Dear Life(4)

I have a daughter?

I have a fucking daughter?

And Rebecca wants me to give her a good home. How the hell am I supposed to do that when I’m on the road half the year?

What the hell . . .

DAISY

One month ago . . .



“Daisy Beauregard.”

I stand to attention when I hear my name, my crossword clutched against my chest and my pink pen in the other hand at my side. “That’s me.”

“Please come with me.”

I quickly gather my purse and water bottle and follow the woman through two large double doors controlled by an electronic entry. A sterile hallway brightly lit by fluorescent lights greets me on the other side. The faint sound of beeping monitors fills the air as I’m guided to a closed wooden door with 213 on the front.

“Dr. Mendez will be right with you.”

I nod and twitch nervously in place as I wait. Leaning close to the door, I hear a steady beep come from the other side, putting me at ease, temporarily erasing the three images that have been running through my mind the last few hours . . .

The look of terror in her eyes.

Her face drooping to one side.

The fall from her seat onto the floor, completely lifeless.

A dull burn begins to form in my eyes once again, my breath starting to catch in my throat. She’s everything to me. I don’t know what I would do without her, without her guidance, without her warm embrace, without her unyielding love.

“Daisy?” I look up to see a man in a white coat, a nametag over his heart that reads Dr. Jake Mendez.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I say meekly and on a shaky breath.

“Daisy, I’m Dr. Mendez.” He holds out his hand that I take briefly. Instead of saying anything, I just nod, so he continues. “As you know, your grandmother had a stroke. We were able to conduct a CT scan and find a block in one of her arteries that pumps blood to her brain.”

“Oh God,” I say, my hand involuntarily covering my mouth.

Dr. Mendez gives me a reassuring squeeze to my shoulder. “To be honest, we were happy to see she had a blocked artery. There are two types of strokes: hemorrhagic and ischemic. Hemorrhagic is when there is bleeding in the brain, which is quite difficult to stop without long-term effects. Your grandmother had an ischemic stroke, a blocked artery cutting off blood flow to the brain, which means we can avoid surgery, which is preferable due to her older age. We administered anticoagulant medication intravenously that should help clear the blockage.”

“So she’s going to be okay?” I swallow hard.

“We are monitoring her right now. She broke her hip in the fall, which will require intensive rehabilitation therapy. There may be some loss of movement in the left side of her body due to her stroke.”

“She’s paralyzed?” I ask, fear eating up my spine.

“Temporary paralysis with likely long-term effects, meaning she might have trouble lifting her left arm or using her left hand. You might also notice a lack of movement on the left side of her face. It’s hard to tell at this point what the long-term effects will be.”

“But she will be okay?”

“She’s stable for now but has a long road of recovery in front of her.” He takes a breath and says, “I understand you live in a two-bedroom apartment with her now.”

“Yes, sir. We’ve been taking care of each other ever since I can remember.”

“That’s very admirable.” The way he places his hands in his coat pocket makes me think I’m not going to like what he says next. “Given your grandmother’s condition, age, and the intense therapy requirements, it will be better if she goes to a rehabilitation center and then a nursing home.”

“A nursing home?” I shake my head. “That’s not necessary, I can take care of her.”

Dr. Mendez takes a deep breath. “I have no doubt in my mind that you can take care of her, Daisy. Just from our conversation I can tell you’re a loving and caring granddaughter, but she needs twenty-four/seven care.”

“I can give her that,” I say quickly.

“But what about your job, friends, other family? Caring for your grandmother will take over your life. You’re young, you should be just starting, just exploring what this world has to offer.”

“I don’t have a job or friends,” I answer, desperate to hang on to the one thing that’s been a constant in my life.

My grandma.

Since second grade, she’s homeschooled me. She’s provided for me. She’s treated me as her own daughter. I’ve spent a great percentage of my life on this earth living in a small apartment with my grandma, watching Days of Our Lives, musicals, quilting, weaving baskets, and baking. She’s my best friend, my hero, my everything. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

She can’t leave me.

I don’t know how to live alone. I don’t know how to live outside the bubble my grandma provided for me. I don’t want to break free. I’m not ready. I’m not prepared.

“Daisy, I’m not saying you have to make a decision now, but most likely you won’t have a choice in the matter. If you want her to thrive when she leaves this hospital, I suggest you start looking into nursing homes or assisted senior community housing your grandmother would enjoy. Maybe something on the west side so she can have a view of the mountains.” Patting my shoulder, he says, “I’ll be back to check on her. She’s sleeping right now, but you’re welcome to go into her room and stay with her.”