Promise to Cherish (14 page)

Her mother gathered her into her arms as she arrived at their pew in church. How Christine wanted to stay safely in her mother’s hold. How she longed to tell her of the turmoil in her heart. That for the past several weeks she had hidden the worst of all secrets.

“Oh, you’re so cold, Christy,” Margie rubbed her daughter’s
arms. “I just heard the most interesting news and I cannot believe that you didn’t stop by this week to tell me. I was just talking with Mrs. Cupcake about our next Sunday School committee meeting and she said that her niece Wilma’s daughter Helen was at the New Year’s party, and she insists that Jack Delano took you home.”

Christine imagined watching the color drain from her face. Of course, Mrs. Cupcake had connections everywhere.

“Christy? What’s wrong? Oh, I was afraid it wasn’t true. I told Mrs. Cupcake that—” Her mother continued to talk as if to herself then looked back at Christine and stopped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, dear. I didn’t think it could be true.”

“It’s true.” Christine’s words barely escaped her lips before she wished she’d let her mother believe that what she’d heard was all a rumor.

“It is? Then why do you look like a pillar of salt? Tell me everything. Will you be spending more time together?” Her mother elbowed her and batted her eyes.

“You heard it all, Ma,” she said, starting toward the sanctuary with her mother at her side. “It was nothing. I was ready to go home and he was leaving so he took me. Nothing more.”

She waved at several people to keep the conversation light as they walked down the blue-carpeted aisle. Christine was always struck by the church’s natural wood against the beautiful stained glass picture of a cross. Here was where she’d learned nearly everything she knew about the Bible. Where she’d decided to follow Christ and believed God was calling her to care for her family no matter what it took.

Given all of her history with the church, she expected to feel some measure of comfort at being here. There was none. Her heart was still heavy and her burden weighed on her shoulders. Now that her mother knew Jack had driven her home after the New Year’s party, her countenance stooped further.

The head deacon greeted everyone from the pulpit and offered a prayer.

“Why didn’t you tell me the instant you walked into this church or stop by since New Years? This is big news,” her mother whispered to her during the deacon’s lengthy prayer.

“I didn’t think it was important,” she whispered back. Would her mother believe the lie?

“Not important. This could be it, Christy. Jack would be the perfect gentleman for you to marry.”

The prayer was through and the organ began to sound the first hymn and all Christine could think of was that she needed to leave. Her mother’s questions, the purity of the church, all of it was too much for her. She wasn’t pure. She wasn’t good and she couldn’t answer her mother’s questions without lying. Her mother and Doris stood. Her father remained seated for the first hymn.

“Christine, stand,” her mother scolded quietly. “What’s the matter with you? You’re so pale.”

She obeyed and stood but then her guilt wrapped around so tightly it took all her strength to not run from the church and hide away forever. Christine quietly sang the first verse of “I Know Who Holds Tomorrow,” but the words mocked her. Did she even believe the poetry expressed in the lines of the song? No. She did worry about her future. She didn’t feel anyone’s hand in her own. Her mind only took her back to the weight of Jack’s body holding her down.

She realized that morning as she sang in the church full of memories that she would never be free of the memory of Jack and her own sin.

Several weeks went by. February ushered in another round of winter storms, and Christine was growing used to the idea that
her life was different now. Her confession to Jeanne about what had happened between her and Jack hadn’t helped anything. She’d explained to Jeanne how things had happened and when her friend wasn’t able to give her any words of wisdom or healing, she’d taken it even harder. Her guilt grew. It really had been her fault. Jeanne promised not to tell a soul and hugged her and told her everything would be fine. Christine knew better than that though. Of course, nothing would be fine. Nothing would ever be okay. She was a dirtied girl, never to be pure and clean again. Her life was over.

Her work kept her busy, but even work couldn’t distract her from the pain in her soul. But it was all she had now—despite the bouquet of flowers Jack had sent to her. She’d thrown them in the trash, but not before reading the small card attached.

I’m coming home next Friday. Let’s go dancing!

His address was on the back, but she wouldn’t write him back. How could he say that? She ripped it into the smallest pieces she could.

Focusing on recording all the needs and happenings of the ward patients—from hydrotherapy for calming to hyoscine for nausea—in the logbook took all her energy.

“You didn’t vote for me,” Gov yelled from the opposite corner. His voice was loud and reverberated around the cold, square room.

Christine looked around. Eli was the only attendant in the room. Where was everyone else? She saw Eli crane his head from the mopping up he was doing. The two of them hadn’t spoken much since the incident with Rodney. He had guilt in his eyes anytime they were together, and he was growing more despondent every day.

“Did you vote for me? You? And you?” Gov was pointing at the patients around him and stirring up discord.

Christine walked through the doorway. Eli leaned the mop against the wall and began walking over.

“You did not vote for me!” He put his finger in a typically quiet patient’s face.

At Gov’s accusation the patient began pulling his hair and spinning. His mumbling was getting louder by the moment.

“You did not vote for me!”

“Come on, Gov, let’s put this puzzle together.” Eli took him gently by the arm.

Before Christine could react, Gov socked Eli in the side of the head. As she ran she saw Eli falling. His body fell against a nearby table, then onto the floor.

“Eli,” she yelled.

She pulled a drawer open and took out a readied high dose of insulin in case Gov didn’t calm down. Her eyes glanced toward the door—as usual it was closed. No one was going to hear her if she needed help. Gov hugged himself and walked in tight circles. These habits indicated that he was calm for the moment though still highly agitated. She would have to write his behavior down; he’d had more outbursts lately—the doctor might have to reevaluate his treatment plan. Her eyes diverted from Gov to where Eli lay. She weaved through the patients and by the time she got to Eli he was wincing as he rubbed the side of his head.

