Page 12 of The Grump's Assistant

Entering the living room, I set the tray down on the side table next to her and hand my mom the water bottle first.

“Drink up,” I encourage, standing in front of her until she complies.

My mom can be a stubborn woman, but she usually goes along with my demands about her health. Her hand reaches out, all skin and bones, trembling as she grasps the bottle.

“Mom?” I ask, watching her face flush red and then turn ghostly pale.

I watch in horror as her eyes roll into the back of her head and her muscles tense, growing rigid. The next second, my mother contorts and shakes, throwing the water bottle and knocking the tray to the ground as a seizure grips her body.

My brain blanks for a moment, frozen with fear as I stare at my mother in shock. And then the research kicks in. I have stacks and stacks of books and printed off articles on every aspect of lymphoma. Seizures aren’t a common symptom, but can be if the cancer has spread to her brain.

But I can’t think about that right now.

I clear the area surrounding her, making sure the lamp and table are out of her reach. Then, I roll her onto her side, keeping her airway open, even as she jerks and spasms. I remember reading that you shouldn’t put anything in a seizing person’s mouth, and it’s a myth that they can swallow their tongue. They can bite you, however.

Helpless, I watch her tremor and drool, tears streaming down both of our faces. It only lasts thirty seconds, but it feels like hours. The jerky movements stop and I fall to my knees next to her, holding my mother’s hands.

She blinks unevenly, confusion coloring her features. “Ju-Jun-per? Wh-what’s happening?”

“You’re okay now,” I say in a shaky voice. Pushing through my fear, I swallow the lump in my throat and put on a brave face. She doesn’t need me to fall apart right now. She needs me to be strong and take control. I wish I had someone to be strong for me. Someone to share the burden, to tell me I’m okay.

There’s no use in dwelling on that now, however.

“You had a seizure,” I tell her in a calming voice. “But it’s over now. I’ll call your doctor and?—”

“No,” she protests, her tone fierce and final, even though she’s having trouble catching her breath.

“Mom…”

“Juniper…”

“It’s just a phone call.”

“We both know he’ll want to see me. You can’t miss work. We can make an appointment for next week.” She nods her head as if it’s a done deal. “Sorry about the smoothie, honey. I’m going to rest my eyes for a bit and then I’ll make a new one. You go get ready for work. You’ll be late enough as it is.”

I heave out a sigh and shake my head no. “If you think I’m going to work today after witnessing you having a seizure, you’re crazier than I thought,” I mutter. The image of her frail and fragile body convulsing uncontrollably will forever be burned into my brain, but I suppress the fear. I can fall apart later. Right now, I need to get my stubborn mother to the hospital, whether she likes it or not.

It takes a stern talking to from Dr. Wilson over the phone, as well as a promise from me to make chicken pot pie when we get home to finally get my mother out the door. She insisted on getting dressed, telling me she had on her least favorite pajamas. I wanted to protest, but I have to pick my battles with her sometimes. Besides, I knew she wasn’t really trying to be difficult. My mom wants to maintain some dignity, and with an illness that strips her of so much, I can at least give her that.

Two hours later, I’m still in the waiting room, waiting on Mom to get back from another round of tests. I dreaded calling into work for a personal day, but the lady I talked to in HR was very understanding. Her voice only trembled a little bit when I mentioned that I report directly to Mr. Sloan. She gave me her sympathies, though I’m not sure if it was mostly for my mom or for having to deal with the beastly Vincent when I return.

“Ms. Leigh?”

I look up and see Dr. Wilson standing by the check-in desk, holding my mom’s chart. I take a cleansing breath and stand up on shaky legs.

“How is she? Can I see her?”

“Of course. You two can go home today after a few more tests. There wasn’t any permanent damage, though I know it must have been scary for both of you.” I nod, barely holding back tears. I’m trying to be numb to it all until I can curl up in bed and sob into my pillow. “You did good, Juniper. Your mother said you rolled her on her side and gently brought her back when she regained consciousness.”

“I didn’t hurt her or anything? She knocked over a tray with glasses and plates on it. Did she cut herself or?—”

“Juniper,” Dr. Wilson says, placing his hand on my shoulder. He’s close to retirement age and has always been gentle and supportive, like a surrogate grandfather. He smiles, the wrinkles around his eyes creasing and making him look soft and kind. “You were exactly what she needed. And now, it’s time for me to step in. I’d like to discuss chemotherapy instead of radiation, but I have a feeling I’ll need your help convincing your mother.”

I let his words sink in, the last of my energy leaving me as I nod. If he’s suggesting chemo, it must be spreading faster than we originally thought. “I’ll do my best,” I promise him.

Four hours, three tests, and one heated discussion later, I have Mom loaded up in our beat-up old Honda, which we only use on occasion to save on gas money. We ride in silence, the air thick with tension. Her arms are crossed over her chest as she stares out the window. I blink back tears, telling myself to keep it together just a little bit longer.

My mom was, predictably, upset about the mention of chemo. I have no idea what it’s like going through cancer, and I can’t imagine having your best option for survival be to pumpyour body full of poison, but I also can’t imagine life without my mother. I need her to get better.

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