I arrived at the hospital with a sense of De Ja Vu. I had done this so many times before and each time it left me with a headache, sick to my stomach and angry all over again at the situation my life is in through no fault of my own. I usually wasn’t one to feel sorry for myself, but my time with Aiden recently had shown me another whole side to life and that had made this one that much bleaker.
I went to the admission counter and told the woman who I was and who I was here to see. A few moments later a woman a little older than me in a nice business suit and heels came out to greet me.
“Holly?”
“Yes, Miss Baxter?”
“Yes, please, call me Bridgette. Do you mind if we go talk before you see your mother?”
“No, that’s fine. She’s okay?”
“She will be,” Bridgette said. I followed her down a long corridor and into an office that said her name and LCSW on the door. She was a licensed clinical social worker. I couldn’t help but wonder what I might be if I’d had the chance to go to college. I had the grades, I probably could have easily gotten a scholarship if I’d applied…but my dad was sick and someone had to take care of my mother.
I took the seat Bridgette offered me and before we began talking a middle-aged man in a white lab coat joined us. Bridgette introduced him as Dr. Easton. He was the doctor caring for my mother.
After exchanging pleasantries he said, “Miss Valentine, your mother was apparently found by a friend of hers, passed out in her front yard. She’d been drinking, I’d say from the blood alcohol level for at least twenty four hours.”
I thought of myself at the spa and at dinner and then the opera. I’d left her alone, was I to blame for this? The doctor was still talking and I made myself focus and listen.
“Her blood alcohol level was three times the legal limit. We had to give her several bags of electrolytes and fluids due to her severe dehydration. I’ve ran lab tests and a CT of her abdomen and although I spoke to her already, I feel compelled to speak to you as well and she’s given us permission to do that. Her liver is barely functioning. Her body is beginning to build up toxins that her liver should be filtering out. She has varices in her esophagus; do you know what that is?”
“Broken veins?” I asked.
“Yes, basically. They come from long-term and repeated use of alcohol. They can cause internal bleeding and lead to all kinds of other life-threatening issues. She has a severe ulcer and from her labs it appears that she hasn’t been eating well at all because her nutritional state is so poor. Her blood glucose however, likely from the alcohol intake, was alarmingly high. We will need to test her for diabetes, and if she doesn’t have it now, it’s likely she will in the near future if she keeps going at this rate. She has other physical issues as well, all related to long term excessive use of alcohol. Her blood pressure is unstable, she may have an arrhythmia…I can have the nurses get you some printed information on all of them. The bottom line however is that if she doesn’t stop drinking, the next time this happens she might be found dead. She won’t be around long at this rate. ”
My mind was reeling. I of course knew my mother wasn’t healthy. She was too thin and her skin always looked bad. If I wasn’t mistaken, she’d also started losing some of her hair. Her teeth were almost all rotten and she refuses to go to the dentist. She was a mess and I knew it, I just hadn’t been aware how bad off she really was until now. I suppose I hadn’t thought of how that poison she insisted on using in copious amounts was destroying her insides as well.
“So what do we need to do for her?”
“Medically, I can prescribe some medications and dietary supplements for her to treat the symptoms, but she’s going to have to stop drinking or nothing is going to help her for very long. I have to get back on the floor. I’ll let Bridgette go over the rest with you. She’ll give you my office number before you go in case you think of any questions.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I told him.
“You’re welcome Miss Valentine. I’m sorry to be the bearer of such grave news.” It was bound to happen. On really bad days every time the phone rings I think this is going to be the news, or worse.
Once he’d left Bridgette said, “Dr. Easton and I had a talk with your mother about all we just went over with you. She agreed that she needed to stop drinking but expressed that she was sure she wouldn’t be able to do it on her own. She tells me that she’s been through rehab before, but that it would be hard for you to pay for it now. I’ve done a little research and I’ve found three rehab centers in the area that take her insurance as long as the share of cost is taken care of.”
My mother had Medicaid, but because of a small pension check she gets every month from my father and the home she now owns since his death, they gave her a high share of cost. An ER visit usually runs me around $2000.00 and that’s just our part. I can only imagine what rehab was going to cost on top of the bill she had already racked up here. Bridgette didn’t look like a woman who often worried about money.
I heard myself saying, “Whatever we need to do to get her help,” and then I started trying to figure out in my head how “we” were going to do that. The only solution I could come up with was accepting Aiden’s offer. I couldn’t see any other way out. If I didn’t, I’d be drowning in the medical bills my entire life.
“Would you like to see her now?” Bridgette asked me. I wanted to say no. I was angry with her, hurt, disgusted…but as usual I didn’t.
“Sure, thanks.”