The Yale Journal for Humanities in Medicine

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Carpet
(continued)

My father remained in the intensive care unit for another few days then he was moved to the neurology floor of the hospital in a semi-private room. Semi-private in a hospital means you will have a roommate just a few feet away and your ‘privacy’ is assured by a fifteen year old Neapolitan colored curtain that can be drawn around your bed. My mother and I split our time so that someone was able to stay with him as much as possible. As he was still not speaking, I sat and read most of the time. Mom had been a homemaker since I was born. Originally she had worked as a receptionist, first for a national firm then for my father’s accounting practice. After I was born and as his solo practice grew, she stayed home to raise me. He regained some speech within the first week and we were thankful to be able to understand his needs. He lost, however, all articulation in his communication. Although sometimes garbled we learned to comprehend him. Slowly we were able to communicate with him. It was not unlike becoming skilled at a foreign language. Dr. Al explained that the inflammation in his brain had settled now and we would, hopefully, see some recovery. Dr. Al must have taken a liking to us because he would personally find either me or my mother daily. Sometimes he would call us at home with an update of my father’s condition although most of the time there was nothing new to report. Often, our conversation would be directed to my plans for the future. I was completing my junior year of high school and college loomed ahead. My mother insisted that despite Dad’s condition she would find a way for me to go to school. At the time I was very interested in the life sciences, I wished to be a biology or botany major.

After two and one-half weeks in a rehabilitation hospital we brought my father home by ambulance. Initially we had a lot of help around the house. There were home nurses, home physical therapy and, to our surprise, Dr. Al even came by to visit once. After a few weeks his health insurance would not cover the additional assistance so we established our usual routine. My mother and I worked out a schedule to take care of him. She sat me down one evening after my father went to sleep and explained that our family would have to make some changes. We would not be able to afford the house in which I had grown up and it would have to be sold. Dad’s disability income would carry us the rest of the summer but she would have to take classes to retrain on word processors and databases so that, in the fall, she could work again as a receptionist. The two of us would set up a calendar, which we would post on the refrigerator, to take care of him. Most of all, she told me with no uncertainty, I would go to college next year. We both cried silently that night in our family room were it all began. She told me that I was her responsibility now and she would not fail me. As she wept I simply gazed down at that golden carpet that I used to love as a child. I remembered the time my father spread out a chess board on it and showed me how the pieces move. I was about ten years old and he told me to remember one thing about the game. After it is over the pawns and the kings are placed in the same box. I suppose it was his attempt at a life lesson.

Out of the blue, a few weeks later Dr. Al called and asked for me. He told me once that I reminded him of his grandson in Texas and I suppose that is why he was so kind. He asked if I was working this summer and I told him that I was with my father during the day while Mom was back to school. He related that, over the summer, he and Mrs. Haney have small dinner parties at their home and sometimes need extra help with serving and preparation. It would usually be on a Wednesday and I would be paid at the end of the night. My mother was happy to have me leave the house and thought that I could make some ‘contacts’ through working the parties.

After meeting Mrs. Haney and the caterer, I was instructed in the proper technique to offer a drink or hors d’oeuvres. As the guests arrived, I would show them to the back yard where they would convene poolside. I would take their drink orders and bring them the beverage with a cocktail napkin on a silver platter. Through Dr. Al’s parties I learned about the hierarchy of medical training. The lowest on the pecking order was the medical student, and then came the intern who was in his or her first year out of medical school, then the resident, then fellows who were completing work post residency and finally a full fledged physician or attending like Dr. Al. He hosted these parties to introduce a lecturer to the physicians training at the hospital. Every Thursday morning a national medical authority would address the entire hospital staff. These grand rounds were attended by the majority of hospital physicians and nurses. The night prior Dr. Al and his wife would host a small gathering of students, residents, fellows and attending doctors. His theory was that by doing so he would make the speaker more comfortable by recognizing some of the faces in the audience the following day.

Alva Haney and his wife were remarkable people who loved to entertain and travel. They outfitted their home with exotic furniture that they had collected on their travels. Dr. Al was also an avid photographer who juxtaposed prints of the half dome of Yosemite with Mt. Kilimanjaro in the dining room. After drinks outside, the group of about ten sat for dinner in the room. It was a formal space with wainscoting adorning the walls and hard wood maple floors. The floor was covered in an intricate oriental rug that the couple casually mentioned was purchased on a lark in Istanbul . I stood by helping serve the meal while listening closely to the conversation. Mrs. Haney was a vivacious and talkative woman. She had bright blue eyes and short blonde hair. At these summer parties she would always be dressed in a multicolored sun dress. The Haneys were a couple who loved to discuss almost any subject from different cultures to art and of course medicine. Dr. Al had been witness to a spectrum of neurologic illnesses. By the end of the summer, I had not heard him once repeat a story about the many interesting patients he had, as he would say, the privilege to treat.

That summer ended abruptly on Labor Day and the brisk Minnesota fall began. We sold the house, my mother began working again and we moved to an apartment complex that we could afford. I had never remembered living anywhere other than our recently sold beloved house. My mother wanted me to graduate from my own high school so we were forced to find an apartment in limited area. I only remember two things about my first visit to the apartment. The stale smells of the hallway where we would get our mail and the carpet. It was a matted, worn, forest green shag upon which dozens of previous residents had tread. No amount of vacuuming or cleaning could expunge its random stains and cigarette stench. Living in the apartment complex was completely different than our old neighborhood. Nobody came to say hello as we brought our boxes in the first day like we had to every new resident of our old subdivision. The people who we saw walk in from time to time were either tired or in a hurry. Few stopped to talk when at the mailbox or in the laundry room in the basement.

We had a two bedroom place with a small galley kitchen. My father stayed in the bedroom most of the time. He was able to walk with quite a bit of assistance to the bathroom. After school began and my mother returned to work, we were forced to leave him alone most of the day. She would call and check on him twice a day and leave snacks prepared. She usually made it home for lunch and attended to his meal. We bought disposable urinals at a medical supply store which needed to be emptied as soon as I returned from school. It was in this manner that I completed my senior year of high school. My mother tried to provide for everything but I understood we could only afford so much. I intentionally neglected to tell her about the senior ski trip, class ring and prom and she never asked.

I applied for and was accepted to Augsburg College thanks to a glowing letter of recommendation by Dr. Al, which he later showed me. My grades were as strong as my need for financial aid and I received a substantial scholarship. The award stipulated, however, that I must live on campus in a dorm. My mother was elated and insisted that she would find a way to make it work. I began school but made it home every Friday afternoon to return Sunday night for the first two months. Slowly as my social life improved I came home less often and finally I would visit once a month. I had convinced myself and my mother that I was too busy with schoolwork but sometimes, I simply could not bring myself to see him or that apartment.

Continued
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