Imperfect Contract Read Free Page B

don't think you should take Hutchinson as your patient again," I said.  "Play safe.  Don't aggravate yourself."  Her actions concerned me.  Typically, a patient was given trial periods off the ventilator under a physician's direct order.  If something happened when he was off the vent without an order, Vanessa would be responsible.
    "You're right.  Of course, you're always right."  Vanessa's voice hardened.
    She left the unit, and Connie finished giving report.  I dumped the rest of my morning coffee in the sink and went into Hutchinson's room.  Amelia sat at his bedside.
    "Morning, Amelia.  Hope you had a restful night."
    "Thanks.  I did.  I went home earlier than usual and slept most of the night.  It gives me peace that Barry has improved enough to be out of critical care."
    Interesting, I thought.  She must have known we moved him because the doctors and the HMO didn't think he'd get better, and they didn't want to waste resources.  The plan was to get him discharged from the hospital and into long-term care, with or without his ventilator.
    With Amelia watching, I assessed her husband and measured his vitals.  There was no change from the previous day.  I stood in the room while I made an entry in the record.  From her pensive expression, I assumed she wanted to talk.  When I finished charting, I pulled a chair next to her.
    "What's on your mind, Amelia?"  I touched the older woman's hand.  It felt cool and dry. 
    She was dressed in layers again, though today she was more casual in loose knit slacks and matching tunic and sweater.  There were embroidered appliqués of sailfish on all of the pieces.  You see the style on the early bird dinner crowd.
    "I asked Barry for a divorce—before they shot him."
    "I didn't know."  I studied her, trying to understand why she was telling me.  "You seem attentive to him."
    "I had a change of heart.  We didn't get along at home for a long time, though we did okay working together.  I decided to be a realtor because I thought we'd see more of each other and maybe get along better.  He was one of those men who did whatever he wanted.  Sometimes he wouldn't come home until late.  He never called and told me he wasn't coming home, and he went drinking with his friends.  I sat and waited and cried and worried.  He'd get home, and I'd be glad he hadn't been killed in an accident or something.  I'd be mad at him for what he put me through, and I'd scream and yell at him."
    "Doesn't sound wonderful." 
    As pools of tears filled her lower lids, I tried to understand why a woman would tolerate that behavior.
    "It wasn't good," she said.  "After I asked him to find another place to live, that I wanted a divorce, he stayed out even more.  At work, he ignored me or treated me like hired help.  I missed him, wished he were home.  I realized I loved him."
    "Did you tell him?"
    "Not at first.  A few days before he was hurt, I told him I loved him and asked him if we could try again."  She streaked her mascara as she rubbed at the tears.
    "What did he say?"  I took a tissue from the tiny box on the overbed table and handed it to her.  She made a bigger mess of her face before putting the tissue in my outstretched hand.  I dabbed, cleaned, and repaired her makeup with some success.  Then I focused on her eyes, wanting her to answer the question.
    "He didn't say anything.  He patted me on the head, as if to tell me to be a good little woman, and turned around and left.  When he did come home, he had been drinking.  As always, he denied it."
    "And?"
    "He repeated things that had been said before.  He knew someday I'd ask for a divorce, and he was ready.  He was tired of my screaming.  That was why he never came home.  I told him my yelling was because he wasn't around.  He had it backwards."
    "Did anything get settled?"  In nursing school, we learned that patients and families confide the intimate details of their lives while they’re in the