Winds of ChangeBook 1

By Mary Metcalfe

Chapter 1

Jennifer Barrett was almost sprinting down the long hallway when she heard her

name being called out.

“Jennifer. Hold up a second.”

She was so focused on getting to her father’s room she found it difficult to slow

down. Her pulse was racing as she slowed her steps and finally turned around.

“I’m pretty sure your dad is okay.” A petite young nurse caught up to her. “Dr.

Anderson is checking him over now.”

“Hi Lana. Got here as fast as I could.” She willed her breathing and heart rate to

slow down as she absorbed the news. “What happened this time?”

“It looks like he went back to his room after breakfast and tripped. He went down

between the bed and the window. Sprained his wrist as he tried to break the fall.” Lana

Fitzpatrick looked up into Jennifer’s worried face. “He refuses to use a walker. We’ve all

been concerned this might happen.”

“The nurse who called was talking about calling an ambulance. The traffic was so

sluggish. It took me forever to get here.”

“Judging by his complaining, I’d say he’s fine. He really hates anyone fussing

over him.”

“My father is such a curmudgeon.” Jennifer was feeling more reassured. She

smiled and sighed. “I don’t know how my mother put up with him for over fifty years.

It’s only gotten worse with the Alzheimer’s. He gets frustrated so easily.”

“Dr. Anderson’ll page me when it’s clear for you to come up. I examined him.

There are no broken bones as far as I could tell but his right wrist will be sore for awhile.

He’s got a nasty gash on his right temple, which I sutured.” Lana was the charge nurse

for Art Severn’s floor.

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Jennifer patted down some silver hairs that were beginning to salt her auburn bob.

The movement helped her loosen up, if only slightly. “I can’t help it. I won’t be able to

relax until I see him for myself.”

“Won’t be long. I expect a page in a few minutes. I brought Danny with me today.

He has a dentist appointment after lunch. Let’s check up on him while we’re waiting.”

Lana guided Jennifer along the brightly lit hall towards a sun-drenched solarium.

As they walked arm in arm along the long corridor, Jennifer smiled at residents

she recognized and said hello.

“I remember the day he moved in permanently. He was so confused and upset. He

couldn’t really remember you or Brentwood from his respite stays.” Jennifer waved to an

elderly resident in a wheelchair. “He demanded I take him home. It almost broke my

heart to have to tell him no.”

“He wanted to go back home in no uncertain terms. I haven’t been lectured like

that since nursing school and never as sternly.” Lana chuckled at the memory.

“You managed to calm him down and stop threatening to leave. I was impressed.”

Jennifer remembered being surprised the young nurse had handled her father so adroitly.

She was young enough to be his granddaughter.

“I overpowered him with sweetness and charm.” Lana’s slight Irish lilt carried the

humor in her voice. “He just couldn’t resist the Fitzpatrick magic. But really, I think it

was when we took him out to the gardens. As soon as he started to talk gardening with

Fred, I knew he’d be fine.”

“I wasn’t so sure. I had to really cajole him into going for that ride. Told him we

were going to visit the place with the pretty gardens. But he’d seen me put the suitcases

in the trunk. Somehow he knew he wouldn’t be going back home.”

“You didn’t have a choice.”

“I know.” Jennifer shook her head slowly. “I think every child wants their parents

to live forever and be strong and healthy.”

“Doesn’t work that way. It’s called life.”

“True enough. True enough.” Jennifer shook her head again and looked at Lana.

“Would you and Danny like to come over for dinner this Sunday?” She and Lana had

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forged a strong friendship over the past few years. She was even honorary aunt to her

son.

“Sure. My turn to make dessert.”

“You’re on. Just make it a diet dessert.”

“No such thing in my cookbook.” They laughed. No-one could resist one of

Lana’s confections. There always seemed to be a plate of something enticing at the

nursing station. Banana bread, muffins or oatmeal cookies. Cheesecake was a specialty.

Rounding a corner, they strolled into a large, airy room scattered with groupings

of couches, tables, chairs, a piano and bookcases. Some tables held fresh flower

arrangements and magazines. At one end, Ellen Degeneres was rocking her daily dance

on a large television screen. At first glance, it seemed the room was full of seniors. Then

they heard the sound of a child’s laughter.

“Mom! Come see this. Ever cool!” The pint-sized caller waved his arms

energetically, drawing them to a corner of the room with a small television. Lana could

feel his vibrating excitement from several feet away.

“What’s up Danny?” Lana looked on as her son waved a game controller and

pointed at the screen. Looking closer, she realized her little guy was in the midst of a

spelling lesson with his favorite superhero.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen it.” Danny turned back to the screen. “The bad guys

have messed up the spelling of all the street signs. Spider-Man needs my help to get them

right again. Isn’t it neat? Wish I had one. Maybe for my birthday? Hi Aunt Jennifer.

When can I come see Charlie?” Danny’s questions stopped abruptly as he turned back to

the game.

“You’re coming over for Sunday dinner.” Jennifer sat on the arm of the chair and

peered down at the screen. “Charlie told me this morning you need to come and play.”

“Charlie’s a dog. He can’t talk.”

“All animals can talk to us if we know how to listen. Charlie keeps running to the

back gate. That tells me he needs time with a friend like you.” Danny was focused

intently on the spelling game.

“Your birthday is coming up pretty soon, right?”

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“I’ll be five years old on June twenty-sixth,” he bragged, without taking his eyes

off the screen.

“Starting school come September?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna be too old for that day care thing.” Danny was arranging and

rearranging letters on the screen. Jennifer smiled and stood up as Lana reached out to

tousle his hair. Lana’s pager had gone off.

“I’m going to take Aunt Jennifer to see her father. You good to stay here and help

Spider-Man?”

