Lydia

Week Two of the 52-Week Writing Challenge

There are too many blanks about the history of my family so I am writing fictional stories based on what little I do know in an attempt to know myself better. These stories are not necessarily in chronological order. I am writing them as they come to me.

Lydia slowly finished packing her daughters’ sandwiches and cookies into their lunch boxes. These days her body was only capable of moving slowly. She felt heavy and thick as though walking in mud and her brain felt sluggish and cloudy.

In spite of the unknown malady that was zapping all of her strength and energy, she managed to dress, make breakfast, pack a lunch for Ted, and see him off to work. She even managed to climb the stairs to wake Cora and Sharry for school and check in on three-month-old Becky who was, fortunately, still sleeping.

While her squabbling daughters ate breakfast, Lydia sat quietly sipping a cup of tea. There were a dozen things she should be doing, things she typically did each morning while the girls ate breakfast — chores like washing dishes, sweeping the floor, wiping down the counters, folding dish towels. But, not this morning. Today she could only sit, and even sitting seemed to take too much effort. Listening to the whiny back-and-forth accusations and arguments between her daughters made her feel even wearier, and she was relieved when they went back up to their room to dress for school.

Other than getting the girls out the door to meet the school bus, her only tasks remaining were to prepare a bottle for Becky, change her diaper and dress her. Just the thought of climbing the stairs again overwhelmed Lydia.

An upset stomach and heartburn plagued her for several days. Baking soda and water did not help. Neither did forcing herself to throw up. Nausea and heartburn persisted, and now she had this intense weariness. Certainly, lack of sleep did not help. Between the mystery illness and a three-month-old who was not sleeping through the night, Lydia wasn’t getting much rest.

Truthfully, she had not felt well for nearly two years. The birth, eight-month illness, and the death of their son Thomas left her physically and emotionally depleted. All the hospital visits and operations, the worrying and the sleepless nights did not save him. She could not save him. After his funeral, she sunk into a deep depression. Ted’s mother came from Chicago to help while Lydia spent days in her room, not even coming out to see her daughters. After two weeks of what Ted’s mother called “Lydia’s extremely odd behavior,” Ted took her to their family doctor. He understood she was sad, but enough was enough, Ted said.

Lydia never liked Dr. Martin. When she was having anxiety attacks, back before the girls were in school and Ted was struggling to keep their general store open, Dr. Martin ridiculed her extreme fatigue and shortness of breath. He even arranged for someone to run into the general store and yell that it was on fire. She and the girls were in the apartment above the business. She was resting on the bed with one of her anxiety headaches when she heard the screamed warning about a fire. She jumped from her bed, gathered her two daughters and ran down the stairs. Dr. Martin was waiting at the bottom for her. Smiling broadly, he said smugly, “So here you are, Mrs. Benson! Managed just fine, didn’t you? Obviously, nothing is wrong with you. It’s all in your head. Nonsense, nothing but female nonsense. Ted, come here and see your sick wife!” Mortified and furious, Lydia could do nothing but glare at the snickering doctor.

After Thomas had died, Dr. Martin insisted Ted do his husbandly duty and get Lydia pregnant as soon as possible, “Women are happiest when they’re pregnant. The hormones will help her forget the dead baby. Works every time. Get her pregnant, and she won’t be moping around.”

And that is what Ted did. He convinced her that the doctor was right and a new baby would cure her depression. She was pregnant within a month.

The pregnancy was hard, much harder than her other three. She suffered terrible morning sickness that lasted through most of the pregnancy. And despite the daily vomiting, she gained more weight than she had during her other pregnancies. The worst part was the sadness, the intense sadness, every minute of every day. But, she had to smile and act like all was well because everyone expected her to be happy. She was going to be a mother again! Why wouldn’t she be happy? She was supposed to be fine. But, she wasn’t.

Her fourth pregnancy did not bring the joy the others had. It was something to endure. She was glad Becky was a healthy baby, but she also resented that Becky was born healthy and Thomas was not. Lydia loved Becky, but it was different because she also resented her. Becky was not Thomas, and she wanted Thomas — she wanted Thomas so badly.

