Another August morning in Lawrence, Kansas dawned bright and crimson, the sky turning blue as night gave way to day. Chris Jenkins awakened to hear his mother puttering around above his basement apartment. A glance at the clock told him she was moving around earlier than usual, and concerned, he got out of bed, put on a bathrobe, and went up to the kitchen.
Chris' mother Wilma was puttering around with the coffeemaker, her walker between her and the counter, her oxygen bag hanging by a strap around her shoulder. She was bent, dressed in a blue gown, her grey hair frayed, and her face creased in concentration. He stood watching her, waiting for her to see him, but she was in her own world at half speed. Her hands were shaking now, barely trembling, and her right eye was blinking rapidly.
"Mom, Mom, are you all right?"
She looked around the kitchen before seeing him, and her winkled face creased in a frown. "Who are you, young man, and what are you doing in my kitchen?"
"Mom, I'm your youngest son Chris, I live downstairs."
"Chris, Chris, Chris who?"
"Are you feeling all right?"
"Things are a bit shaky this morning, but I'll be all right in a minute. Virgil will need his breakfast, and I have to get the kids ready for school."
The old body teetered and Chris came over to make sure she didn't fall hard. Somehow she righted herself, and continued her slow progress toward the refrigerator.
"Mom, I'm calling 911."
Her head shaking, she looked at him, and a fragile voice said: "If you want to call one of your friends this early, Timmy, go ahead, but don't talk too long. You have to catch the bus in a few minutes."
Grabbing the cordless phone, Chris dialed for the paramedics, gave the dispatcher the directions, and hung up, waiting for the ambulance. The possibility his mother would need help was the positive reason Chris was still living at home in his 30th year, and he'd rehearsed what they would do many times. His brothers and sisters were aware of the situation and concerned about their mother's frail condition, but agreed she should live at home as long as she could.
An aroma wafted up and caught his attention. It took him a moment to recognize it, and it frightened him. The night before, a Saturday night, he'd spent with Frau Pearson. She drove them into Kansas City for dinner and an orchestra concert, coming back and ascending the stairs to her bedroom. He lifted his hand to his nose: her aroma was still there, all the way to his wrist, and suddenly he was afraid his mother would notice it and know what it was. The lights in her bedroom were on when he got home around 2:00AM, but that wasn't unusual. He didn't shower because he was afraid of what she might think, since he normally showered on awakening.
A wail of sirens crept into fringes of his hearing. His mother continued to putter around the kitchen, getting cups, bowls and saucers from the cabinets, looking in the refrigerator, then shutting the door absent mindedly to cross the room to the stove. Getting a skillet from underneath the oven, she put it on a burner and fired up the gas, still shaking and wobbling. Chris watched her closely and tried to get her attention, but she ignored him.
The wailing peaked, and the front doorbell rang. Chris went down the hallway past the cluttered front room to open the door. Sam Hearns, an old classmate of his at Lawrence High, was at the door, his partners stood behind him with a gurney and other equipment. "Somebody here call for an ambulance? Oh, hi Chris."
"Hi Sam. It's my mom."
They came in and he led them back to the kitchen. His mother was barely keeping upright as she bent over to look in a cabinet. The paramedic came up and asked: "Is there anything we can do to help you, Mrs. Jenkins?"
"Oh, you frightened me," she said, almost falling as she tried to stand up. "Did Timmy say you could come over for breakfast?"
He took her arm, and led her to a chair, where he sat her down. "I'd like to check you out a little bit, Mrs. Jenkins."
"All right, Dr. Francis. It's been a while since you made a house call, but it's kind of you to come over."
Sam began to check her out while his team brought everything in. She submitted to his examination meekly. Chris shut off the burners, and watched intently.
After a few moments, Sam stood up and said, "Mrs. Jenkins, I think we need to take a little ride. How does that sound to you?"
"Well, I don't know, I have to get breakfast ready for my family."
"I'll take care of everything, Mom. You need to go right away," Chris said.
"That's nice of you, young man, but my duty is to my husband and my family."
"Something happened to Dad, I mean, Virgil. They had to take him to the emergency room. He had chest pains"
"Oh, that's different. All right, young man, I'll go with you. I hope my Virgil's all right." The paramedics were able to walk her gently out the door, but halfway down the sidewalk, she collapsed and they had to load her into the gurney for the trip to the hospital. Sam turned to Chris after they loaded her in: "Do you want to ride with us?"
"No, I better make sure everything's all right here before I come in. It'll only take me about five minutes. I'll meet you there."
"Good. You know where to go."
The ambulance pulled away and Chris looked around at the lightening sky. His thoughts raced, and after a moment's pause, he went back in the house to organize things before he followed them.
The faint aroma still haunted him as he sat in the waiting room and called his brothers and sisters. Breakfast was a pack of little chocolate donuts from a vending machine and a can of soda; only a few people were stirring in the Emergency Room that early Sunday morning and the waiting room was nearly empty. After making the calls, he dozed fitfully in the chair as he waited for news.
The duty nurse came out to see him around 8:00AM. "Mr. Jenkins, your mother is doing better. We don't know exactly what happened, but it's something in her brain. She had a slight stroke 3 years ago?"
"Yes. They called it a TIA."
"How long has she been on oxygen?"
"About three years. They discovered the emphysema at that time, although she hadn't been breathing well for a while."
"Is she still smoking?"
"Yes. We've all tried to tell her how dangerous it is, but she won't listen. Been afraid she'd set herself and the house on fire."
"All right. We're sending her up for some tests later today, an MRI and some blood work, to see what we're dealing with. She hasn't been conscious since she came in. Is your family on the way?"
"Yes, my sister Brenda's on her way up from Wichita, and Sheila's on her way from Dodge."
"We'll give you the room number in a few minutes, and you can go home and rest for a while. Don't think she'll get there before 11:00, and she probably won't be conscious until this evening."
"I see. Well, thank you."
"You're welcome, Mr. Jenkins."
Chris watched as the nurse departed, taken aback at being called 'Mr. Jenkins.' She looked like a teenager in her floral scrubs. He left and went home, to be awakened from his nap an hour later.
"
Schatzi, Schatzi
, are you all right?"
