Selling My Soul Page 13

  When I rang her doorbell, it took her forever to get to the door. I was about to go fish my key to her house out of my messy glove compartment when she finally opened the door.

  “Hey, Tree . . . come on in . . . boy you got here . . . quick. You musta . . . been flying.” She snatched a quick breath every few words.

  “Moms, what in the world is wrong with you? You can’t even breathe.”

  She waved a hand and tried to pretend like nothing was wrong, but we had to stop twice for her to catch her breath just to get to the kitchen table. “Just feeling a . . . little winded for . . . some reason.”

  “Well, whatever the reason, it can’t be good. I’m taking you to the hospital. Now.”

  “Aw, Tree. It ain’t that serious.”

  I could tell she had tried to force out that whole sentence without taking a breath to prove to me that she was okay. It was apparently too much because she went into a coughing/choking /gasping fit that left me terrified. I grabbed her purse and jacket, locked a firm hand around her thin arm and pulled her toward the door. “Let’s go, Moms. Which hospital are you being treated at? University of Maryland?”

  “I ain’t going . . . to no hospital, Tree . . . they can check me out . . . tomorrow when I go . . . for chemo.” Another coughing and gasping fit doubled her over. When she stood back up, I stared at her face. It kind of looked like the area around her mouth was turning blue.

  “Moms, you’re going to the hospital. Either you follow me to the car or I’ll pick you up and carry you. Which is it gonna be?”

  She folded her arms and glared at me. I bent over, grabbed her around the waist and was about to put her over my shoulder.

  “Okay . . .” she gasped. “Girl, you . . . better be glad . . . I can’t breathe . . . otherwise I’d be . . . putting you over . . . my knee. You done . . . got too grown . . . for your own good.”

  “Moms, that’s enough. Don’t try to talk anymore.” I pulled her down the walk and put her in the front seat of my car. I hurried around to the driver side and got in.

  “Oh, now . . . you trying . . . to shut . . . me up?” She was breathing too fast from our rush down the sidewalk to the car. I should have carried her like I threatened to.

  “Moms, please. Just be quiet and breathe. Okay?” I turned to look at her while starting up the car. “Please.”

  She nodded and sat there gasping for air.

  Thankfully, University of Maryland wasn’t too far. I parked in the emergency room entrance and ran inside to get some help. “Can I get someone to help me with a wheelchair? My mom has lung cancer and she can hardly breathe,” I hysterically announced to anyone who would listen.

  A young, black man in scrubs grabbed a wheelchair and followed me out to the car. I didn’t have to strain to see this time. Moms was definitely turning blue. She didn’t have the strength to argue when he gently, but swiftly lifted her in his arms and placed her in the wheelchair. He pushed her, almost running, into the emergency room entrance. I started running after him, but he called over his shoulder, “You better move your car, ma’am. I’ll take good care of her. I promise.”

  It seemed to take forever to get myself to the parking garage across the street, and then back over to the emergency room. When I walked in, the gentleman who had wheeled Moms in was waiting for me with a young, black woman in scrubs.

  She must have seen the panic on my face and began to speak as soon I got over to where she was. “Your mother has been taken back to X-ray. Her oxygen saturation was low, but it came up some when we put the oxygen on her. We’re moving quickly to figure out what happened. When the doctor listened to her, it sounded like her lungs were filled up with fluid. If that’s the case, then the surgeon is standing by waiting to do a procedure to take some of the fluid off her lungs. If her oxygen saturation doesn’t come up, she may need to be intubated—have a tube put down her throat—to help her breathe.”

  She led me over to a more private area of the waiting room and sat down with me. “I’ve called medical records for your mother’s file, but I need to ask, do you know your mother’s DNR status?”

  I sat there breathing for a second, trying to catch my breath from the run from the parking lot and from all the information she had given me. “Her what?”

  She frowned as if I should know what she was talking about. “Umm, with most cancer patients, early in the treatment, the oncologist—cancer doctor—discusses with them what they would want to happen in case of an emergency such as this one. If your mother were to stop breathing, do you know if she would want us to do everything to keep her alive including putting the breathing tube in, pounding on her chest, and shocking her if need be?”