Her sadness persisted after Becky’s birth, but she was so busy with a newborn, two school-aged daughters, and the stress of Ted’s newest business that she was forced to keep going even on the days when she only wanted to sit and cry.

Lydia was startled out of her reverie by pounding footsteps on the stairs and high-pitched little girl voices. “Stop pushing me!” Sharry cried. “Hurry up,” Cora retorted, “We’ll miss the bus if you don’t move faster!”

Lydia rose slowly. “Girls, not so loud. Becky’s still sleeping.” She walked to the foot of the stairs, carrying their lunchboxes. Seven-year-old Sharry and ten-year-old Cora stomped down the last few steps and turned into the living room. Cora, always faster, walked around Sharry, grabbed her lunchbox from Lydia’s hand and headed for the coat closet near the front door. She pulled out her green wool jacket, put it on quickly, and took her books from the nearby table.

Sharry shuffled along with no enthusiasm, slowly walking to the open closet door. Lydia came up behind her, reached in the closet and gave Sharry a navy blue jacket. A cold February wind blew through the front door as Cora opened it. “Here,” Lydia said to both girls, “wear scarves. It’s extremely cold today.” Cora walked back a few steps and snatched a yellow scarf from her mother’s hand. “Bye, Mother,” she said as she gave Lydia a quick kiss on the cheek and rushed out the open door.

“Have a good day, Cora,” Virginia called out. She turned and saw Sharry fumbling with her schoolbooks. “Come on, honey, let me help,” she said. Sharry was always the one who needed help. Always the slowest one, always the disorganized one. Lydia handed Sharry her lunchbox and arranged three books comfortably in her arms. “Okay, go now and catch up with Cora. The bus will be here soon.”

Sharry reached her arms up and gave her mother a lingering hug before turning to face the chilly wind as she hurried toward her sister, already on the sidewalk in front of their house.

Lydia smiled and sighed as she watched her daughters walk toward the school bus stop a block away. She shivered in the cold and looked at the dark gray sky that threatened snow. Winter seemed extra long this year.

Lydia closed the door and walked across the living room to the stairs, but her legs felt weak. She stood for several seconds holding onto the banister before admitting to herself that she could not make it up to the second floor. Slowly she walked the few steps to the telephone table, picked up the receiver and dialed the number for her neighbor and friend, Jewel.

After several rings, Lydia heard Jewel’s voice, “Hello, Gray residence.”

“Hi, Jewel. I hate to bother you, but I’m not feeling well. Could you come over and help me with Becky?”

Jewel was shocked by how weak Lydia sounded. “On my way,” she said.

Jewel paused as she picked up the phone. Was calling Ted at work the right thing to do? She knew how hard he had been working; the long hours spent trying to get his lumber yard and paint shop business started. He would not appreciate an interruption, but she couldn’t think of any alternative.

“Ted, Jewel here. Sorry to bother you at work, but I think you need to come home. Lydia isn’t feeling well,” Jewel said as she looked at her friend, sleeping on the flowered sofa a few feet away.

“What’s going on?” Ted asked, sounding busy and a little annoyed. “I know she’s been feeling a little off — upset stomach and heartburn — but hardly anything to worry about.”

Jewel told Ted about Lydia calling and asking for help. “She can barely speak above a whisper. She’s weak, very pale and has shortness of breath. I am really worried. I would never bother you if I didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Well, okay,” Ted sighed, “I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

Ted saw Jewel looking out the living room window as he pulled into the driveway. She was holding Becky against her shoulder and bouncing ever so slightly as if to soothe the child.

Ted exited the car quickly. His irritation was evident. He was sure his rushed drive home would be for nothing.

Jewel opened the door without saying a word and turned her gaze toward Lydia, still lying on the sofa with eyes closed. Ted shook free of his coat and draped it over the back of a living room chair. Lydia looked up and smiled weakly at him as he crossed the floor to the sofa. “Why are you home, Ted?” she asked.

He immediately noticed the change in her skin color. His wife was always fair-skinned due to her aversion to the sun and heat, but the paleness he saw now was something different — an almost grayish hue had settled over Lydia’s usually milky skin.

