Hope Girl (9 page)

Dr. Wing doesn't let Gram go home, but he does transfer her to the rehabilitation unit to start therapy. But Gram's not the only one going to rehab. Rosa's taken such a liking to Gram that Dr. Wing offered her a new position as head nurse on that unit.

12

Tower of Pisa

B
y Saturday morning Rosa's already started her new position, and Gram's settled in her new room.

Dad drops me off outside the hospital at eleven o'clock, and I find Gram's room. The door's open, so I peek in. She must have a roommate because there are two beds. The one near the door has a lady sleeping in it. Gram's on the other side of the room sitting by a window, where the sun covers her like a quilt.

I tiptoe past the sleeping lady and find that Gram's sleeping too. And she's snoring. I tap her on the shoulder and whisper, “Gram.”

She doesn't wake but takes a deep breath (snoring the whole length of it) and then breathes out through her nose, whistling like a songbird.

“Gram,” I whisper, “it's River.”

Her eyes open halfway. “Well, if it ain't my Sugar Pie.”

I give her a smooch. “How are you, Gram?”

“Tuckered out,” she says. “I just finished therapy.”

“Looks like you have a roommate this time.”

“Her name's Myrtle, and she's got as much personality as a loaf of pumpernickel bread.”

“Not so loud, Gram. She'll hear.”

“Fiddlesticks. She's as deaf as a doornail without her hearing aids, which she refuses to wear. Why she won't wear them is beyond me.”

Before I can defend poor Myrtle, Rosa walks in. “Good morning, River. Is your Dad here too?”

“No, he's headed back to Kentucky.”

For some reason Rosa looks like she just lost her best friend.

Gram reaches for my hand. “Oh, I'm sorry, Sugar Pie. Here I thought he'd stay and be part of your life.”

“Don't worry, Gram. He'll be back.”

Gram lets out a sigh. “Thank heavens!”

Then all of a sudden, Rosa starts singing as if she were the happiest person in the world. She's certainly acting strange.

Gram scrunches her eyebrows and looks at me over the top of her glasses. “You aren't staying home alone, are you?”

I shake my head. “I'm staying with the Whippoorwills. There is one problem, though. Since Dad's gone, I'm not sure how much I can visit. Uncle Henry and Aunt Elizabeth are so busy that I might not have a ride. But I could walk if I had to.”

Rosa looks at me. “If you don't mind staying for my eight-hour shift, I'll pick you up on my way to work and bring you home after. Come to think of it,” she says, “you could volunteer on the unit if you'd like. We always need volunteers.”

I'm so excited I feel like I could burst. “When can I start?”

“Monday morning, seven o'clock sharp. In fact,” she says, “if we measure you now, your uniform might be ready then.”

“I get a uniform?”

Rosa nods. “Being a volunteer's important.”

Gram clears her throat. “And what am I, chopped liver? Don't I get a uniform?”

Rosa laughs. “Mrs. Nuthatch, you're a resident, not a volunteer.”

“Now, wait a minute!” Gram shouts. “This isn't my residence, so I'm not a resident!” Gram's so upset that she stands up from her wheelchair, and when she does, a loud beeping noise sounds. That just makes Gram shout louder, “And I'll have you know I'm just visiting for a few days, but then I'm going home!”

Rosa places her hand on Gram's shoulder and gently guides her back down. The beeping stops.

“What was that noise?” I say.

“It's the safety cushion your grandmother's sitting on,” Rosa explains. “It's not safe for her to stand by herself yet, so an alarm goes off if she tries. We don't want her falling.”

“Oh fiddlesticks,” Gram says. “This beep-bopping cushion under my behind is ridiculous!”

“Gram, please follow the rules. You don't want to fall and break your hip again.”

“Nonsense, Sugar Pie. I've got so many screws and pins in my hip that it wouldn't break if you took a sledge hammer to it.”

“You could break your other hip, Gram, so please be careful.”

“Oh, all right.” Gram looks at Rosa. “Just don't call me a resident. I'm a visitor.”

“Mrs. Nuthatch,” Rosa says kindly, “there's no need to be upset. We refer to all patients as residents—it's meant to feel more personable.”

“Well, just the same,” Gram sputters, “I'll be home before you know it.”

Rosa takes her hand. “Mrs. Nuthatch, I'll be honest. Most residents require months of therapy before they return home. Some even decide to live at The Eagle's Nest, our assisted living unit down the hall.”

“Not me,” says Gram. “I'm not living in no eagle's nest.”