  My eyes widened, and my mouth seemed stuck open. I couldn’t believe she was asking me all this stuff.

  “Ma’am, I know that it seems like a difficult question for me to ask at such a critical time, but we wouldn’t want to do anything against your mother’s wishes.”

  I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around what this heartless woman was asking me. “I don’t know . . . we haven’t talked about that at all.”

  She placed a hand on mine. “Ma’am, as I said, I don’t mean to be cruel. With terminal patients, it’s a very important discussion that needs to happen. Ideally, not during a medical crisis. Are you her next of kin?”

  I nodded, shaken up by her use of the words “terminal” and “next of kin.”

  She squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry, but if something happens and your mother is not able to communicate with us, you’re going to be the one that has to make that decision.”

  I furrowed my eyebrows. She couldn’t be serious. “Well, why don’t you get back there and help her so I don’t have to make that decision.”

  She let out a deep breath and pulled her hand away from mine, obviously frustrated that her attempt at a “therapeutic conversation” hadn’t worked.

  The person sitting behind the big desk at the emergency room entrance called over to us. “Nancy, her chart is on the way down from medical records.”

  Nurse Nancy nodded and turned back to me. “Hopefully she and her doctor have discussed this and there’s something on the chart. I’ll go back and check and see what’s going on with your mom. Okay?”

  She got up and walked past the main desk and through a set of double doors. I fumbled through my purse for my cell phone and dialed Tiffany’s number. After a few rings, it went to voice mail. She was probably still mad from our argument on Friday. She had locked herself in her room all day Saturday, and then went out that night. She wasn’t back before I left for church that morning.

  After the beep, I said, “Tiffany, it’s Trina. I’m at the hospital in Baltimore with Moms. She’s real bad sick and . . .” I almost said the doctors and nurses were acting like she was gonna die, but that would freak Tiffany out too bad. Instead, I said, “You need to get a ride and get up here as soon as you can, okay? Love you.”

  Next I dialed Monica’s cell number. After a few rings, hers went to voice mail as well. Was the whole world mad at me? After the beep, I said, “Monnie, please call me. I just brought Moms to the emergency room. She couldn’t breathe and turned blue on me. She looks really bad. I need to talk to you. Please . . .” My voice broke, and I hung up before I started crying on her voice mail.

  I sat there fidgeting for a second, wiped the few tears that had slipped down my face, then flipped open the phone to make one last call. This time I got an answer. It was Zembala at the mission base in Pemba. “Zem, it’s Trina. I need you to get a message to Gabriel. Tell him . . . tell him I need him.”

  Eighteen

  After about ten minutes, the nurse came back out through the double doors. I rose and rushed to meet her. She led me back over to our private corner in the waiting room. “Your mom just came out of X-ray. As we suspected, she does have a pleural effusion, or fluid on the lung. It’s actually on both of her lungs. That’s why she couldn’t get any air. The surgeon is getting ready to tap her no
w, and I promise she’ll be much better within minutes. As soon as they get the fluid off, her lungs will be able to expand again, and she’ll be able to get air in. They’ll also send the fluid to the lab to see why this happened. Okay?”

  I nodded, understanding only half of what she said. “When can I see her?”

  “As soon as the procedure is done. It won’t take long. Trust me, she’s okay. Your mom is a feisty one. She’s giving everyone a fit back there.”

  That made me smile. To know that Moms was behind those double doors carrying on and giving people grief meant that she was okay. Tears of relief slid down my face.

  Nurse Nancy reached over to squeeze my arm. “She’s okay for now. All right?”

  I nodded and wiped the tears away.

  “Is there anyone I can call for you?”

  I shook my head and wiped my face again. “I left messages for everyone already.” When she left, I sank back into the chair.

  Her words, “okay for now” weren’t lost on me. She was making the point that although Moms had escaped immediate death, it was still imminent. How was Moms going to get healed with all her negative thoughts and with all these negative talking people around her? I didn’t fault the nurse. She was speaking based on what she knew about medicine.