“Well,” he said gently, “Jewel was a little concerned so I thought I should come home and check on you.”

Lydia tried to rise from the sofa, but the effort was too much. She sunk back into the upholstered pillow. “I’m alright,” she said unconvincingly, “Just need to rest. If Jewel can help me today, I should be okay by tomorrow. She really shouldn’t have bothered you.”

Her voice sounded strained, almost strangled. Ted shook his head, “No, I want you to see a doctor. Just lay back and rest.”

Ted and Jewel moved into the dining room so Lydia could not hear them, although she already seemed to be asleep. They agreed that she needed to see a doctor as soon as possible, but neither had a clue as to what was wrong with her.

“Well, even if it’s a virus, she’s getting worse and needs treatment,” Jewel said. Ted nodded in agreement. “Want me to call Dr. Martin?” Jewel asked as she shifted the sleeping baby from one shoulder to the other.

“You have your hands full,” Ted replied as he smoothed his hand over the blonde fuzz on Becky’s head, “Just take care of Becky. Besides, I’m not calling Martin. I’m going to call that new guy — what’s his name? Cunningham, Ryan Cunningham. He bought some paint from me when he first moved to town. I liked him, and something tells me that he would be a better doctor for Lydia than Martin. Martin never seems to take women’s ailments seriously.”

Ted crossed over to the telephone table, pulled open a small drawer, and sorted through it until he came across a folded piece of paper. “Here,” he said, “He wrote down his number for me in case we ever needed anything.”

Jewel frowned and said cautiously, “But, he is so new and so young. Are you sure? Dr. Martin has been around a long time, has lots of experience.” She paused, then continued tentatively, “But, you’re right about how he treats women. He thinks we’re all hysterics. Maybe, Dr. Cunningham would be better.”

By the time Jewel stopped talking, Ted already had the new doctor on the phone and was explaining the reason for his call. After only a few words describing Lydia’s condition, Dr. Cunningham interrupted him. “I will be there in just a few minutes, Mr. Benson. Keep her comfortable. Don’t let her get up. She must stay quiet.”

Dr. Cunningham, a fair-skinned, tall young man with sandy-blonde hair, sailed through the front door as Jewel held it open for him. She extended her hand to introduce herself, but he rushed past her without a word.

“Mr. Benson,” Dr. Cunningham said as he approached the sofa. “How long has she been like this?”

The quickness of the doctor’s moves and his curt tone took Ted by surprise. He uncharacteristically stuttered as he replied, “Well, um, hello, Doctor. Ah, let’s see, she has been feeling poorly for, um, maybe three days, um, maybe four. Started complaining about heartburn first, then an upset stomach, and now fatigue. She wasn’t even able to climb the stairs to tend to the baby.”

“Has she taken anything — medicines, home remedies, anything?”

“Well,” Ted paused and thought before continuing, “She took some bicarbonate of soda, at least twice. Maybe something else, but I just don’t know.”

“Well, that’s worrisome. If your wife is having heart problems, bicarbonate of soda could have made her condition worse, “ Dr. Cunningham said.

He ignored Ted’s disturbed reply, “What! Heart problems? Who said anything about heart problems? She is only thirty-nine years old!”

As the young doctor opened the top buttons of Lydia’s dress to place his stethoscope against her heart, her eyes flew open. She looked startled but relaxed when the doctor said, “Hello, Mrs. Benson, I’m Dr. Cunningham. I just want to give you a quick examination to see if I can figure out what’s causing your discomfort.”

His tone was brisk, but his eyes were kind, and he had a soft, reassuring smile. Lydia smiled back but said nothing. His examination lasted only a couple of minutes. Then he asked her a few questions about how she was feeling, how she felt the last few days, and what she had taken for treatment. She answered slowly and carefully, pausing to take shallow breaths.

When he was through, Dr. Cunningham placed his stethoscope back in his bag. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Benson,” he said with surprising tenderness. Lydia smiled wearily and closed her eyes.

“Your phone?” Dr. Cunningham asked abruptly.

