Three Lies and One Wish
“I started our usual conversation, a circuitous parade of family updates, gossip, and her insistence on moving back home. I dodged my way through, avoiding the answer I didn’t want to give and she wasn’t prepared to hear.”
No one suspected anything when I entered the nursing home with a banned substance. Not the receptionist, and not even the feisty residents who sat in the TV room and greeted every visitor. After all, I was a regular, I looked harmless, and I followed the rules…well, most of them.
The extra large, hot, frothy French Vanilla Cappuccino — Mom’s absolute favorite — was wedged in the corner of my oversized purse, held snugly in place by all the junk I carry with me. My mission was to not spill a single drop and to not get caught.
Despite some quivering leg muscles and a flushed face, I very slowly and nonchalantly walked down the long hallway, determined not to look suspicious, or worse, constipated.
I closed the door to Mom’s room and placed the cup on the bed tray, its metal girth towering over her small figure in the bed. She scooched into a sitting position and smiled as she squeezed my hand. I tried not to notice the bony shoulders and translucent skin underneath her flowered pajama top. I returned the smile, pleased to see some color returning to her cheeks since my last visit. I squeezed her thin hand as I kissed her forehead.
“You’re early today. Goodness gracious, is this my favorite? I sure hope you got me the fat-free kind.” She squirmed and settled into the hollow of her bed as she eyeballed the cup in front of her.
I paused before telling the first of three lies.
“Yep, uhh, yeah…it’s fat free. But, you know, Mom, it wouldn’t hurt you to gain a few pounds.”
“Oh nonsense. I sit on my butt most of the day. They don’t let me walk down the hallway by myself anymore. I can’t get any damn privacy around here. Last week one of the volunteer aides came in while I was half naked and getting ready for bed.”
Mom’s blue eyes twinkled as she slowly lifted the warm drink and took a sip. The cup wobbled in her hands, but I knew better than to offer to help. Her decision to be willfully stubborn is one of the few choices she has left.
“Umm, this is so good. But this cup is big. Did you get me the smallest size they had?”
And there it was, the teed up prompt for my second lie.
“Well…no, actually they were out of small and medium cups, so I had to get you a large.”
I sat down on the edge of her bed and proceeded with my routine scan of her small room. The table in the corner was dusty, and the hamper of dirty clothes in the closet had overflowed onto the floor. The nightstand was cluttered with reading glasses, prayer books, and an untouched cup of the lumpy tea Mom was expected to drink every day.
The dietician had explained awhile ago that the a thickener was added to the tea so Mom doesn’t swallow too fast and choke, or even worse, aspirate. Mom’s esophagus stopped doing what it’s supposed to do, which is move what she eats and drinks into her stomach. Instead, everything gets backed up and she regurgitates it.
The remedies and their consequences are slowing taking her life. An intermittent feeding tube and a strict liquid diet of (lumpy) tea, broth, and protein shakes, along with several bouts of pneumonia, have reduced her to a wispy 98 lb. woman who wants nothing more than to eat food like the rest of us.
I moved to the window sill and started plucking the dead leaves from the three plants being upstaged by pictures of children and grandchildren. Any minute now, the nurse on duty will stop in and lecture both of us about the Cappuccino not being on the approved list of liquids. My plan is to politely plead ignorance.
Mom’s audible slurps and lip-smacking interrupted the fog I was in. After a quiet sigh, I started our usual conversation, a circuitous parade of family updates, gossip, and her insistence on moving back home. I dodged my way through, avoiding the answer I didn’t want to give and she wasn’t prepared to hear. The silence ended with a new topic.
“It’ll be lunch time soon. Are you hungry?”
The next lie felt the worst, because I’d grown so tired of this physical and emotional merry-go-round. I refused to talk about food when she couldn’t eat. And she couldn’t seem to talk about anything but food.
“Uh…no, not really. I had something in the car on the way here.”
Mom turned to look out the window as she adjusted her blankets. She perked up as she mentioned plans for Thanksgiving, which was two months away. She then reminded me that she would need to be moved back home in time to have the house cleaned and make extra pumpkin pies, since she had offered to host all of us and our families for the holiday.
The heavy lump in my throat throbbed and felt like a chunk of concrete. I blinked and blinked to fight back the tears as I looked away.
Her hope deserved a response and I was long overdue for a far-fetched wish.
“Okay, well…we’ll see. I’ll send some emails and we’ll figure out everyone’s plans.
Mom nodded, as if to affirm our assigned duties and new direction. In her mind, she had won. She tipped her head to savor the last drop of Cappuccino, her blue eyes brighter than they had been when I arrived.
