All the Single Ladies Read Free Page A

for a moment?”
    â€œSure,” Suzanne said.
    They stood and followed me to a small unassigned office that served as a private place for conversations not meant to be heard by the patients. It held only an unremarkable desk, three folding chairs, and a box of tissues.
    Before I could sit Carrie spoke.
    â€œThis is really bad news, isn’t it?” she said.
    Carrie Collins had recently buried her husband in Asheville, North Carolina, and was enjoying an extended visit with Suzanne while her late husband’s greedy, hateful children contested his will. And she had become great friends with Kathy while working at Suzanne’s design studio. She’d told me that she arrived on Suzanne’s doorstep with only what she could fit in her trunk.
    â€œWell, it’s not great,” I said. “Kathy had a really difficult night last night. So the doctor ordered morphine for her and that’s why she’s resting now. He thinks it’s time to begin administering pain meds on a regular basis.”
    â€œIs she already going into organ failure?” Carrie said.
    Boy, I thought, for a nonprofessional she sure is familiar with how we die.
    â€œOh God!” Suzanne exclaimed. “She can’t go yet! I promised her I’d take her out to the beach!”
    â€œThe minute I came in this morning I could smell death in every corner of her room,” Carrie said.
    â€œDon’t be such a pessimist. She’s just having a setback, isn’t she?” Suzanne asked. “Do you think we can get her out to Isle of Palms? Maybe by next week?”
    â€œTo be honest?” I said. “Who knows? She has a living will that dictates the care she wants for herself, but when she’s unable to make decisions, like now . . . You have her health care proxy. Her will says she does not want to be resuscitated or intubated.”
    â€œYes. I know that,” Suzanne said.
    â€œAnyway, we feel the time has come to provide maximum comfort for her. Her living will also says, as I’m sure you know, that she asked for pain medication as needed.”
    â€œAre you asking my permission?” Suzanne said.
    â€œYes,” I said.
    â€œIs she in pain now?” Carrie said.
    â€œShe was last night, but as you can see, she’s resting comfortably now,” I said.
    â€œThen give her whatever she needs,” Suzanne said. “Please. God, I don’t want her to suffer!”
    â€œShe won’t suffer, will she?” Carrie said.
    â€œWe will do everything in our power to see that she doesn’t. I promise,” I said.
    â€œIs this the end?”
    This was the question every single person who worked at Palmetto House dreaded. I gave her the best answer I could.
    â€œOh, Suzanne. If I knew the answer to that, I’d be, well . . . I don’t know what I’d be. Einstein? The truth is that no one can precisely predict the hour of someone’s death. But there are signs. As she gets closer to the end, things will change, and I promise I will tell you all I know.”
    Suzanne’s bottom lip quivered and she burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. Carrie’s eyes were brimming with tears too. She put her arm around Suzanne’s shoulder and gave her a good squeeze. They were both devastated. I pulled tissues from the box on the desk and offered them. Even though I’d seen this wrenching scenario play through more times than I wanted to remember, this seemed different. It felt personal. And suddenly I was profoundly saddened. I had become involved. In my mind, seeing Kathy Harper’s demise was like witnessing a terrible crash in slow motion.
    â€œI’m okay. Sorry,” Suzanne said. “It’s just that this whole thing is so unfair.”
    â€œYes. It is terribly unfair,” I said, “But I can tell you this. Everyone around here has seen y’all come and go a million times since Kathy came to us.