Page 72 of Simmer Down
We make it to a random waiting room with green chairs, and I spot Mrs. Tokushige sitting in the corner. She stands as soon as she sees me.
“Oh, my dear,” she croons while pulling me into a hug.
I fought the lump in my throat the entire drive here, and I don’thave the strength anymore. When I speak, my voice finally breaks. “What happened?”
She wipes a tear from my face with the folded-up tissue in her hand. “I’m not sure, dear. We were all cleaning up in the kitchen, and all of a sudden your mom fainted. We couldn’t wake her up, so we called 911. She thankfully came to before the paramedics arrived, but then she had trouble breathing.”
“Is she all right? Can I see her?” My head spins with a million more questions, but I swallow the rest of them back.
Mrs. Tokushige nods, her topknot shaking with the movement of her head. “She’s in room 547 at the end of the hall.”
Her gaze floats to Callum, who stands behind my shoulder, but she says nothing.
Callum turns to me. “You go ahead,” he says. “I’ll wait here for you.”
He moves to stand next to Mrs. Tokushige, who nods at me. “The doctor should be in there with her still,” she says.
When I walk in the room, I have to cling onto the doorframe to keep from collapsing. She rests on the bed, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Under the harsh fluorescent lights her tawny skin appears sallow. I swallow back a sob and walk over to her bed. Other than a few minor ailments detected at her annual doctor checkups, she’s never once had a health scare. The last time she checked into a hospital was nearly thirty years ago when she gave birth to me. By all accounts she’s an active and healthy sixty-something woman.
Through blurry eyes, I try to focus, but tears rush my waterlines. What she was before today doesn’t matter. Because right now she’s barely conscious, lying in a hospital bed, looking like the most helpless creature I’ve ever seen. And I need to accept it.
A young woman in green scrubs and a white coat stands next to her, reading over a chart before looking at her IV. She glances up. “You must be Mrs. DiMarco’s daughter.”
I wipe my face with my hand, nod, then walk over to her bedside. I scoop her hand in mine.
“I’m Dr. Alma, the physician on call.”
I shake her hand with my free hand and introduce myself.
“Your mom is a little woozy from her fall, so she’s resting right now. Do you want to step outside and we can talk while she gets some rest?”
I follow behind the doctor, who is barely five feet tall and looks younger than me. She closes the door behind her. I glance down the hall and spot Callum standing next to Mrs. Tokushige, who’s sitting down in one of the chairs. Despite the free fall my nerves are doing, one look at Callum is a moment of calm. That unrelenting pressure in my chest that’s persisted ever since reading Mrs. Tokushige’s text eases a smidgen.
“You all right?” he mouths.
I nod and turn back to the doctor.
“It looks like your mom has an ulcer in her stomach and is severely iron deficient. Has she mentioned anything about feeling tired lately? Any mention of bloody stools or vomiting blood?”
I shake my head. “What? No. I mean, I don’t think so. She hasn’t said anything about that. And she hasn’t been acting differently either. She’s been keeping herself busy and active like normal.”
Dr. Alma offers a head nod that reads sympathetic. “She doesn’t seem like the type who cares to slow down.”
“Definitely not.”
“Unfortunately, she’s lost a lot of blood due to her ulcer, so we’re going to give her a blood transfusion to replenish what she’s lost.”
The thoughts spinning through my brain halt like a needle on a record. “Blood transfusion? But...”
Dr. Alma purses her lips. “I know that sounds serious, but it’s pretty routine in a situation like this. Her ulcer is causing considerable blood loss. But once the transfusion is complete, she’ll feel a lot better. It’s also likely that she’s anemic, so we’ll put her on an iron supplement as well. But don’t worry, it won’t interfere with her diabetes medication at all.”
The needle flies off the record completely, shattering against the inside of my skull. “Diabetes... What? My mom doesn’t have diabetes.”
Dr. Alma frowns. “Ms. DiMarco, your mother is a type 2 diabetic. Didn’t you know that?”
I shake my head and hold the nearby wall to steady myself.
She blinks before reining in her expression. “I think you two have a lot to catch up on.”
