“She’s had it for a week, but she only got like this yesterday.” At least they were in the hospital now.
They moved Gabrielle to the ICU an hour later. They had already started the intravenous antibiotic in the emergency room, and had done a panel of blood tests, which they said were routine, given her age and how sick she was. Gwen was relieved that the nurses in the ICU were very kind to her.
Federico and Gwen sat next to her bed for the rest of the day, and she slept for most of it. The nurse said the fever had come down. The gerontologist appeared at five in the afternoon. Gwen was prepared to hate him, and was surprised to find that she didn’t.
He looked to be in his late fifties, was well dressed in a blazer and khaki slacks, a shirt and tie, he had silver hair and a good haircut. He looked more like a banker than a modern-day doctor. Gwen had been watching them come and go all day with long, greasy hair, in ponytails or to their shoulders, with either five days of stubble or full beards. They all wore scrubs instead of proper clothes, and either sneakers, clogs, or Birkenstocks. None of them dressed like grown-ups in her opinion, but this one did.
He introduced himself as Jeremy Stubbs, and asked to speak to Gwen in the hall after examining her mother. He had a warm smile and a polite, easy manner.
“Your mother has pneumonia, as you know, which is not a good thing at her age. I’ve been looking at her preliminary blood work. We don’t have all the results yet.” Gwen was suddenly terrified that they had found something seriously wrong with her, but he surprised her. “She’s in remarkably good health, and doesn’t seem to have all the ailments her generation is prone to. Low cholesterol, her heart is strong, liver, kidneys, everything is functioning normally. Does she have any chronic health problems?”
“None.”
“No arthritis? Dizziness? Does she fall?”
“Never. She’s up and down ladders all day long. She’s a sculptress and a welder. Her pieces are roughly ten feet tall, and she sleeps in a loft. And no arthritis.” Dr. Stubbs smiled at Gwen’s report.
“She seems to be one of those lucky people that age doesn’t touch. It happens, but not often enough. Maybe her work is part of it.”
“She just opened a show at the MoMA a month ago,” Gwen said proudly.
“What often happens to people like her is that they go along just fine, and then something like this comes up. It doesn’t always turn out well, and most doctors feel that, at a certain age, you just can’t fight it. That’s not my philosophy. In the condition your mother is in, there’s no reason why she couldn’t live another ten or twelve years. What we have to do now is beat the pneumonia. I’m going to give her a stronger antibiotic. It may upset her stomach, but it’s worth it.” It was music to Gwen’s ears.
“Thank God for you. Go for it. I was panicked when we got here.”
“Let’s not panic yet. And she hasn’t been bedridden, so if her fever is down, I want to get her up walking, and not just leave her lying down. That’s where we get into trouble. And I want to start the inhalants.” They walked back into Gabrielle’s room together, and she was sleeping again. The doctor checked her fever and it was down. Then he went to tell the nurses about the change of antibiotic, as Federico looked at Gwen in desperation.
“What did he say?”
“He’s terrific,” she whispered. “He’s giving her a stronger medication. He says if we get her out of this, she can live another ten or twelve years.” She looked a hundred years old as she lay there, but she opened her eyes and looked at Gwen. “We’re going to get you up for a walk, Mother. The doctor wants you to move around.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my legs. I have a cough.”
“Exactly. There’s nothing wrong with your legs, so he wants you to use them and not just lie there.”
“I’m tired,” she complained. “I’ll go for a walk later.” But if her life depended on it, Gwen was not going to let her off the hook. She got Federico to help her, and they dressed Gabrielle in the bathrobe she’d worn to the hospital, helped her out of bed, and walked slowly down the hall with her IV pole. She was still coughing, but she looked a little better as they walked. “I want to go home,” she said, sounding more like herself.
“Not yet. We have to get rid of your cough first.”
“I have work to do.”
“Then you’ll have to get well,” Gwen said firmly.
The doctor came back to see her as they walked down the hall, and he smiled at Gabrielle and spoke to her.
“I’m very happy to see you up and walking, Mrs. Waters. You’ll get better much faster this way. And we’re going to give you some things to breathe that should free up your chest. I want to send you home as soon as possible,” he assured her. “We need the beds for people who are really sick.” The implication being that she wasn’t. She smiled at him for a moment.
“Are you suggesting that I’m feigning illness, Doctor?” she said with a grin and he laughed.
“If you are, we’ll find out soon enough and send you packing,” he teased her. “There are much better hotels in town than this. I understand you opened a show recently at the MoMA.”
“Yes, I did. Have you seen it?”
“Not yet. But I intend to now.”
“It’s only a small show of recent work,” she said modestly.
“I’m sure it’s very good.” Gwen wanted to hug him as she listened to him, pulling her mother back to life just by treating her as though she weren’t a hundred years old and at death’s door, even if she was seriously sick. But her own good health and her active life served her well.
They took her back to her room, helped her into bed, and she looked grateful to lie down. She was tired from the fever and coughing, and hadn’t slept well for days. The nurse had set up the inhalants while she was walking, and one of them changed the bag on her IV to the stronger antibiotic.
The doctor spoke to Gwen again before he left. “I’ll be back in the morning, and here’s my card with my cellphone number. If anything worries you, call me. She’s doing well for now. I’m hoping she turns the corner in a day or two with what we’re giving her. And keep her walking.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Gwen said, clutching his card.
“There are people this tactic wouldn’t work with, but your mother is strong. With good support, her body will fight this.” He was reassuring and calm.
“I hope so,” Gwen said, looking worried.
“Normally, they keep visits short in the ICU. I’ve told them to let you and her husband stay with her. Keep her engaged. She needs to sleep too. And I want her to walk three times a day. I want to keep her moving. I’m less concerned about what she eats, the antibiotic will probably upset her stomach anyway, and she’s getting what she needs for now from the IV.” Gwen thanked him again and he left with a pleasant smile and a wave as he got into the elevator.