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He sticks his head out of the kitchen.
“What’s up?”
“I think you should grab your stuff and come with me. Debra just called to say Mom isn’t doing great. She may have developed an infection.”
He looks a little startled, but then immediately heads for the stairs, presumably to get his things.
“What about the pub?” he asks, halfway up.
“We’ll have to close. I’ll get Len to put a sign on the door.”
“Everything all right? I heard my name,” Len says, stepping into the small hallway.
“Something is going on with Mom. We’re going to have to close the pub,” I share.
“We’re going to set off the town’s rumor mill if we close,” Pops cautions.
It’s a valid point, but we don’t really have the luxury of time to try and sort out alternatives. I feel a strong urgency to get to the hospital as soon as possible.
“I have a suggestion,” Len interjects. “The bar can stay open but I’ll let folks know the kitchen is closed. Anyone who asks, I’ll just let them know you both have to be at a meeting with the doctors or something.”
I doubt it’ll pass muster with some of the regulars, like Buck Wilson, the town’s veterinarian and my father’s buddy, but that can’t be helped.
“Sounds like a plan,” I offer, glancing up at my father, who finally nods his consent.
Five minutes later we’re heading toward Spokane, both of us silent, but our joint fear is an almost tangible presence in the car.
“In English, please!” my father snaps at Mom’s doctor.
I put a calming hand on his arm.
“Pops, an anastomotic leak means that one of the repairs in Mom’s bowel isn’t holding. It’s like a leaking joint in a water line.”
“Exactly,” Dr. K agrees with an approving nod.
His full name is Krasnoperov, but that was too much of a mouthful for my father, who quickly adopted the abbreviated Dr. K to address the man.
“But…” he continues, “instead of plain water, the leak is spilling bacteria in Stella’s bowel, which is causing the infection. We’ve already started her on a more targeted antibiotic, but if the leak is too substantial, we may need to operate again to repair it. That brings with it an entire new set of potential complications, which is why we’re having this talk.”
A lot of talking and a CT-scan later, I am leaning over my mother, kissing her clammy cheek.
“Keep your father calm,” she whispers through cracked lips.
“I’ll do my best,” I vow. “Love you, Mom. See you on the flip side.”
When Pops leans over and puts his face close to hers, she lifts a shaky hand and places her palm against his scruffy cheek.
“You need a shave.”
“Least of my worries, woman,” he shoots back.
“It’ll all be okay,” she promises him softly.
For a moment, I see Pops close his eyes as he presses his cheek to her hand.
“Love ya, even though you’re a pain in my arse,” he grumbles.
“Right back atcha,” she responds, a tear squeezing from her closed eyelids as she lowers her hand.
