Page 9 of Jesse's Girl
I check her ID badge and it clicks.
Katie?
Katie Chen is my mom’s ICU nurse. Man, I’ve been back five minutes and Lennox is already small towning on me pretty hard.
“Katie,” I say with a nod. “Yeah. Hi.”
“How’s it going, Maureen?” Katie asks at a volume probably reserved for minimally responsive patients, shifting her attention away from me. She places her hand on Mom’s shoulder like they’re old friends.
Mom doesn’t respond, but her eyes flutter a bit at the sound of her name.
“Your mom’s doing great,” Katie tells us, smiling. “She’s been resting like a champ, which is exactly what her body needs right now. And her vitals are getting better every hour, so that’s fantastic news. She’s really through the worst of it.”
“Yeah?” I search Katie’s face for reassurance, squeezing Mom’s hand a bit tighter.
Katie nods. “Definitely. Making it through surgery after that kind of bleed is huge.”
Mom tilts her head, opening her eyes slowly again. “You’re in Australia.”
I smile down at her. “Not anymore, Mom. I’m here now. Had to see what all the fuss was about firsthand.”
A monitor starts to sound beside us, which Katie calmly silences before readjusting one of the wires attached to an electrode on Mom’s chest.
Mom seems to have drifted off again when I turn back to her.
“Is she…” I start, realizing I’m not sure what to ask. “How long do you think she’ll be here?”
“Actually,” Katie says, “she’s close to moving on up in the world. Unless any complications crop up, she’ll be heading to cardiology, probably tomorrow or the next day?” She looks up as a woman in a green scrub cap appears at the open curtain. “And here’s your surgeon, right on cue.”
After a quick review of the chart, the doctor leads me and Claire out into the hall to discuss Mom’s case while she rests. The doctor explains the aneurysm was likely due to untreated high blood pressure and draws us a diagram to illustrate the placement of the artificial tubing in Mom’s abdomen where her aorta ruptured.
I try to file the medical terms away to make sense of later.
“I won’t mince my words,” the doctor says. “Surviving this kind of rupture is rare. Only about twenty percent. She’s lucky to be alive.”
Over my shoulder, Mom appears to be sleeping.
Katie shuffles around her bed, writing things on her chart, adjusting the bags of fluid attached to her IV, and pressing buttons to quiet beeping alerts on nearby monitors. She gives me a reassuring smile.
“She’ll have to take a few medications,” the doctor continues, “but the surgery went really well and we’re taking great care of her. And she’s still young, which is positive.”
“So what does this mean? Is she gonna be sick for the rest of her life, or disabled, or what?” Claire asks, cutting to the chase in her usual blunt manner.
The doctor smiles. “Actually, if Maureen continues to improve at this rate, she should make a full recovery.”
“Oh, thank God.” Claire visibly sags with relief, then checks her watch.
She must be worried about the kids.
“It won’t be immediate,” the doctor continues. “It’ll take time. She’ll need some help over the next six to eight weeks as she recovers.”
Six to eight weeks. I might be sticking around longer than I thought.
We thank the doctor, who excuses herself.
A numb daze clouds my mind as I watch nurses and cleaners milling around the unit. I’d known there was a good chance I’d be stepping off that plane several hours too late to say goodbye, but it hadn’t really hit me then how close we came to losing Mom. And now she’s probably going to be fine? It’s like several rugs have been pulled out from under me and I haven’t got my footing yet.
My sister pulls me into another hug. “Mom’s right, you know.”