I know that I’m irritable and angry, in part, because we’ve officially headed into the holidays. We hit Thanksgiving. I can feel it coming on like a bad cold: the tickle in the back of my throat the 2nd week of November, convincing myself I’m totally healthy I dive in wanting to bake for the holidays. My challah (“ok. stop.” my friend Shareen says to me over a glass of wine. it’s “ch-allah. ch…” emphasizing the yiddish “ch” sound that I had neglected to make). Then this year there’s my apple tart – my new specialty. Fantastic with just simple apples and some grated mexican chocolate and chili powder… mmm. And brussel sprouts and grapes baked w/ garlic and olive oil. Shit that’s good. So there’s no way I’m going to let this little tickle get me.
And then there’s all the food and the fact that inevitably I “forget” to call on the actual day. I usually forget until I’m done baking in the morning, and then I’m rushing out the door. She hates it when I call in a rush, because she needs to talk at me for at least 30 minutes in order to feel like it’s a real conversation (and even that is way too short). After I’m rushing out the door I’m then over at B—-‘s folks’ house and don’t want to sneak away and be rude. By the time I get home she’s well and in bed.
Except for that time. THAT time was Thanksgiving in Oregon. THAT time was B—- and I heading out to Mt Hood on snowy Oregon roads. Kala Bean was going to romp in the snow for the first time. We were going to head to the lodge where “The Shining” was filmed and peer through miles of pine trees scattered above volcanic features. We’d stopped at a bakery to get coffee. I stayed in the car to put through my 3rd call. No answer. Again. I call Grams.
“Happy Thanksgiving!!”
“Oh Caity! So good to hear from you! Everyone has been over and we had turkey and potatoes w/ gravy. Tayo brought pies and Coralyn made the stuffing, Pete and Theora brought glog and everyone had just a taste. Haven’t heard from your mother yet though. Maybe before tonight”
So strange. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Perhaps it’s selfish of me to assume she’d be alone and sitting by the phone waiting for her daughters to call on the big turkey day. But still – we usually connected at least once during the day. I texted Robin. “You heard from Mom?” Two minutes later my cell phone rings, “No. I was going to ask you.” We agreed that I would call around to some of the neighbors and see if anyone had seen our mother. Seems a little extreme, but it’s not like her to be incommunicado on a holiday.
I don’t have to go far. First call is the O’Connors.
“Oh yes – Lil brought her to the hospital yesterday as she’s been so sick.” At first I’m confused. If Lil is bringing her to the hospital it means she’s not driving herself which means something is really wrong. “We thought she’d have told you already. I hope I’m not getting in the middle of anything.” I’m her daughter for god’s sake. “I really shouldn’t say more than that, but you should call Lil”. I’m incredulous for a moment. Seriously? My mother is in the hospital, overnight, and she’s told people not to tell me anything. In the moment I’m incredulous. What do you mean you can’t tell me what’s wrong with her? Looking back on it I believe it was my mother’s way of guaranteeing that I would fly back to Connecticut, her way of manipulating me into it.
My mind is racing – if my mother has been in the hospital overnight they must have admitted her. Already that rules out several classes and categories of ailments and injuries. My mother with no insurance, who hasn’t been to a doctor for more than the free clinic-paid annual mammogram in possibly decades. “Maybe you should call Lil. I don’t want to get in the middle, your mother’s a private person.” Private person my ass. Tell me what the fuck is going on! “Nancy, thank you. I’m so sorry to bother you on Thanksgiving. Can you give me Lil’s number?”
My blood rises as a chill goes up my spine. B—- is on his way back to the car from the bakery with a steaming americano in his hand. I’m dialing as he gets into the car. I wave for him to wait before starting. The phone rings and Lil picks up – I apologize for reaching Lil on a holiday. I’m immediately frustrated that I have to apologize for trying to find out what has happened to my own mother. “Oh Caity! Happy Thanksgiving! Yes, we took K—- to Bacchus Hospital yesterday morning. They admitted her right away, she’s just so sick.” Admitted her for what? “You really should just talk to her about that, she asked me not to talk with you about it. She did just look so terrible when I saw her at the town hall for elections.” Elections were in early November, it’s the 24th. So she did not fall and break anything. “You should probably call over to the hospital and reach her in her room. I’m sorry I don’t have her room number for you.”
This is how I discover my mother is ill and in the hospital. The police would have done a better job than my own family friends telling me what was going on. I thought about looking up accident reports in the local connecticut newspaper. I call the hospital and explain that I’m looking for a patient. I can hear the switchboard operator typing. Ok, just a moment. I’ll transfer you. I imagine the switchboard at some information desk in the front entryway. Perhaps there’s a gift shop next to it already teeming w/ holiday stocking stuffers. Somewhere else in the bowels of a big blocky multistory building, in another hallway the phone is ringing and at the nurse’s station someone is circling round the end of the counter to pick it up. “Cancer ward, can I help you?”
Well, at least now I know what’s wrong.