Down the Dirt Road (18 page)

    “Jennie, I’m sorry but I have to return to work.  There’s been an accident in town and I need to go and write it up.  Here is my card.  Call my cell phone when you are ready to go home and I’ll come back just as soon as I can.”  His eyes shone with concern and the obvious objection to leaving her, despite the fact that he didn’t have a choice.

    Jennie accepted the card with a small nod.  She could just as easily call Uncle Tommy for ride, probably would actually once she had time to figure out what wa
s
going on but she didn’t say any of that
to Grayson Jennings, just nodded.  It was obvious that he didn’t want to leave her but duty was calling and he had to answer.

     “Doctor.”  Grayson nodded in the direction of the older man.  “Don’t forget, Jennie, call me if you need anything.”  And then he was gone and Jennie was forced to return to facing the reality of her mother’s illness.

     “Momma spent a lot of time in bed after Daddy died.  She was normal before the funeral but then she slipped into a deep depression.  I thought it was normal; she was
mourning the loss of her husband.  But when it dragged on and she would go days without leaving her room, I started to worry.  And then Uncle Tommy began to drop by once or twice a week and Momma started getting dressed again.  But she has never quite gotten back to her old self.  This is the first time she has even left the farm since Daddy’s funeral.”

    Jennie dropped back against the cold vinyl chair and heaved a huge sigh, exhausted suddenly from the events of the day.

   The kindly doctor reached out a hand and touched her on the arm.  His cool fingers had the gentle touch of a man blessed with the gift of healing.  “I imagine the past few years have been rather difficult for you; losing your father, having to take care of your mother.  It’s OK to be tired
, emotionally drained.”

  She shrugged him off.  “I’m fine.  My knee just hurts some.  I’m more worried about Momma.  How did she get sick?”

    “Well, either disease could be brought on by stress.  Lupus is particularly susceptible to prolonged stress.  As
soon as we get some more test results back, I will have a better idea of what is wrong and how to treat it.  Losing her husband suddenly was enough to throw your mother into a tailspin.  Her body fought back in the only way it knew how.”

    “It attacked itself?  That’s crazy.”  Jennie snapped, still the doctor remained kind and soft spoken.

     “It is a little crazy, yes but that’s the nature of the business I guess.  Let’s just concentrate on keeping your mother comfortable.  I have arranged for a room for the night at least.  She will be moving to a more comfortable place shortly.  More comfortable for both of you.  I assume you will stay with her a bit?”

   “Yes, sir.  I’m not leaving anytime soon.”

   “OK, then, as soon as I know more, I will be back.  Please try to get a little rest while your mother is asleep.”

     The doctor rose from his stool and headed toward the curtain.

    “Oh, doctor!  One more thing?”  She called out just as he passed through the polyester drapery.

    “Yes, Miss Marshall?”

     “Momma’s head- is it OK?  You didn’t say too much about the reason we came in in the first place.”

    “I’ll be honest
,
Jennie, we wouldn’t be here, having this conversation if there weren’t something more serious wrong with your mother.  The head injury is just a scratch.  There’s no sign of any bruising or swelling or inter-cranial pressure; no indication of a concussion.  No, the real reason you are here is your mother’s health.  It is responsible for her tumble this afternoon.”

   “Oh.”  There wasn’t much else she could say to that line of reasoning.  “Well, I will be here when you return.”

   The doctor nodded and left the small space.  Jennie settled in against the back of the uncomfortable chair, slowly stretching her injured leg, trying not to groan out loud from the pain.  The small card in her lap slipped to the floor and she leaned over to grab it.  “Officer Grayson Jennings” it read, with a series of contact numbers and the address of the police department in town.  She ran her fingers over the raised lettering and the little emblem of a police badge, wondering ever so briefly what it would be like to be married to a police officer.  A low moan from
Momma quickly drove any wishful thoughts from her mind.  There would be no marriage- no dating even- for her for a good long time.  The farm and her job kept her busy enough but now Momma was going to need extra help.  No matter what was wrong with her it wasn’t going to go away on its own.  No, Jennie didn’t have any time for relationships or even the occasional cup of coffee with a good looking police officer, no matter how kind his eyes or boyish his smile.

16.

     “Lupus?  What is Lupus?”   Momma’s voice was tired, almost frail.  “How can I possibly have something I have never heard of.  I am not sick.  I haven’t had any symptoms of being sick.  Are you sure about this doctor?”

     Jennie sat in a corner watching her mother’s face as the doctor broke the life changing news to her.  All the blood work had been conclusive, Elise Marshall suffered from an autoimmune disease that was eating her alive from the inside out.  It was of the utmost importance that they begin medications and treatments at once.  There was a decent
chance of remission if they got to work on it right away but Elise Marshall seemed to be slipping into a state of denial.

    “The doctor says it can be brought on by extreme stress, Momma.  Daddy’s death…”

    “I got sick because my husband died?  That’s absolutely ridiculous.”

    “That’s kind of what I said, too, Momma.  But
Doctor Sullivan
here says it’s possible.  Right doctor?”

     
After the fiasco
of moving from the emergency room to a semi-private room three floors up, Jennie had finally taken the time to get to know the doctor’s name and acclimate herself with the rest of the staff that had hovered over her mother most of the night.
  It was now eight in the morning, nearly sixteen hours since they had first arrived and Jennie had yet to go to sleep.  Momma, on the other hand, had slept almost all of those hours and was looking more rested than she had in well, two years.

      “Yes, Mrs. Marshall.  You were under a great of stress when your husband passed.  You may not have realized it but your body did.”

