Read Online Waking Up in Dixie by Haywood Smith - Free Book Online

and Garden Club and Sewing Club and Rotary members. And P.J., who seemed surprisingly concerned that Howe might not wake up, which seemed odd to Elizabeth, considering P.J.’s recent declaration of love.
    Elizabeth told him, and everyone else, the same thing: Howe was holding his own, and they just had to wait for him to wake up.
    Faithful servants Pearl and Thomas packed for the four of them and brought their things, then stood weeping quietly by Howe’s bed before returning to watch over the houses back in Whittington.
    But as the days wore on and Howe remained in his coma, the concerned calls and flowers slacked off, and Elizabeth took the doctor’s advice and got them rooms at a nearby hotel. Augusta kept vigil on Wednesdays and Thursday nights. Charles took Tuesdays; Patricia took Sundays and Mondays, and Elizabeth sat up on Fridays and Saturdays. Their nights off were short, and the days at the hospital stretched longer and longer, but still, they saw no change.
    And so their worlds were reduced to a small waiting room and one visit an hour beside a narrow bed in a tiny curtained space where the body of her husband lay.
    Elizabeth did her best to distract herself and the children in the times between: reading, doing crossword puzzles, teaching Patricia to knit, and playing cards. She brought small Christmas gifts and treats for the dedicated staff, and did everything she could to make their jobs easier, but before she knew it, Christmas had come and gone, and the doctors moved Howe to a regular room, where she and the children and Augusta could offer him more stimulation to try to help him wake up.
    After another two weeks passed with no change, the hospital social worker came in and said Howe needed to be moved to a long-term skilled-care facility.
    Augusta and Patricia went ballistic, but blessedly, Charles took them out of the room so Elizabeth could have some peace to digest the idea that her husband was being sent to a nursing home.
    “Did Dr. Clare order this?” she asked the woman.
    “No, ma’am. Mr. Whittington’s insurance did. They only pay for a certain number of days once he’s stable.” The woman wasgentle with her, but what she was saying spawned a wave of frustration inside Elizabeth. “It’s not just the insurance, though,” the woman went on. “We have a shortage of beds, and those we have are needed for acute care. Once a patient no longer meets that criteria, we need to make the bed available for someone who does.” She cocked her head in concern. “If you’d like, I could go over some of the options your insurance covers. There are many good facilities in the area. Or I could look into something closer to your home . . .”
    Elizabeth flashed on a vision of long halls peopled by figures slumped in wheelchairs, surrounded by the stifling reek of stale urine and unwashed bodies and bad food.
    “Mrs. Whittington?” the social worker said. “How can I help you best right now?”
    Elizabeth knew it wasn’t the woman’s fault. She was just doing her job. But still, she wanted to slap her. Wanted to throw a screaming hissy fit, right then and there. But she didn’t, because it might embarrass her children, and she’d vowed on the day they were born never to do so.
    “I . . . Could you please just come back tomorrow? I want to check on some things before I make a decision.” She would take him home. They had money for round-the-clock care. She could rent the equipment. Surely she could find someone to help out, some way to spare Howe the indignity of a nursing home.
    The social worker hesitated, then relented. “Very well. I’ll notify the financial office that you’re assuming the cost of his care for now. I’ll come back in the morning.”
    After she left, Elizabeth called Dr. Clare’s PA immediately, but both he and the doctor were in surgery, so she left a message. It wasn’t really an emergency.
    But how could she possibly make all the arrangements to transfer Howe to