Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it.” I rush over to the bed and sit beside her, placing my hand on her back. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t… I can’t… breathe, Henny.” Tears fill her eyes, leaking over her smooth cheeks. “My head’s been hurting all day, but I—”
“All day? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I knew you had all your calls, and I didn’t want to interrupt. Finally got Geneva to take one of her pain pills and she was sleeping good. Didn’t want to bother nobody.”
“Mama, you’re never a bother.” I hug her to me by the shoulders. “Don’t do that again. Please, for me.”
“I’m scared.” Her wide eyes find mine. “I can’t breathe, and my chest hurts.”
“Could it be a reaction to something?” I ask, suppressing my panic.
“I don’t know.” Mama looks at me through that fog where things aren’t clear and make less sense. “I… I don’t know, Henny.”
“Stay here.” I stride to the door and call over my shoulder. “Let me ask Aunt G about it.”
I don’t bother knocking, but burst into my aunt’s bedroom. She’s knocked out and blinks at me dazedly from beneath the folds of her bonnet.
“Hen?” she asks, voice rasped with sleep. “What is it?”
“Mama. She says she’s having trouble breathing and has a headache. Her chest hurts. Has this been happening?”
Her eyes widen and she tries to pull herself up, wincing in pain. I rush over and put a staying hand on her shoulder.
“Be careful. You just had major surgery. Take your time.”
“I think it’s her pressure.”
“Pressure? Like hypertension? Mama doesn’t have high blood pressure.”
Aunt Geneva flicks a nervous glance up at me. “She does now. She didn’t want to worry you so—”
“What the hell?” I shout, unable to hold back my frustration. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
“We didn’t want to worry you, and she’s usually really good about taking her pills. I always…” She closes her eyes and sinks back into the pillows. “I always check behind her.”
But not for the last few days she hasn’t. Not since her surgery. And I didn’t know to check.
I run from the room and down the hall back to Mama. Oh, God, I need to call 911. I need to get her to the hospital. I need to calm down, but my heart is Vesuvius, every thought and sensation spilling over at once like lava, but I can’t explode. Mama needs me calm.
When I reach her room, trepidation and panic laugh in my face. There is no calm and no containing this volcano of emotion when my mother—my responsibility, the one who has always taken care of me—lies unconscious on the floor.
CHAPTER 40
HENDRIX
I fucked up.
With my rational mind, I know this isn’t my fault, but I can’t stop replaying a dozen things I could have done differently so Mama didn’t end up in the hospital. A litany of recriminations loop through my mind. How did I not know she has hypertension? Why didn’t I ask more questions? Why would Mama and Aunt Geneva keep it from me?
On the ride in the ambulance, Mama regained consciousness, but her blood pressure was alarmingly high. They couldn’t get it down. Now they’re running tests and working on stabilizing her vitals. Meanwhile, I’m pacing the waiting room, simmering on the back burner in this sterile limbo; a purgatory that smells of cheap coffee and antiseptic.
My phone vibrating in my pocket jars me from my jumbled thoughts. I glance at the screen and answer right away.
“Aunt G, hey.”
“You were supposed to call me,” she says, impatience and fatigue weighing her voice.
“Sorry.” I rub my temple and slump into the pleather sofa. “We got here and they took her back. I’ve been waiting for an update ever since.”
There’s a sniff on the other line.
“Aunt G, you sure you’re okay?”
“I am.” But her voice wobbles. “The one time I’m down and can’t do for my sister, and this happens. I feel guilty that—”
“Aunt Geneva, no. You are on bedrest yourself. I’m the one feeling guilty that I’m not here more. How could I not know my own mother…?” I swallow tears and steady my voice before going on. “Guilt isn’t serving either of us in this situation. Let’s get through this and talk about what needs to change once Mama is better. Please focus on healing, on you getting better.”
“Okay, Hen. Okay.”
As soon as we disconnect, I pull up the email with the meal train schedule Aunt Geneva had her church friends send me. Their contacts are all there, but I saved Mrs. Redmond, who dropped off the casserole earlier, as “Church Lady.”
Me: Mrs. Redmond, hi. It’s Hendrix. Sorry to bother you. I know you mentioned you had choir practice tonight. We have a situation with my mother and I’m at the hospital. I’m concerned about Aunt G being there alone. Could you or someone from the church just swing by to check on her? Make sure she doesn’t try to get up, doesn’t need anything, isn’t hungry?