Playing Doctor

It has been three weeks since I was traveling around Europe and there is no way this is happening. I left only for three weeks and so much has changed. Prior to seeing The Vegemite Tales, which was showing in Piccadilly Circus during my final night in London, I received a call from my mother telling me that Grandma’s upper respiratory infection was much more serious. The mass was malignant and acting as a valve, restricting airflow through her bronchial tube; I was told that we would explore our options upon my return, though my mother couldn’t bring herself to tell Grandma alone and only my presence would do.

It has been three weeks and we are now living in the private rental living quarters of Roosevelt Hospital, which is located in Hell’s Kitchen. Ruby is the most wonderful friend and roommate a girl could ever have. Recognizing the strain that a commute from Grandma’s home in Staten Island would take on us three, Ruby offered to stay with Elizabeth while we sought treatment. Elizabeth wouldn’t mind, as she is a warm, considerate woman and I could see the love in her eyes when she looked at Ruby. I declined the offer; Grandma always provided for her family well beyond her obligation. Truly the matriarch, she married a rotten, adulterous man, raised two ungrateful children and then accepted responsibility as my maternal figure following my parents’ divorce. She is my idol in every way, embodying the rare combination of strength, grace and diplomacy. The mold was definitely broken after she was made. I owed her at least the comfort of a $600/night hotel style hospital room.

It has been three weeks and following a two week holiday from work, I am forced to take family medical leave. My publisher has been nothing but understanding, and there is no way I could ever focus on my work and care for Grandma, though the layoffs within the publishing industry continue and I am frightened. Each day while watching the news and checking Gawker, I hear reports of publication upon publication folding or industry wide employee dismissals, and in this economy a manager’s understanding must have its limits. My life is spinning out of control and there is solace nowhere; perhaps I will read The Alchemist again, as there must be something helpful in there!

It has been three weeks and Grandma has not lost her sense of humor, as I discovered one day in the hospital, while flipping through photos from my European adventure. “Oh Frankie,” she said, “what hunks these doctors are.” her thick New York accent one of the few that I find endearing and melodious. “Yes, Frankie”, my mother chimes in, “You could probably find a wealthy, handsome young Dr. McDreamy to take care of you.” So she offends me by suggesting that I am not capable of caring for myself, treat that which I consider a sacred bond by pursuing a life with someone for anything other than mutual love, my education was a waste and finally referencing Grey’s Anatomy; she knows that I can’t stand today’s mundane television programming. Such a statement is typical of this woman who has served as a younger sister to me, while Grandma acted as mother. As if perfectly scripted ABC programming, a young resident enters the room. I can’t use the adjective handsome, as this would not suffice to describe how attractive I find him. Mom compares him to J.F.K. Jr, though J.F.K Jr. never made the three of us gasp and hold our breath in unison. Brief introduction and he begins taking Grandma’s blood, making jokes and conversation. He asks about the photos and quips, “It must be nice to travel through Europe”, to which I reply in the affirmative. He adds quickly, “Yes, especially if someone else pays for the journey.” Was he listening at the door?! With a smirk, I reply “I pay my own way and need not rely on others to attain my heart’s desire.” He smiles and tells us that he will return in a bit. Once he leaves Grandma exclaims, “They just keep getting’ bettah and bettah”! “Yes, Grandma”, I agree and giggle. She is always a woman after my own heart. –Frankie