Chapter EIGHTEEN
Damon
It was the only time I would remember Delia looking her age.
It was cancer of the uterus, the doctors said, but now it was attacking her liver, kidneys, and bladder. If she had reported her symptoms earlier, had a hysterectomy to remove the offending organ—she may have had a fighting chance, but my grandmother didn’t like doctors. Said they made her feel old. We knew there was no way she would have gone for an operation. Especially something as life changing to her, as dissecting organs that made her female.
As I looked at her, tears filled my eyes. The only thing keeping her alive now, was some sort of steroid dripped into her arm. A chance to live a little longer than the few hours, they’d said.
There were flowers everywhere and a couple dozen balloons attached to the biggest teddy bear I’d ever seen seated in my life, seated on a chair by the window. Feeling useless, I sat beside her, stroking her pale withered hand with tubes coming out of it.
I was in so much shock, I didn’t know what I was saying. “Delia. Delia, open your eyes and tell me what to do.” I didn’t really know what I was asking her. I just wanted her to open her eyes. I felt if she did, maybe she wouldn’t die. Wouldn’t leave me like my parents had.
She groaned. Her pale eyes fluttered.
“Grandmother? Delilah?” I didn’t know which name she would respond to, so I used them all. “Lucy!” I pulled closer to the bed, rubbing the bony top of her hand with my thumb. “Mrs. Delaney? Mrs. Delaney, wake up for me, please.”
“Can she hear me?” I asked the nurse, who was busy doing something with the intravenous pole.
“Yes, but she’s a bit dehydrated. It’s draining all her reserves. If you wait a few hours… Maybe leave and come back? She may wake up and have a conversation with you. There’s a coffee shop downstairs. A good one, actually. They serve a decent breakfast too.”
“What if she doesn’t wake up and I miss…” I didn’t want to think about the ‘what if’ but I had to ask.
“Don’t worry. Her vital signs are stable. I think you’ll have an opportunity to talk to her before that.”
“Promise?” I knew it was wrong, begging the nurse to guarantee me a few more hours with my grandmother, but I felt so hopeless. I wanted someone to tell me she was all right. Even for just a few hours.
The nurse nodded her blonde head. “I promise,” she said with a smile. “If you leave me your number, I’ll text you when she wakes up. How’s that?” She wrote her number on a piece of paper, and handed it to me.
“Great.” I keyed in her number and rang her cell, putting her number into my phone list when she called me back. “I’ll just…” I stared at the old woman in the bed, willing her to wake. I was loath to leave her. She was everything to me and I felt guilty. Once, when I was thirteen and had pneumonia, she stayed by my side day and night, only leaving me to go to the bathroom until my fever had broken. She’d never left me alone. Not when I needed her most. I needed her now, too.
How had I let this happen? Why hadn’t I noticed that she seldom had medical care? Why hadn’t I insisted upon it?
“It’s okay. I’ll call you when she wakes,” the nurse repeated.
I nodded, kissed my grandmother’s hand, and then went out the door.