  I must have nodded off in the waiting room chair because it seemed like only a few minutes later, and Nancy was jostling me. “Ms. Michaels? You can go in to see your mother now.”

  “That was quick.” I grabbed my bag to make sure it was still with me and that the zipper was intact. It wasn’t too smart to be falling asleep in a Baltimore ER waiting room.

  Nurse Nancy glanced up at the clock over the main desk. “It’s been over an hour.” She frowned at me. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded. “Just a little tired, apparently.” I had never gotten a chance to recover from my jet lag. And I hadn’t been sleeping well since I got back. The whole world was moving too fast. I wanted to stop it and get off for a week or two.

  I stood and followed the nurse through the double doors. She guided me by several curtained off areas until finally she got to a little section in the back. I could hear Moms before I got to her.

  “You mean to tell me you gotta leave this tube in my back? How am I supposed to go home with a tube in my back?”

  Whoever was in the room with her chuckled. “Who said you were going home? No ma’am. We have a nice room with a view for you upstairs.”

  Moms’s voice rose. “I ain’t staying in the hospital. I done told my oncologist that before. You need to get this tube out my back because I’m going home.”

  I grabbed the curtain and slung it back. “Moms, hush. There are other sick people in here, and you’re disturbing them.” I walked over to the ER bed she was sitting on. “And you’re crazy if you think I’m taking you home. You almost died.”

  “Almost. But I’m fine now. I don’t need to stay here. I can breathe now, and I can talk just fine.”

  I pointed to the oxygen prongs sticking in her nose. “Yeah, but you don’t have one of those at home.” I grimaced when I saw the tube coming out from under her gown and draining bloody looking fluid into a canister on the wall. I pointed to the canister. “And we ain’t got one of those at home, either. What if I had waited to come up here tomorrow instead of today? I would have found you dead in the house.”

  “Tree, I ain’t staying here.”

  I walked up closer to her bed and rubbed her leg, trying to reason with her. “You need to stop giving me and everybody else around here a hard time. For once in your life, just listen and do as you’re told. We need to let the doctors figure out why the fluid built up on your lungs so they can fix it. I do not need for this to happen again.”

  “I don’t need them to send those big ol’ bottles of bloody fluid to no lab to see why this happened. I’m full of cancer. That’s why this happened. Tree, have you heard a word I told you? I’m dying.” Moms said it so forcefully that she started coughing.

  “Stop saying that,” I almost yelled. Tears started flowing down my face. I turned to see Nurse Nancy cleaning up the bloody gauze from the little procedure table and giving the doctor, who was still filling out his paperwork, a glance. I could almost hear their thoughts when they shared a look. “Boy, is she in denial.”

  I understood why Jesus put everybody out of the room before he raised the little girl from the dead. He couldn’t do a miracle with so much determined doubt and unbelief around him. I wanted to throw everybody out so I could clear the atmosphere in the room and pray for my mother, but that would include throwing her out too. The nurse and doctor finally finished and left the room.

  Moms reached out her hand and pulled me to her side. I didn’t want to get too close because I didn’t want to mess up the tubes taped to the back of her hand and coming out of her back. She ran her hand over my head and smoothed my hair back into my fake bun. “Girl, what you got going on back there?”

  “Tiffy did it.”

  She smiled. “You let Tiffany do your hair?”

  I nodded. “She was supposed to put braids in it yesterday, but we got into a little argument on Friday.” I put my hand over my mouth, but it was too late to catch the words.

  “Girl, ain’t nothing new. What she do this time?”

  No way I was going to tell her. “You know that girl can’t keep a house clean to save her life. I have to fuss at her on a regular to keep her from letting her room get too nasty.”

  Moms’s laugh turned into a cough. “That child. I don’t know what’s gonna happen to her when . . .”

  “Moms, please . . .”

