Page 66 of The Big Easy & Other Lies
“Get down here, Camille. These idiots are trying to keep me here. I’m not staying. I want my car.” And then she hung up.
Since the faint hint of fall hung in the air, I pulled on a gray sweater dress, belted it with a gauzy purple scarf, and slipped into some Chucks. Five minutes after hanging up the phone I was out the door, already feeling far less worried. It wasn’t a great sign that the doctors wanted to keep her, but an ornery Delphine meant a recovering Delphine.
The information desk gave me her room number, and I walked in to find her scowling at the local morning news on TV.
“Took you long enough,” she snapped. “These nurses won’t give me my clothes. Go get them.”
I stifled a sigh and went to a desk where several nurses sat doing paperwork. I approached the most motherly-looking one. “Excuse me,” I said. “My aunt is ready to go. Can you tell me where her clothes are?”
“We don’t have anyone scheduled to check out until this afternoon.” She frowned and reached for a clipboard, flipping through a few papers. “Who is your aunt?”
“Delphine Riveau,” I mumbled.
Two more heads shot up, and the nurse in front of me lifted her eyebrows. “I see.” She set the clipboard down. “Dr. Jesker caught her case. He isn’t ready to release her yet.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand,” I said. “And believe me, I’d rather she stayed here.”
A smile tugged at her lips.
“But if she wants to leave, she’ll find a way to do it.” I shrugged apologetically. “I don’t know how to stop her.”
“Her heart will stop her,” the nurse said, irritation lacing her voice. “I’m calling the doctor. I think he’s on rounds, anyway.” She waved me toward a cluster of three chairs opposite the desk. “Sit tight, sweetie. We’ll work this out.”
A few minutes later, a tall, middle-aged man walked up. “You’re Delphine Riveau’s niece?”
“Yes.” His name tag read “Dr. Jesker,” so when he waved for me to follow him, I did. Delphine looked even angrier than she did the first time I walked in.
“I’m leaving,” she said, the mutinous line of her mouth straight and unwavering.
“Mrs. Riveau, you can’t. You have diabetic ketoacidosis. You can go into a coma and die if you don’t let us stabilize you. This isn’t something that will blow over, and we need to keep you here for monitoring.”
“No.”
Dr. Jesker tried again, explaining to her in stark, unflinching detail the terrible things that could happen to her if she left against medical advice, up to and including death from stroke. She glared at him through the whole speech.
“I’m going home,” she said. “If you try to keep me here, I’ll call the police.” She tugged the lead to her heart monitor, and it beeped a warning.
Dr. Jesker sighed and leaned over to turn it off. “This is serious, Mrs. Riveau. I can’t impress that upon you enough. It’s going to take time to balance your medications and figure out the correct insulin dosage. Please let us help you.”
“Call the police, Camille.”
My heart dropped at being dragged into this, and I shot the doctor a pleading glance. I had no idea what to do.
He returned my look with a long, measured one of his own. “Will you be able to take care of her if we send her home?”
No! “Yes.” I said it knowing that Delphine would give me hell for any other answer.
“Fine, Mrs. Riveau. If you’ll agree to meet with our diabetes counselor and get the basic overview of your disease from her, then I won’t fight to keep you here anymore. I’ll release you with a detailed list of what to watch for and which symptoms are urgent enough that you should come back in.”
“No. The longer I stay, the more I have to pay the hospital.”
“The counseling is free, and we’ll register your check out immediately on the condition you meet with the counselor before leaving.”
Delphine wavered.
“I believe your life depends on it,” Dr. Jesker said.
She nodded, a creaky, reluctant gesture. He returned it and left. I followed him out.