    “Is there a pill or something I can take?  Something that will cure me?”

    The good Doctor Sullivan looked sad for the briefest of moments when he answered,   

   “Unfortunately there is no cure but the chances of achieving remission are excellent. Many people live long, happy, productive lives with the disease.”

   “Oh, I don’t care about a long happy life.  What are the chances of a very quick end to this?”

    Her eyes met Jennie’s but looked away quickly.  Jennie had a flashback to that day, two years ago, not even a month after Daddy had left them when her won pet cow Old Bessie had been struck down by lightning.  As she lay there in the downpour, clinging to the carcass of her very favorite animal, Daddy had appeared to her.  She never quite figured out if she had dreamed the whole thing but she remembered his words as clear as day, his promise that Momma would be with him soon.

    Had he known then that she was so sick?  That her heart was so broken that her body would find a way to heal it- by allowing her to be with the man she loved?

    “Momma?  What are you saying?”

     “What?  Oh, nothing.”  Elise looked confused by her presence.  “I just wanted to know how long I would have if the… er…medications didn’t …um…work.”

      Their eyes met, unasked questions meeting unspoken answers.

     “No, Momma.”  She whispered.  “No.”

     “Mrs. Marshall, this is not a death sentence.  If you take care of yourself, eat right, get treatment, you should be near as good as new in no time at all.  I know your little girl here would be very happy to see you feeling better.”
     Momma picked at the threads in the white blanket spread across her lap, refusing to meet the eyes of the doctor or her daughter.  “Of course, Doctor.  Thank you.  When do the meds start?”

     “Right away.  The nurse will be here in a bit and I have invited a hematologist in to speak with you.  He should be dropping by later this afternoon.”

      “How long will Momma have to stay in the hospital?”  Jennie asked, almost as an afterthought in the thick tension still lingering in the small hospital room.

      “Just a day or two.  Just long enough to get her going on her medications and set up a routine for treatment.”

     “That’s good.  I won’t miss much work then.  Thank you, Doctor Sullivan.”

     “There’s no need for you to stay with me, Jennie-girl.  I’ll be fine.”

     “You mother will be well cared for, Jennie, there really is no need for you to worry.”  Doctor Sullivan reassured her
.

       “I am sure that she will be but I have already called out for the next couple of days anyway.  Thank you, though.”

       “All right, well, I have rounds to do so I must be on my way.  Please, if you have any questions, have the nurse page me and I will get back to you as soon as I can.  Everything is going to be OK, Jennie, Mrs. Marshall.  We will see you through this.”

     With that, the kind doctor left the room leaving Jennie and Elise alone.  Without a word, Momma settled back against the stack of pillows on her bed and closed her eyes, making it clear that she had no wish to speak about anything at that time. 

    Taking the hint, Jennie located the remote control and turned on the small hospital room television. The morning news was on so she switched the channel in search of something mindless.   After scanning several channels she began to pay attention to what was on the screen.  Every channel appeared to be showing the same thing.  One of the giant skyscrapers in New York City, the scroll on the bottom of the screen said it was the World Trade Center, appeared to be on fire.  As she watched, alternately reading the scrolling news on the bottom of the screen and watching the building burn, an object at the right side of the screen caught her attention.  As she watched in horror, a jet plane flew straight in the side of the second skyscraper causing a huge explosion.  People on the television screamed, sirens blared, the voice of the news caster drown out by the cries of people running past the camera, trying to get away from the
burning towers. 

    As she watched, huge plumes of white-gray smoke billowed from both of the buildings.  People ran through the streets of the greatest city on earth crying.  The picture shifted to a field, a mass of black smoke, and a crater in the
ground.  The announcer said another plane had just crashed in the middle of a field in Pennsylvania.  They said it had been headed for the white house but crashed there instead. And then the television returned to the frantic residents of New York City where there, on the television, right before her very eyes, the first burning tower collapsed in a huge cloud of soot and smoke and dust.  People fell from the remaining tower, papers floated through the air like abandoned kites and before long the second tower fell to the ground.

    Jennie sat in the chair beside her sleeping mother’s bed, speechless, eyes glued to the television.

  Terrorists. 

They said terrorists had attacked Americans on American soil.  The planes, giant, diesel filled bombs used to destroy Americans. As she watched the reports, she learned that the plane in the field had been driven to the ground by the very passengers that had been hijacked rather than allow the terrorist hijackers that had captured them to fly the plane into the Nation’s capital, into the side of the first family’s home.

  9/11/01.  The day the United States of America was
attacked by its greatest enemy. T
he day American declared war on terror.

    She had no idea how long she had been sitting there, watching the coverage of the attacks.  Her body was numb, her eyes red and dry from all the tears she had shed as she watched the death toll rise on the bottom of the television screen.
  She was unaware of anything else except the deep sadness that filled her soul as she watched people covered in concrete dust wander the streets of New York City trying to tell themselves there was no way any of it had really happened.  So, when Grayson Jennings gently called her name from just a few feet away, she about near had a hard attack.

     “Jennie?”  The remote control went flying to the floor with a crash.  Elise stirred but didn’t wake, thankfully.

     “Grayson!  What are you doing here?”  He stood close enough to touch,
the
smell of his spicy aftershave tickling her senses ever so slightly.  He wore dark washed jeans, well-worn boots and a royal blue polo shirt that hugged his chest in all the right places.  A flush rose in her cheeks as
she jumped from the chair and scooped the remote control from the floor.  Keeping her eyes averted, she returned to the chair and pushed the mute button on the remote.