Rosa smiles and lets go of Gram's hand. “I'll be right back” she says. “I'll get the tape measure so I can order River's uniform.”

Once she's back, Rosa says, “Okay, River, turn to face your grandmother.” As Rosa stretches the tape measure across the back of my shoulders, she says, “Please stand straight. I need an accurate measurement.”

“She's right, Sugar Pie. There's nothing more uncomfortable than clothing too big or too small. A turtle's shell needs to fit just right.”

“I get it, Gram, but I am standing straight.”

Gram shakes her head. “From where I'm sitting, it looks like
you're leaning. You've got one shoulder going north and the other, south.”

“Gram, I can't stand any straighter!”

“It's okay, River,” says Rosa. “You're doing fine. A medium top should fit. Now I'll measure for your pants.” She measures my right leg. “Thirty-six inches.” Then she measures my left. “Thirty-four and a half. Wait a minute,” she says, fiddling with the tape measure. “Let's redo that.” She measures again. “That was right.”

Now Gram's yelling, “Sugar Pie, keep your feet flat on the floor. Nurse Rosa needs you cooperating!”

“I'm trying, Gram. Why don't you believe me?”

“Cuz you got one hip higher than the other, and if I know my anatomy, the hip bone connects to the leg bone, and them legs bones oughta be equal in length.”

“Mrs. Nuthatch, I don't think River's doing anything wrong.”

Finally someone believes me.

Gram lets out a
humph
, “Well, if River ain't making herself stand like the leaning tower of Pisa, who is?”

Rosa says, “River, bend over and touch your toes.”

I touch them without arguing (that's more than Gram would do).

Rosa says, “Now I'll run my finger along your spine.” She starts at the top and works her way down. “Okay, River, stand up.”

Gram looks at Rosa. “What is going on?”

“I don't want to alarm you, but I think River has scoliosis.”

I learned about that in health class, so I know what it is. But Gram doesn't. “Scoli what?” she says.

Rosa explains. “It's pronounced scō-lē-ō-sis. It means curvature of the spine and can cause hips and shoulders to become uneven.”

“What can we do about it?” says Gram. “We can't have my Sugar Pie leaning every which way.”

“She needs to see an orthopedist.”

Gram shakes her head. “A what?”

Rosa repeats, “An or-thō-pē-dist. A doctor who treats problems with bones and muscles.”

Okay, not only do I have a crooked back, but I also think I've become invisible. “Hello? Since it's my spine you're talking about, would you mind including me in the conversation?”

Rosa puts her hand on my shoulder (the one that apparently points north). “I'm sorry, River. I didn't intentionally leave you out.”

“I know what scoliosis is,” I say. “I learned about it in health class last April. Our school nurse checked everyone's back. Mine was fine.”

“Good,” says Rosa. “Since that was only three months ago, hopefully your curve isn't too serious.”

“Even so, Sugar Pie, we gotta call your dad.”

“He said call only if there's an emergency.”

Gram looks over the rim of her glasses. “This is close enough.”

“I have his number,” says Rosa. “If you'd like, I'll call him.”

“Good,” says Gram. “Cuz I'd get those medical words like scolipedist and ortho-osis all mixed up.”

I look at Rosa. “Why do you have my dad's number?”

Her face turns pink, then bright red. “Well,” she says almost stuttering, “it's in your grandmother's medical chart.”

I guess that makes sense.

Not only did Rosa call Dad, but she also made an appointment for me to see an orthopedist on Monday. And since Dad won't be back from Kentucky yet, Rosa's taking me.

13

Orange Piece of Paper

O
n Sunday after church, Uncle Henry takes me and all the Whippoorwills to see Gram. When we're almost there, he looks in his rearview mirror at all the little Whippoorwills. “Please be on your best behavior—that means using respectful voices and good manners.”

When we arrive, Uncle Henry tells the receptionist we're visiting Gram.

The receptionist checks the clock. “The residents are at Sunday dinner, but it's just starting. You're welcome to purchase tickets and enjoy a meal with her.”

“What's being served?” Aunt Elizabeth asks.

“Spaghetti and meatballs.”

Uncle Henry looks at Aunt Elizabeth. “Meatballs?” Then he turns to the receptionist, “We'll purchase nine tickets, but hold the meatballs.”

The receptionist looks confused. “What's the sense in having spaghetti and meatballs without the meatballs?”

“Trust me,” says Uncle Henry, “it makes good sense.”

We continue to the dining hall, where a waitress leads us through a maze of tables, wheelchairs, and walkers until we reach a table big enough for all of us. Then she hurries to Gram's table and wheels her over to ours.