Read Online Slow Dancing with a Stranger by Meryl Comer - Free Book Online Page B

because nothing is wrong with me and I just want to get back to work. Let’s get this over quick,” retorted Harvey.
    Nothing in this hospital felt familiar except that sudden flash of Harvey’s flickering personality. For a brief moment, he almost sounded like his old self. I wondered if I should take him home. The only thing that stopped me was the realization that, even if I did, it would only be a matter of time before we had to return.

FOUR
OUT OF REACH
    I t was 6:00 A . M . the next day. I had promised Harvey that I would be at the hospital when he woke up, even if it was unlikely he would remember.
    There was no one at the nursing station when I arrived, and the cleaning crew paid no attention when, against rules, I slipped into Harvey’s room. There he was, sitting slumped on the edge of the bed staring strangely past me. His eyes were glazed. His words came out garbled and slurred. It was clear to me that he had been drugged.
    What had happened in those twelve hours when I wasn’t by his side?
    What trouble had he gotten into? Had he assaulted someone?
    Why hadn’t they called me?
    My mind raced with questions. I felt panic and guilt rising that I had left him at the hospital. “Love, do you know who I am?” I asked. Hoping to wake him from his stupor, I held out a cup of his favorite espresso roast coffee I had brought from home.
    Nothing. He mumbled but said nothing intelligible. I took his face in my hands and looked directly into eyes that appeared not to see me. “I’m Meryl. I’m your wife, and you are safe. Can you say, ‘Meryl’?” Again, only garbled and disconnected words came back to me. In the admission meeting, I had requested that I be allowed to stay overnight to ease Harvey’s transition to a place away from home. The doctor had refused, saying it was against rules and there were no exceptions.
    I helped Harvey back into bed, and then went searching for answers. The attending physician had just left the floor and the head nurse was in conference, so I stationed myself in front of the nursing station, refusing to move. I demanded to see Harvey’s chart but was told it was under review and not available. Finally, a nurse stepped out of the morning rounds meeting to deal with me.
    â€œI brought an anxious man into this world-class hospital to be evaluated, and overnight you’ve turned him into a zombie,” I told the nurse. “What happened? I want to see my husband’s chart immediately so I can report back to his neurologist and primary care physician.” The nurse promised to get a doctor to speak with me after the morning meeting. I left the door to Harvey’s room ajar so I could see if he got out of bed and still be front and center when the meeting adjourned. This time, I wasn’t going anywhere.
    â€œHaldol—it’s an old-line antipsychotic we regularly use to manage aggressive behaviors in dementia patients in case they act up. It was given by the night nurse as a precaution,” explained the doctor.
    The words “in case he acted up” screamed in my head. “Was my husband’s behavior in any way aggressive toward the nurse? Did she feel threatened?” I asked suspiciously. Harvey had been given anti-anxiety medicine before to take the edge off his behavior but nothing this powerful, nothing with this kind of adverse reaction.
    The doctor took his time reviewing the chart before he answered. “The night nurse must have noticed on the admission form that Dr. Gralnick had a history of management issues and ordered a dose of Haldol every four hours as a pro re nata. He is due for another dose soon.”
    â€œHave you seen what it has done to my husband?” I said, struggling to get my emotions under control. “He can’t speak intelligibly, stand up straight, or walk without listing to one side. Please check him. I am worried that something has gone terribly