the Examined Life Journal |
MARLENE OLIN
“Mom’s dead. My father’s in bad health. He’s on oxygen twenty-four seven. If he knew about Debbie, that’s her name, Debbie, he would just die.” “Do you see him often?” “Every day. There’s no one else to care for him, bless his heart. And the aides never last long.” “Didn’t you mention siblings?” Anders knew these families. They were often huge, the houses more like dormitories than homes. “They’re all much too busy.” When she unpeeled a Blanche Dubois grin, Anders felt his stomach flip. “He likes when I bring him his lunch. Tuna on rye with a glass of milk, served on a tray in front of the TV. He likes when I bring him lunch.” Anders hated this feeling. The feeling he was being bushwhacked. Sometimes his patients had truly horrible lives, horrible spouses, and horrible parents. It was a miracle they were walking and talking and functioning at all. Teachers who hated children, doctors who despised their patients, clergymen who despaired of God. He wished he had answers, a magic pill, something to ease their pain. But most of the time his pockets were empty. “And what would happen if you missed a day?” “Father wouldn’t hear of it. He just wouldn’t hear of it. He still finishes The Times crossword. He’s as sharp as a tack.” Anders shuddered. The numbness in his fingertips was working its way upwards. The last phone conversation with his own father didn’t go well. He needed a down payment on a house, just wanted to borrow the money for Christ’s sake, but Anders father wouldn’t budge. He glanced up from his notes and looked at Suzette. “Fathers can be difficult,” he said. “My father’s an angel, an absolute angel.” She pulled at a loose thread on her sweater. “Weren’t we talking about my daughter?” The rest of Ander’s day was spent recording his notes in the patients’ files. He took his time writing them longhand. Garrett was right. Anything typed on a computer could wind up on a billboard in Times Square. It was nearly eight o’clock when he headed for home. His dinner was in the oven, the dog in its crate, the kids in the bath. His sons were three and five. His wife MaryAnn never let them out of her sight. “Hi Daddy! Hi Daddy!” they screamed. Bubbles floated in the air. MaryAnn wiped her hands on her apron and turned to peck his cheek. “Long day?” she asked. Anders rolled up his sleeves, reached inside the medicine cabinet, and 100