  She reached up and smoothed a hand across my face. “You look tired, Tree. You ain’t been sleeping since you been back? And you’re looking so po’. I need to get Aunt Penny to cook you up a bunch of food to take back with you when you go.”

  “I forgot to call Aunt Penny.” I pulled out my cell phone. “I don’t even know if I have her number in my phone.”

  Moms grabbed the phone from me. “Please don’t call that crazy old bat. You know I love my sister, but I don’t need her here working my nerves. I already told her you were taking me to chemo so she won’t miss me until Tuesday. Hopefully, I’ll be home by then.”

  I laughed. “Moms, you wrong for that.”

  “Please. You ain’t seen Aunt Penny in a couple of years. You forgot how aggravating she is.”

  “That would be hard to forget.”

  We both laughed. My cell phone rang. I was hoping it was Tiffany or Monica. Instead, Blanche Silver’s name and number showed up on my caller ID. I pressed the button on the side of my phone to silence it. Whatever it was could wait. It was Sunday and Blanche knew, unless it was dire, I didn’t want to be bothered. I would call her back later and tell her I’d be working from home tomorrow.

  I stood rubbing Moms’ arm as she dozed off on the emergency room gurney. The nurse came to let us know they were moving her up to a room.

  Moms’s eyes fluttered open. “Tree, go find me some food while they get me settled. If you gon’ make me stay here, I ain’t eating the food.”

  I laughed and went searching for the cafeteria. I got one of her favorites—fried fish and French fries. I figured there wasn’t any sense in making her eat healthy since she was going to . . .

  I almost dropped the cafeteria carton when the thought went through my mind. What was I believing? I rebuked the thought and prayed healing scriptures all the way up to her room.

  My cell phone rang again and Blanche’s number came up. I silenced it again. What was her problem? I was beginning to think it was something important for her to be so persistent. I’d make sure Moms was settled and fed, and then I’d call her back.

  I found Moms’ hospital room. Somehow she got fixed up with a large private room at the end of the hall. It had one of those foam and vinyl chairs that let out into a bed for family members to sleep on. It would be perfect for me.

  Moms’s tube was going to a canister on the wa
ll similar to the one that had been in the emergency room. She also had fluids hanging on an IV pole. I wondered what she was supposed to do when she had to go to the bathroom. I didn’t think they’d be unhooking all those tubes every time she needed to go.

  I pulled the rolling television cart thing in front of Moms and adjusted it to the right height, placing her dinner I’d bought on it. When I opened the carryout food tray, a huge smile broke out on Moms’s face. She looked at the food, and then looked at me. “Where’s yours?”

  “All that food? I thought we’d share.”

  She pulled the food toward her and gave me a look. “You thought wrong. I can breathe now too. I’m ’bout to put a hurting on this here. You might want to get your own.”

  I laughed. “I’m fine.”

  “You need to eat, Tree. Give that man something to hold on to when he comes to see you. You know black men need something to grab.” She sat up in the bed and indicated for me to prop her pillows up behind her. Instead, I pressed the button to automatically adjust the height of the bed.

  She leaned back against her pillows, trying to get comfortable, but I could tell the tube was getting in her way. She seemed like she was afraid to dislodge it. I wanted to take a peek to see how it was staying in, but was afraid I’d get grossed out.

  “When you gon’ tell me about him?”

  I pulled up a chair to her bed. “Moms, you need to eat and get some rest. You do realize you almost checked out of here a little while ago?”

  “Chile, was about to bust hell wide open.” She laughed to herself. “I guess ol’ Satan wasn’t ready for me yet.”

  I bit my lip. When I was about to open my mouth, Moms held up her hand. “Please, Tree, no preaching today. You know I don’t believe in hell or heaven. When I close these eyes, that’s it. It’s over and done.”

  “Moms . . . what if you’re wrong?” I let out a deep breath when she held up her hand and stuffed a small piece of fish into her mouth.

  “You always talk about how you would do anything to make me and Tiffany happy. You know nothing would make me happier than for you to let me pray for you so God can heal you, and you can live. For you to accept Christ so I can see you in heaven one day. Years from now of course.”