Page 129 of Can't Get Enough

“Henny,” she whispers and extends her arm.

I rush over and settle into the seat beside her, taking her hand.

“How you feeling, Mama?” I croak, but hold my tears until I can give in and let go.

“Been better,” she says with a weak smile. “Sorry I scared you.”

“No, no, Mama. I’m sorry. So sorry I… I didn’t know and you—”

“It’s okay. How’s Geneva?”

“She’s fine.” I smooth her hair, tousled and spread on the pillow. “Worried about you.”

“Mrs. Barry,” Dr. Katz says. “I wanted to go over a few things and ask you some questions. Can we do that with your daughter present?”

Mama looks from me to him, her expression perplexed.

“Of course,” she says. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not cleared in your paperwork, Mama, to be privy to your records.”

“Oh.” The confusion eases, loosening her brows. “Probably just never got around to it. You can tell us, Doctor.”

Mama is actually on two medications and was diagnosed with hypertension a few months ago. My irritation spikes to actual anger that Mama and Aunt Geneva have not been forthcoming about this, but I shelve that to be discussed once we’ve gotten through this crisis.

“Can you remember the last time you took your medications, Mrs. Barry?” Dr. Katz asks.

“Well, um.” Mama’s brow furrows and she licks her lips several times in a row. I don’t want her to become agitated because she can’t recall.

“I believe it could be as much as three days,” I tell him. “My aunt, who lives with Mama, had surgery three days ago. She mentioned that she usually helps monitor the medications and was out of it and groggy since surgery and hasn’t checked.”

“I don’t need Geneva monitoring nothing.” Mama’s voice pops like a whip in sudden irritation. “I can manage it myself.”

I don’t point out that we would not be here if that were the case, but Dr. Katz and I exchange a meaningful look.

“You’re also dehydrated,” Dr. Katz continues. “And there are signs of malnutrition.”

“Malnutrition?” I gasp. “What? Mama, you’ve been eating, haven’t you? I’ve seen you eat.”

Mama glances down and traces the ribboned edge of her blanket. “Of course.”

But has she been eatingenough? Mama’s been in her room so much while I was in meetings all day. I should have paid closer attention to her diet. Mr. Bell said his father-in-law had to be tube fed at one point because he wouldn’t eat. Several families in my online support group reported the same thing. The idea of this happening to my mother brings home the severity of our situation, how complex this diagnosis makes life. Not just the diagnosis itself, but all the capillaries that flow from this disease. I’m so ill-equipped. I’ve been negligent. Inattentive. I should have… I wish I had… Why didn’t I…?

I set a clamp over the guilty thoughts attacking me. Those feelings cramping my belly and squeezing my heart are for later. Right now is about Mama.

“This is something to help you sleep,” Dr. Katz offers as the nurse comes in and gives Mama a pill and some water. “You need your rest.”

When he leaves, I help Mama find the channel for her stories and where to watch the game shows.

“Thank you, Hen,” Mama says, studying the remote in her hand. “I’m sorry about all of this.”

“You got nothing to be sorry about.” I sit on the bed beside her and take her hand in mine. “We had a scare. A bad day, but it’ll be okay.”

She huffs and drops her eyes to our clasped hands.

“My life feels like one long bad day lately.” She looks at me and her eyes are as clear as I’ve seen them in a long time, despite today’s panic. “Imagine waking up and not knowing what day it is. Or where you are.”

My breath catches at this rare glimpse into how Mama is processing everything. She never talks about it. I keep quiet, afraid anything I say will slam shut the door she’s cracking open.

---