Read Online Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 05 - Mother Hubbard Has a Corpse in the Cupboard by Fran Rizer - Free Book Online
Authors: Fran Rizer
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hip is broken and it hurts. Last night, you people gave her so much medicine that she almost died. Are you telling me that today you can’t even keep her comfortable?”
“Mrs. Profit didn’t almost die last night. It’s hard to determine dosage with elderly patients. That’s why we watch them so carefully. We were aware when she became unresponsive, and we took care of it.”
Rizzie stepped toward the nurse, and for a moment, I thought she was going to hit her. Rizzie is long-legged and tall. The nurse was short and petite. I moved closer to my friend and put my hand on her arm. “Rizzie, the nurse can’t decide how much medicine Maum gets or how often. Last night, it was too high. This morning, it’s too low. All the nurse can do is call the doctor to see if they can adjust Maum’s pain meds.”
I’m sure the nurse had been startled by Rizzie’s size and the threat in her voice, or she would have suggested something herself. She seemed relieved to hurry from the room while assuring us, “I’ll call Mrs. Profit’s doctor.”
Rizzie burst into tears as Maum opened her eyes. “Don’t cry, Teresa,” the grandmother said. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember? You fell late yesterday afternoon at the restaurant. Now you’re at Healing Heart Medical Center.
Maum looked up at me and held up her left hand. She spread her fingers out as much as the wrist brace allowed. “I need my nails done, Callie.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll give you a manicure and a pedicure as soon as your hip is repaired, but before then, I’ll trim and buff your nails.” I knew the hospital wouldn’t want her nails painted bright red during her surgery—something to do with anesthetic. Unlike Rizzie, I was confident the doctors wouldn’t just leave Maum with a broken hip. I don’t know what I thought they would do if her heart didn’t respond to the treatment—maybe put in a pacemaker—but I didn’t think they’d just let an elderly lady lie in bed with a broken hip.
Her dark brown, almost black, eyes widened, and Maum asked, “What do you mean ‘repair’ my hip? Is that why it hurts so bad?”
I left that for Rizzie to answer. It hadn’t occurred to me that Maum wouldn’t be aware of the break.
“Maum,” Rizzie said, “the doctors think you fell because your heart wasn’t beating regularly. They’ve started you on treatment to make it right, but the X-ray shows your hip and wrist are broken. The brace will be okay for your arm, but you need surgery for your hip.”
“I’ve never been in a hospital before.” I hadn’t thought about that, but Maum had spent her whole life on Surcie Island until Rizzie needed her at Gastric Gullah. “I had my babies at the house,” she continued, “and the home remedies helped me when I was sick. I don’t think I want anyone cutting on me.”
The few tears she’d been shedding multiplied into a waterfall, and I have no idea what Rizzie would have said if the nurse hadn’t come in at that moment with a liquid-filled hypodermic.
“On a scale of one to ten,” she asked, “how would you rate your pain?”
Maum looked at her like the question was outrageous. “It hurts,” she said. “It hurts.”
“Put eight or nine,” Rizzie said. “Maum is a strong, staunch lady. She doesn’t complain about anything minor.
The nurse injected the fluid into Maum’s IV, and almost instantly, Maum’s eyes closed. She seemed asleep.
Sometimes my mouth has a mind of its own, and I can’t control it. Right then, I didn’t know what to say. Maum was the matriarch of Rizzie’s world. Maum made very few demands or requests, but we all followed her instructions. What if she refused the surgery? There I was, doing my exercise by jumping to conclusions like Magdalena in Tamar Myers’s books. We would just have to convince Maum that the operation was unavoidable. Then again, there was always that magical syringe and needle.
A gentle knock on the door. I looked up, hoping
“Mrs. Profit didn’t almost die last night. It’s hard to determine dosage with elderly patients. That’s why we watch them so carefully. We were aware when she became unresponsive, and we took care of it.”
Rizzie stepped toward the nurse, and for a moment, I thought she was going to hit her. Rizzie is long-legged and tall. The nurse was short and petite. I moved closer to my friend and put my hand on her arm. “Rizzie, the nurse can’t decide how much medicine Maum gets or how often. Last night, it was too high. This morning, it’s too low. All the nurse can do is call the doctor to see if they can adjust Maum’s pain meds.”
I’m sure the nurse had been startled by Rizzie’s size and the threat in her voice, or she would have suggested something herself. She seemed relieved to hurry from the room while assuring us, “I’ll call Mrs. Profit’s doctor.”
Rizzie burst into tears as Maum opened her eyes. “Don’t cry, Teresa,” the grandmother said. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember? You fell late yesterday afternoon at the restaurant. Now you’re at Healing Heart Medical Center.
Maum looked up at me and held up her left hand. She spread her fingers out as much as the wrist brace allowed. “I need my nails done, Callie.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll give you a manicure and a pedicure as soon as your hip is repaired, but before then, I’ll trim and buff your nails.” I knew the hospital wouldn’t want her nails painted bright red during her surgery—something to do with anesthetic. Unlike Rizzie, I was confident the doctors wouldn’t just leave Maum with a broken hip. I don’t know what I thought they would do if her heart didn’t respond to the treatment—maybe put in a pacemaker—but I didn’t think they’d just let an elderly lady lie in bed with a broken hip.
Her dark brown, almost black, eyes widened, and Maum asked, “What do you mean ‘repair’ my hip? Is that why it hurts so bad?”
I left that for Rizzie to answer. It hadn’t occurred to me that Maum wouldn’t be aware of the break.
“Maum,” Rizzie said, “the doctors think you fell because your heart wasn’t beating regularly. They’ve started you on treatment to make it right, but the X-ray shows your hip and wrist are broken. The brace will be okay for your arm, but you need surgery for your hip.”
“I’ve never been in a hospital before.” I hadn’t thought about that, but Maum had spent her whole life on Surcie Island until Rizzie needed her at Gastric Gullah. “I had my babies at the house,” she continued, “and the home remedies helped me when I was sick. I don’t think I want anyone cutting on me.”
The few tears she’d been shedding multiplied into a waterfall, and I have no idea what Rizzie would have said if the nurse hadn’t come in at that moment with a liquid-filled hypodermic.
“On a scale of one to ten,” she asked, “how would you rate your pain?”
Maum looked at her like the question was outrageous. “It hurts,” she said. “It hurts.”
“Put eight or nine,” Rizzie said. “Maum is a strong, staunch lady. She doesn’t complain about anything minor.
The nurse injected the fluid into Maum’s IV, and almost instantly, Maum’s eyes closed. She seemed asleep.
Sometimes my mouth has a mind of its own, and I can’t control it. Right then, I didn’t know what to say. Maum was the matriarch of Rizzie’s world. Maum made very few demands or requests, but we all followed her instructions. What if she refused the surgery? There I was, doing my exercise by jumping to conclusions like Magdalena in Tamar Myers’s books. We would just have to convince Maum that the operation was unavoidable. Then again, there was always that magical syringe and needle.
A gentle knock on the door. I looked up, hoping
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