“Are you all right, Eli?” Christine bent down and turned his head to see where he’d been hit, then lifted his eyelids and checked his pupils. “You might have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” he said, smiling. He gently took her hand away from his face and for a split second he held it before letting it go and standing up. Christine stood also. “I’ve been hit a lot harder. He threw off my balance is all. Are you going to use that on me?”

She looked down and realized she was still holding the syringe with insulin.

“Sorry,” she said. “I grabbed it for Gov—just in case.”

“He’s been a little more aggressive lately, I’ve noticed.” He rubbed the back of his neck and head.

“We might need the doctor to adjust his medications.” Christine nodded.

Before they could consider the happening any further, Donald, a quiet, easy patient, walked up to them.

“Gov touched me. I think I’m going to vomit. I’m going to vomit. I’m going to vomit.” Donald was afraid of touching anyone, no matter if he was sitting, standing, walking, or sleeping. He had his arms wrapped around his body.

“Donald, you’re not going to throw up just because Gov touched you,” Christine told him as she began walking back to the nurse’s office. “You’re just fine.”

“Nope, nurse, I’m going to vomit. I’m going to vomit,” he said articulately.

“Donald, just sit in that chair and don’t touch anyone,” Eli said. There was laughter behind each word. Christine bit her lip so she wouldn’t chuckle when Donald looked at Eli with shock all over his face. He listened immediately and sat, still repeating his words about vomiting.

Eli and Christine looked at each other, trying not to laugh. She was glad that the air of ease between them was returning. And glad she could still enjoy working with him and find comfort in his presence. She replaced the insulin injection in the office drawer and locked the door. She had to check on the patients in hydrotherapy.

“Freeman!” Freddy flew through the day room door, letting it slam against the wall. “Floyd’s seizing.”

Christine ran as fast as she could out of the day room and into the hall toward Floyd’s room. When they reached the room Floyd was facedown on the floor, convulsing uncontrollably. Adkins tried without success to get Floyd on his side. Christine grabbed Eli’s hand behind her and pulled him down onto the floor next to Floyd.

“Help Adkins roll Floyd on his side in case he vomits,” she said and grabbed the tongue depressor that was attached to the bed’s headboard. This was customary for patients on seizure watch.

Eli was able to roll Floyd onto his side without Adkins’s help. Christine grabbed the pillow from his bed and put it under his head, then pushed the tongue depressor into his mouth and held his tongue down.

“Come on, Floyd,” she whispered.

“How long has he been seizing?” Eli asked Adkins.

“I don’t know. I was walking by and noticed it and yelled at Freddy to get Freeman,” he said, breathing quickly.

Suddenly the shaking stopped and Christine began stroking Floyd’s hair.

“Floyd, it’s Nurse Freeman,” she said loudly. “Can you hear me? Try to open your eyes.”

His eyes fluttered a little.
Come on, Floyd. Come on.
He opened them. They were sleepy looking, and a smile began forming on his lips when he began seizing again. His eyes rolled back into his head, his breathing slowed, and his lips turned blue.

“Freddy, call for Dr. Franklin,” Christine yelled. “I need phenytoin. Eli, in the office you’ll see it in the locked cabinet in the corner.”

She handed him her keys. Phenytoin was the only anti-convulsing drug they had. While it had been in use for decades, its use wasn’t yet perfected, and scientists didn’t completely understand how it worked, only that it helped curb seizures in many patients.

“Hurry.”

Eli ran out of the room.

“Hopefully the phenytoin will be enough.” Adkins looked Christine right in the eyes, then stood and waited. It reiterated how serious this was. Adkins usually never stopped talking
and he, for once, was using his words sparingly. Eli ran back in and handed her the vial of medication and a syringe. Christine prepared the syringe, then located the large vein in his arm and injected it slowly. Then she prayed for it to work.

As the minutes passed and nothing changed, Christine’s heart dropped. Her eyes locked with Eli’s. Tears welled up and she couldn’t blink them away. Prolonged seizures could result in a heart attack. Mongoloids often also had heart maladies, which made it worse. Was he going to die right here while she stroked his hair? Why in these awful moments did none of her training matter? If she couldn’t save his life, what was the point? Why was she a nurse?

“Floyd, come on.” She gave him a smaller dose of phenytoin. Her passion was rising. “Can you hear me?” She didn’t hold back her tears anymore.

Dr. Franklin rushed in and squatted down near Floyd.

“Doctor, he’s in a status epilepticus. I’ve administered two hundred fifty milligrams of phenytoin, then a few minutes later another fifty, but it hasn’t helped.”

The doctor checked Floyd’s pupils and his pulse. “If he’s nonresponsive to the phenytoin, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more I can do,” the doctor said, sighing heavily. “You have to understand, Nurse, that Floyd has already lived years longer than the normal life expectancy for mongoloids. I’m sorry, I know how much everyone loves Floyd.”

Several more minutes passed and everyone waited. Suddenly he stopped shaking and lost control of his bladder and bowels. He inhaled deeply and exhaled painfully before he went completely still.

“No, no.” She held a hand over her face, shielding her weeping from several more attendants and student nurses who had entered the room. Eli covered the hand that still stroked Floyd’s hair with his own.

“Christine, he’s gone,” he whispered.

“No,” she cried. “No, it’s not true.”

She lowered the hand from her face and looked at Eli. Even with her blurry vision she could see his brow warped in sympathy and grief.

“I’m so sorry, Christine,” he said, “I know how much he meant to you.”

“He never knew his family,” she said, “we were all he had. The hospital is the only home he’s ever known.”

From the corner of her eye she saw the doctor shake his head as he made several notations in a file before he left.

She looked back down at Floyd.

“Come on.” Eli put his hand out to her.