Air

I awoke to the smell of shit, literal and actual shit. My nose was buried so far under the covers that I was sure it must have been my grandmother farting in her sleep again. The day before my mother hadn’t been feeling well, so we stayed in for most of the afternoon venturing out only to get her some orange juice and medicine. My grandma and I decided to walk over to the Beatles tribute show, and by the time we came back, my mom was already asleep. I opted for sleeping with my Mamaw in case whatever my mom had was contagious.

I cannot remember the number of times I dozed back off that morning, hiding my nose from the stench, convinced it could be nothing more than a bad fart. Just like, I cannot remember what time it was when I opened my eyes to see my mother in the other double bed sitting on the edge, but that was the time I decided to get out of bed. When I shuffled to check on her, the smell grew worse, gagging me even. I ran back and shook my Mamaw awake as fast as possible. I wish I could tell you what I said that got her out of bed so quickly, but I don’t.

Panic stricken, it was our first instinct to help her to the bathroom to clean off. It’s important to understand that my mother was a large woman and getting her off the bed was no small feat. I coaxed her until I was crying and my breathing had grown ragged. My poor grandmother was pacing by this time, her whole body shaking.

I did eventually get to lead her to the bathroom, but she made it no farther than the toilet before sitting. This is when I knew in my belly we were in trouble. This woman was not my mother. She was a shell of a woman who looked at me with no more than a glassy eyed expression. Every time either of us spoke to my mother to ask her to get into the shower or at least stand up, she would simply reply with incoherent mumblings. Multiple times I asked if we should call an ambulance or even my grandfather—not that he would have been much help as we were on vacation approximately three and half hours from home. Each time she said no. my grandmother is a prideful woman, and I know she most likely wanted to save my mother from the embarrassment of getting into an ambulance covered in her own feces.

I wish I knew how much time passed before I’d finally had enough; it was definitely hours. I had thrown up countless times in my mouth only to have to swallow it and keep going. I was on my knees in the bathroom floor, breathing only out of my mouth as I struggled to get a single understandable sentence from my mother. It’s impossible to figure out what provoked the question that did me in, but I still had to ask.

“Pamela,” I spoke her name which had managed to determine she did in fact know, “do you know who I am?” I asked softly.

Everything that left my mouth had been screams up to that point. Some things I said were probably just as unintelligible as what my mother was saying simply because I was losing it.
Her head shook slightly as she said no and began to cry. My own mother had no clue who I was. I have never dealt with someone with Alzheimer’s before, but I can imagine that the sharp pain in my chest that followed was not unlike that feeling. But my mom was thirty-three! She wasn’t supposed to be forgetting who I was yet, if ever.

I believe I said my first curse words ever in front of my grandmother and stomped to the hotel phone to dial 911. I won’t pretend to remember what happened next. I do recall crying to the point of my grandmother having to take the phone and talk to the emergency responder while I sat on the edge of our bed. The next thing I remember were the very serious faces of the men passing me in the small space to get to the bathroom. How long had the door been open, I remember questioning aloud—not that anyone heard it. I remember sitting in the small gravel area with the rather fake looking bushes, hiding my face from all the EMTs. I know I had been crying very loudly at one point and the look one responder gave me is one I’ll never forget, because I received it so many times after. His face showed utter and complete pity, pity for me, pity for my grandmother, pity for my mother. And, so, I sat in gravel, curled into as small of a ball as my body would allow, calling random people in my phone to see who would answer on a summer morning. I know I talked to Jonathan; we weren’t even that close, so it still baffles me that I chose to call him of all people. My Mamaw made me promise not to call my grandpa or uncles, not yet.

It was about a twenty minute drive to the ER. Or so I think. My grandma was trying so hard to be collected. She is usually the first to lose her head, and I am, somehow, the mature one, but in that moment, I was lost. I watched rock walls pass us by. The drive lasted an eternity, but I wanted it to be longer. The longer I could stay in that car and pretend life wasn’t happening, the better. Once we were done driving, I would have to hear what I was so scared of, that my mother was dying, although, at that time, I was thinking of the worst case scenarios. And being the selfish human being I am, nothing seemed like it could possibly be worse than my mom forgetting my name except maybe death.

I’m sure it wasn’t all that quick, but it seemed as though only seconds passed before they were giving us a prognosis, TSS from untreated staph, except her staph had been treated two months before, just not properly apparently. We were told it was quite likely she would die right there, in an ER just outside of Branson, Missouri. I don’t know why, but I agreed to see her. One look and I nearly vomited on her right there.

Air, I needed air. Outside those awful automatic opening doors that just won’t seem to stop when you need silence and won’t open when you actually need them to were searing their wooshing noise into my brain. I called my mom’s best friend Stephanie, who was essentially my aunt. As the phone rang in my ear, I was aware of how not thirsty or hungry I was despite it being early afternoon. I didn’t think I’d ever want food or drink again. All tears had stopped for a few minutes, but they sprang to life as I began recounting the tale for her.