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Authors: Marcia Talley
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anywhere from six to forty-eight hours hemay begin to experience ethanol withdrawal. This can lead to seizures, hallucinations, delusions, vomiting …”
“D.t.’s?” I interrupted.
“Exactly. These tests I’m ordering will determine that risk, and then we will know how to treat him.”
I studied Dr. Wainwright’s earnest, caring face and remembered walking around for weeks with a lump in my breast and the wave of despair that washed over me when the very diagnosis I had feared turned out to be confirmed. Cancer . For months now, I’d worried about Daddy’s drinking. Wondered if he’d crossed that fine line between drinking when he wanted to and drinking because he had to. Alcoholism . Before long, we’d know.
“Can we see him now?” Ruth asked.
“Of course. Follow me.”
Dr. Wainwright led us to a large room that was separated into cubicles by curtains hung from ceiling tracks. Daddy lay on a gurney in the cube nearest the door. A large white bandage covered his scalp and forehead and an IV tube drained into his arm. Nearby, a cardiac monitor quietly bleeped.
“Daddy?”
I approached the gurney.
“Daddy?”
Daddy’s eyes opened slowly. He shook his head and blinked several times as if trying to clear out the cobwebs and focus on my face. “Hannah?”
“Yes, it’s me. And Ruth and Paul.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“Oh, Daddy!” I began to weep again.
Paul laid his hand on my father’s. “Lois is dead, George, remember? She died last spring.”
Daddy squeezed his eyes closed, as if to shut out this unwelcome news. He turned his head toward the wall.
“Daddy?” Ruth took a cautious step forward.
Daddy heaved a shuddering sigh, then reached up to touch the bandage on his forehead. “What happened?”
“You ran into a truck.”
His eyes flew open. “I don’t remember running into a truck.”
“Take your time.” Paul was reassuring. “It will come to you.”
Daddy’s fingers explored the perimeter of his bandage for a few long seconds, then suddenly he sat up, supporting himself unsteadily on one elbow. “Darlene!”
Paul put one hand on my father’s chest and another on his back and helped him lie back down. “Don’t worry, George. You were alone at the time. You must have been driving home from Chestertown.”
Daddy scraped the back of his hand over the dark stubble that covered his chin. “I remember crossing Kent Narrows, but nothing after that.”
“It’s the concussion, Daddy,” I said. “The doctor says they’re going to keep you for a few days. Make sure you have no internal injuries.”
“Does Darlene know?”
Ruth made a sour face. “I’ll call her. Don’t worry.”
Daddy lowered his head and seemed to notice the disordered state of his clothing for the first time. Several buttons were missing from his blue oxford cloth shirt, which lay open, exposing a torn undershirt. He picked absentmindedly at some dried spots of blood that stained his shirt. “I’m a mess.”
I had to agree. “You sure are, but I’ll bring you someclean clothes later this morning. In the meantime, I’m sure they’ll have some cute little hospital gown you can put on.”
“You betchum.” The comment came from a nurse who suddenly appeared in the doorway with a green-shirted orderly in tow. “Yves Saint Laurent, Calvin Klein, you name it. We got ’em all.” She positioned herself at the head of the gurney. “We’re taking him to X ray now. Check back in a few hours for his room number.”
I ran my hand over Daddy’s short, wiry hair, and kissed his cheek. “Rest easy, Daddy.”
The three of us stood there, watching, as the gurney with our father on it was trundled out of the room and down a long hallway. We watched, not speaking, until it disappeared through the door marked “Radiology.”
“It’s morning,” said Ruth, “and I’m hungry.”
But I was hardly paying attention. When I’d bent down to kiss my father, even the odor of the antiseptic
“D.t.’s?” I interrupted.
“Exactly. These tests I’m ordering will determine that risk, and then we will know how to treat him.”
I studied Dr. Wainwright’s earnest, caring face and remembered walking around for weeks with a lump in my breast and the wave of despair that washed over me when the very diagnosis I had feared turned out to be confirmed. Cancer . For months now, I’d worried about Daddy’s drinking. Wondered if he’d crossed that fine line between drinking when he wanted to and drinking because he had to. Alcoholism . Before long, we’d know.
“Can we see him now?” Ruth asked.
“Of course. Follow me.”
Dr. Wainwright led us to a large room that was separated into cubicles by curtains hung from ceiling tracks. Daddy lay on a gurney in the cube nearest the door. A large white bandage covered his scalp and forehead and an IV tube drained into his arm. Nearby, a cardiac monitor quietly bleeped.
“Daddy?”
I approached the gurney.
“Daddy?”
Daddy’s eyes opened slowly. He shook his head and blinked several times as if trying to clear out the cobwebs and focus on my face. “Hannah?”
“Yes, it’s me. And Ruth and Paul.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“Oh, Daddy!” I began to weep again.
Paul laid his hand on my father’s. “Lois is dead, George, remember? She died last spring.”
Daddy squeezed his eyes closed, as if to shut out this unwelcome news. He turned his head toward the wall.
“Daddy?” Ruth took a cautious step forward.
Daddy heaved a shuddering sigh, then reached up to touch the bandage on his forehead. “What happened?”
“You ran into a truck.”
His eyes flew open. “I don’t remember running into a truck.”
“Take your time.” Paul was reassuring. “It will come to you.”
Daddy’s fingers explored the perimeter of his bandage for a few long seconds, then suddenly he sat up, supporting himself unsteadily on one elbow. “Darlene!”
Paul put one hand on my father’s chest and another on his back and helped him lie back down. “Don’t worry, George. You were alone at the time. You must have been driving home from Chestertown.”
Daddy scraped the back of his hand over the dark stubble that covered his chin. “I remember crossing Kent Narrows, but nothing after that.”
“It’s the concussion, Daddy,” I said. “The doctor says they’re going to keep you for a few days. Make sure you have no internal injuries.”
“Does Darlene know?”
Ruth made a sour face. “I’ll call her. Don’t worry.”
Daddy lowered his head and seemed to notice the disordered state of his clothing for the first time. Several buttons were missing from his blue oxford cloth shirt, which lay open, exposing a torn undershirt. He picked absentmindedly at some dried spots of blood that stained his shirt. “I’m a mess.”
I had to agree. “You sure are, but I’ll bring you someclean clothes later this morning. In the meantime, I’m sure they’ll have some cute little hospital gown you can put on.”
“You betchum.” The comment came from a nurse who suddenly appeared in the doorway with a green-shirted orderly in tow. “Yves Saint Laurent, Calvin Klein, you name it. We got ’em all.” She positioned herself at the head of the gurney. “We’re taking him to X ray now. Check back in a few hours for his room number.”
I ran my hand over Daddy’s short, wiry hair, and kissed his cheek. “Rest easy, Daddy.”
The three of us stood there, watching, as the gurney with our father on it was trundled out of the room and down a long hallway. We watched, not speaking, until it disappeared through the door marked “Radiology.”
“It’s morning,” said Ruth, “and I’m hungry.”
But I was hardly paying attention. When I’d bent down to kiss my father, even the odor of the antiseptic
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