Page 16 of Chosen Road

She pulled her chin back, not a flattering look on her, and opened her mouth to speak when another nurse came up behind me and intervened, slicing an irritated look at her colleague.

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Murray. I’ll be happy to get that for your husband. Would you like one as well? You must be chilled sitting here all these hours.”

Expertly, she cupped a firm but gentle hand beneath my elbow and propelled me away from the desk and Nurse Ratchet.

“Yes, please. I would very much like that,” I whispered, my spirits sagging.

“Of course,” she soothed. “Go on back and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

One day turned into two, turned into three, turned into five.

The doctor determined that Gus had a mild heart attack, with no lasting damage, but a stent was put in to widen the faulty artery. He also prescribed medications to lower his blood pressure and decrease his cholesterol.

The heart attack, scary as it was, was not the most troublesome issue.

When he had the heart attack, he went down hard and broke the fall with his head. It was the concussion that gave us the most worry.

He was cranky, suffered from headaches and dizzy spells, and couldn’t remember how he got to the hospital or the events leading up to his heart attack.

This morning he was much more lucid and stayed awake for longer. If all went well today, he would be released this evening.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

As of five days ago, I was on my way out.

Seeing him so diminished and helpless, I could not leave him.

I arranged to take a leave from work for six weeks, save the one case I could not turn over to anyone else. For Mallory, I would go in.

What a fiasco that was.

I was a bit of a pushover, taking on files I had neither room nor time for, helping other people with work they were more than capable of doing themselves, but apparently wouldn’t. I’d noticed a certain apathy that some workers developed, perhaps as a defense against the hopelessness of some of our cases, but I wasn’t one of them. While apathy avoided me, desperation and helplessness both weakened and enraged me.

I explained the situation with my husband to my director. I could never quite get a read on Bill. Average height, average looks, he neither attracted nor repelled attention, but rather blended into the background. It wasn’t a bad thing. I was like that, myself. His response was a pleasant surprise, especially considering I helped him with the load of files that did not get enough attention.

“I’m so sorry, Amber. Take all the time you need. Lord knows you’ve earned it. I’ll siphon off your clients to the other social workers until your return.”

“Thank you. There is one case I need to handle myself. I’ll make arrangements to come in for Mallory.”

He looked skeptical for a moment, then his face sank into an expression of apology that struck me as false. “That’s not doable. Once you’re on leave, you can’t work. It’s either/or.”

I smiled and he looked alarmed. Smart man.

“Bill, I’ve worked here a long time and I’ve seen all manner of accommodations given for a whole host of ridiculous reasons, including someone working from home for three months due to an ingrown toenail. You figure out how to make this work. Mallory has been abandoned over and over in her short life. I am not going to join that long line of useless adults who have failed her, and neither are you.” I leaned over his desk. “Make this work.”

He made it work.

A brisk knock on the door interrupted my thoughts and preceded the doctor’s entrance.

He smiled when he saw me. “Ah, good. I’m glad you’re here, Mrs. Murray. I want to go over some of the details of your husband’s care plan.”

He droned on as I took detailed notes and Gus slowly awoke.

“Hi, doc,” his voice was still hoarse from the breathing tube.

“Good morning, Mr. Murray. I was just telling your wife that you need to have someone close by to monitor you for the next week or so, and that you’ll be on restricted activity for the next month or two to start.”

“Who is going to come?”

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