“My phone? Why do you need the phone?” Ted asked.

Dr. Cunningham spied the phone on the small table, quickly walked over and started dialing a number. “Wait! What’s going on here?” Ted said with indignation, “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling an ambulance,” the doctor replied. “You wife is in cardiac arrest.”

The ambulance, really not more than a mode of transportation since it had no medical equipment or supplies on board, arrived twenty-five minutes later. All during that time, Dr. Cunningham was tending to his patient. He covered her with a knitted afghan that was draped neatly over the back of the sofa and had Jewel bring him a damp, warm cloth to place on Lydia’s forehead. He repeatedly checked her pulse and listened to her heart.

Ted paced the floor from the living room to the dining room and back again. Shouldn’t he be doing something else, something important, something helpful? But, what was there for him to do? After ten minutes of pacing, he paused at the telephone table, called the lumber yard, and told his only employee, Ronnie, that he would not be back that day. He offered no explanation because he did not know what to say. He couldn’t tell Ronnie that Lydia was in cardiac arrest because he didn’t believe that himself. Once the telephone conversation ended, Ted started pacing again.

Jewel took Becky upstairs, changed her diaper, and dressed her in a pink and white nightgown. Jewel sat down in a wooden rocker and gently rocked Becky to sleep, trying not to worry about her friend. As she placed sleeping Becky in her crib, she heard the ambulance arrive.

Getting Lydia into the ambulance and driving to the hospital took almost an hour. Traffic was heavier going into the city than it was driving out to the suburbs. Ted followed the ambulance, but Dr. Cunningham, his impatience showing, pulled out on the street ahead of the ambulance, speeding ahead.

The young doctor was pacing in the emergency room when the ambulance arrived. He’d already procured an examination room and a nurse. As soon as Lydia settled into the bed, Dr. Cunningham examined her. She was awake and more alert than before. She sat up against the back of the hospital bed and was paying close attention to what the doctor was doing. Ted, who had to search for a parking place, arrived a little later and immediately went to his wife’s side. They whispered to one another, but no one heard what they said.

A thick-bodied, short man about fifty years old with gray-streaked wavy black hair nonchalantly entered the room. He extended his hand to Ted, “I’m Dr. Rickart. Are you the husband?”

Ted shook the doctor’s hand. “Yes, Ted Benson. This is my wife, Lydia.”

Dr. Cunningham impatiently said to his colleague, “Are you the cardiologist?”

Dr. Rickert eyed the younger man and replied testily, “No, I am the ER doctor. And, who are you?”

“I am Dr. Cunningham. Mrs. Benson is my patient. She is in cardiac arrest and needs to see a cardiologist immediately. I specifically told the nurse to call for a cardiologist,” the young physician said sternly.

“I think you are referring to my patient,” Dr. Rickart replied, “Nurses in the ER take instructions from me, not outside doctors. And, I will make the diagnosis after my examination and decide what Mrs. Benson does or does not need.”

“Listen. .,” began Dr. Cunningham before he was cut off.

“No, son, you listen,” said the older doctor sternly, “I am sure the Bensons appreciate your services and concern but I am the attending physician now and you need to leave. Nurse, please see the young doctor to the door.”

Dr. Cunningham glared at Dr. Rickert, then turned to Ted, “Well, Mr. Benson, I am being escorted out. I wish you and your wife the best. I hope to hear good news from you soon.” He sent one last hard look in Dr. Rickert’s direction and left the room.

Lydia was sitting upright in bed with two large pillows supporting her back. She was animated and talking normally. Ted thought she looked perfectly well, the best he had seen her in several days. He was sure all this fuss was for nothing. “Ha!,” he thought, “Heart problems — baloney. Maybe I did call the wrong doctor. Probably should have stuck with Martin.”

After his examination, Dr. Rickert admitted that Lydia was having some breathing issues, probably due to stress and lack of sleep. Although he felt her breathing would normalize with some rest, he thought it best that she stay overnight for observation. After he had left the ER examination room to prepare the admission paperwork, Lydia drifted off to sleep, and Ted waited alone with her for thirty minutes until the nursing staff moved her to a room on the fifth floor.

