here he was, unable to do anything to help those he loved the most.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Livie said, as if reading his mind.
He nodded. “Sure, honey.”
But it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay at all that everyone forgot it was time for Livie to come home, or that she might need a ride.
Taking a page from his mother’s coping strategy, he tried to remember a time when their lives had been something more than medications and temporary solutions. A time when even though there was sorrow, he and Hayden had stood together, something they seemed to have forgotten how to do.
1997
“Happy anniversary.” Brian raised his glass of champagne and tapped it to Hayden’s. “And to many, many more years together.”
They’d driven into Pittsburgh for dinner at Johnny’s, an upscale restaurant near the Monongahela incline that overlooked the city. They sat at a quiet corner table along the windows as they ate the delicious meal.
It was a romantic evening, an intimate way to celebrate their anniversary. “It’s been a great first year.”
She smiled and nodded. Then her expression turned more serious. “Except …”
Hayden didn’t need to spell out what the exception was. He could see her sorrow. They’d been trying since their wedding to get pregnant, with no luck.
“I saw the doctor today,” she said quietly. “I had some tests done a few weeks ago.”
Brian paused. “The doctor told us it was too soon to worry. We’ve only been trying for several months. If we could just relax—”
“Telling someone not to worry is like looking at a pot over the flame and telling it not to boil. It’s not going to be able to help it, and neither could I. So I decided to address the problem head-on.”
That was Hayden to a tee. She didn’t beat around the bush, she forged ahead and did what was necessary. “What did the tests show?”
“Nothing. They couldn’t find a reason I shouldn’t be pregnant.”
“So it’s me?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe it’s us. I’ve spent the day giving this a lot of thought. Maybe we’re meant to be parents of an only child. I mean, think about it. Livie is seven already, going on eight. If we had another baby, it would mean starting all over. Bottles. Diapers. No sleep.”
“Are you saying you don’t want a baby?”
She shook her head and sighed. “No. I’m saying let’s just accept that it may not happen. Let’s go on from here as if we may not have any more children. If something changes, if I find myself pregnant, we’ll revel in it. But let’s just quit actively trying. Let’s not have sex by the calendar and clock. Let’s have it because we want to.”
He knew she wanted a baby as much as he did. But there was merit in her suggestion. He was tired of being disappointed every month when they found themselves not pregnant. He wanted a baby, but he wanted Hayden more.
“Uh, Hayden, I always want to,” he teased.
The worried tightening around her eyes loosened and she laughed. “Really? Do tell.”
“Well, my love, tonight, with no thoughts of producing offspring, we’ll …” He leaned closer and proceeded to outlined his risqué plans for the evening’s activities.
Hayden’s laughter faded and slowly, her eyes darkened. He knew she was open to his suggestion. “Works for you?”
“Sure. But I’d like to add one or two of my own ideas to the schedule. Such as …”
Brian grinned as she added her twist to the evening’s activities.
“Hey, Hayden?”
“Yes, Brian?” Her voice had that husky quality she often had while they made love.
“How quickly can we finish this dinner?”
She chuckled, raised her hand to flag down the waiter. “Check.”
They sped home and made love, not because it might be a good night to make a baby, but because, baby or not, they loved each other.
Brian remembered the sweetness of that first anniversary. Despite their disappointment, they’d gotten past not having conceived another child. They’d come together and it had all been all right.
He watched as Hayden returned to his mother’s room and wished he could simply take her up to their bedroom and make love to her, make the pain go away this time, as well.
But making love wasn’t going to help.
Nothing would.