Lydia dozed in and out during the transfer, but once settled, she seemed to be fully awake. She did seem confused and did not remember all that had occurred that day, but she was talking in her normal voice, her eyes were bright and curious, and she was interested in all that was happening around her. The only thing that had not changed, Ted noted, was the color of her skin.

“Here, Ted,” Lydia said as she finished writing in a notebook that he produced from his pocket a few minutes before, “Here is a list of what I need — nightgown, robe and slippers, comb and brush, just a few things. I won’t be here long, so I don’t need much. Sure you have time to go home and come back? Aren’t you going back to work?”

Ted took the notebook and placed it in the breast pocket of his shirt. “I’m not going back to work. Ronnie can handle the shop for one day. I’ll check on Jewel and Becky and come back with these things. But, then I’ll have to get back to the house before the girls return from school. Jewel will need to go home and start dinner for her family.”

“Oh, dinner!” Lydia said with concern, “What about dinner? What will you and the girls eat? And, what about Becky? Can you take care of her?”

Ted sighed, “Don’t worry. Knowing Jewel, she is cooking for us right now. If not, I’ll pick up something. Cora can help with Becky. We’ll be okay.” He leaned over and kissed Lydia on the lips, lingering for just a moment, noticing that her lips were cold. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

His wife smiled sweetly, “Sorry to be such a bother. It was probably just a virus. I feel much better.”

“Well, that’s all that matters,” Ted said, trying not to think of another hospital bill to pay. He was still making payments on Thomas’ many operations and hospital stays. “We’ll all be fine for one night, but you better be home tomorrow!” he chuckled as turned and walked out the door.

The elevator was slow. Ted stood impatiently jingling coins in his pocket as he thought of all that needed to be done at home. Hopefully, Jewel was cooking something for their dinner. He could cook — in fact, he was a good cook, and often prepared meals with Lydia — but he was in no mood to cook while trying to care for three children. He heard the bumping and thumping of the elevator as it slowly made its way to the fifth floor.

A nurse carrying a pitcher of water passed behind him and entered Lydia’s room. Just as the elevator door opened, the nurse came running to the hallway yelling, “Doctor! Emergency in Room 512! Emergency in 512!”
Ted froze in place staring toward his wife’s room. The elevator door closed and he heard it noisily descending to the fourth floor.

Two more nurses and a doctor rushed down the hallway and entered Room 512. He watched them as though they were actors on a movie screen, people who had no connection to him. His hearing seemed to fade. Everything looked too bright. His head pounded. He stood as though rooted to the hospital floor.

He didn’t know how much time passed. Surely, only a few minutes, but it seemed so much longer. “Shouldn’t I go to the room?” he asked himself, but his feet would not move.

Ted had to blink his eyes several times to focus on the white-coated man walking toward him. Did he just come from Lydia’s room? Was that the doctor from the ER? No, no, it was the doctor that saw Lydia after she moved to the fifth floor. What was that doctor’s name? Maybe Franklin? Dr. Franklin?

The doctor was walking so slowly or did it just seem like he was walking slowly? Ted found himself counting the doctor’s steps, concentrating on the forward progress of the brown shoes moving in his direction.

The brown shoes stopped. Ted looked up and tried to focus on the man standing in front of him. They were the same height; he looked into the doctor’s eyes. Fear enveloped his heart when he saw the sadness in those eyes.

Dr. Franklin cleared his throat, put his hand on Ted’s shoulder and said gently, “Mr. Benson, I am so sorry, but your wife has passed. She had a massive heart attack. There was nothing we could do.”

Ted mumbled something about her only being thirty-nine years old — only thirty-nine years old. How could a woman so young die from a heart attack? His tongue felt thick and dry. His head throbbed. The doctor touched Ted’s hand and asked, “Would you like to see her before we call the coroner’s office?”

As they walked together toward the room, Ted had his first clear thought, a thought that flooded dread through his entire being, “ My children have no mother! Oh, my god, what am I going to tell the girls? What are we going to do without Lydia?”