Danny nodded vigorously. He didn’t look up as they left; his eyes were glued to

the game.

A few minutes later the two women walked into Art Severn’s sun-bathed room. A

young doctor standing by the window turned as they came in.

“Jennifer, hi. Art here decided to do some dancing after breakfast and collided

with his bedside table.” They avoided calling him Jennifer’s father. It upset him.

“How are you feeling?” Jennifer winced at her father’s bruised face and bandaged

forehead. He was tenderly cradling his right wrist. “That was a pretty bad fall I hear.”

“Hello miss. I am doing just fine thank you. Had a little spill is all. Why are you

here?” Her father was reclining on his bed but Jennifer could see he wasn’t comfortable.

“I thought if you feel up to it we could go outside and see how the flower beds are

doing.” She looked over at the doctor, who nodded. Her father didn’t seem any the worse

for his accident. No sign of concussion. He was bright and alert.

“I need to get going Jennifer.” The doctor’s pager sounded. “Lana, please be sure

he’s monitored every hour for the next twenty-four hours. And, Mr. Severn, please use

your walker. If you’d been using it this probably wouldn’t have happened.”

Art looked at bit sheepish but stubbornly held his ground. “I can walk perfectly

fine without one of those contraptions.”

“No, you can’t.” The doctor was firm. “Lana, he’s to use a wheelchair until the

wrist is healed. Please post it on his chart. After that, walker at all times.” He left the

room before there was any further argument from his cantankerous patient. Lana went to

find a spare wheelchair.

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“I’d like to go outside miss.” Art Severn had been an avid gardener and knew the

names of all the flowering shrubs and perennials that graced the garden beds around

Jennifer’s childhood home. For over fifty-five years he wouldn’t hear of missing the New

England Spring Flower Show.

“It’s very kind of you to offer to go with me. I want to see if they have any

coreopsis. Every garden should have some coreopsis. My particular favorite is Crème

Brulée, although you can’t go wrong with Zagreb or Moonbeam.” He refused Jennifer’s

offer of help, getting off the bed stiffly as Lana returned and positioned a wheelchair in

front of him. “And hostas. In my garden beds I have eight varieties of hostas. Not

everyone knows there are over a dozen varieties of hostas.”

As Lana helped Jennifer’s father transfer from his chair into the wheelchair, he

continued to lecture them about gardens and proper varieties for Boston’s temperate

climate. Jennifer accepted that her father didn’t know her today. It was enough, she

supposed, that she still had her father and that there were still rare days when he

remembered her.

“Lana, thanks for everything. I’m so glad you were on shift when this happened.”

Jennifer took her father out into the bright sunny gardens as Lana went back to her other

duties.

“I can’t stay very long today. I have a meeting at two and the traffic is always

bad.” He never asked what she did or why she was visiting unless he was having a really

good day. “You really should use your walker you know. You could walk further and sit

down on it when you want to stop to look at the flowers.”

“Those azaleas over there need pruning. They’re overgrown and crowding their

neighbours.” Her father ignored the suggestion.

“I’ll speak to someone about it.” There was no point in belaboring a point with

him. Once, logic and reasoning would have swayed him if he was in the mood. Now he

rarely listened, offering complaints and observations to everyone around him.

After a leisurely stroll dominated by her father’s view of what needed to be done

in the gardens, she wheeled him into the solarium where Danny was still engrossed in his

spelling game.

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“Here’s a good spot. You can see the flowers from here. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

She squeezed his shoulders and kissed his cheek. “I have to get back to the hospital now

for a meeting. I love you.”

“Thank you taking me to see the flowers. Please come back any time.”

As she made her way across the busy core of Boston, Jennifer thought about how

much her father was changing. The tall angular man of her youth was morphing before

her eyes. Watching him struggle to get off the bed, she’d seen a stoop to his shoulders she

hadn’t noticed before. I never imagined him using a walker, let alone a wheelchair.

Today is the first time in my life I’ve ever seen him in a wheelchair. Jennifer blinked

back hot tears.

Turning into the hospital entrance she drove into the employee parking lot,

circling it a couple of times before finding a spot. Later, as she listened to a colleague

wrapping up yet another Alzheimer’s patient update, she thought of her father. She could

easily imagine how the family felt.

When it was her turn, Jennifer was ready. “The patient is eighty-four years old,

has advanced Alzheimer’s and is diabetic. He has no family in Massachusetts. He’s been

screened for MassHealth and will need to be discharged to long-term care. I’ve sent the

forms through but it could be a week or more before a bed opens up. He needs assisted

living with full services including security. We can’t keep him here now that he’s

stabilized. He can no longer live alone.”

Jennifer wearily massaged her temple with one hand as she used the other to close

the final file for the day. Her colleagues were all gathering up their files as the meeting

ended. The hospital’s psychiatric caseload was growing quickly with dementias among

seniors. Many had multiple health issues, making their care complex and challenging for

the entire system. She sprinted to catch up with her boss.

“John, I’m going to put a priority on seeing what we can do for Mr. Ellis to ensure

he doesn’t slip through any cracks. He was not in good shape when he was brought in.

His daughter is arranging to come in from Ohio. She’ll be here within the next two days.

We need to find a bed as soon as possible. She said she can stay for a week to ten days

but then she has to get back to family and work. She’d like to be here to help him get

settled wherever we can get a placement.”

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Jennifer thought of the conversation she’d had with the distraught daughter, who

believed she had a network of supports for her widowed father. She didn’t realize her

father had been refusing to allow health care workers in to care for him.

“Does she have a durable medical power of attorney?” Jennifer’s director was

equal parts business and compassion. The durable medical power of attorney would

ensure all arrangements could be made for this patient through the daughter without

going to court for a guardianship hearing.

“Yes, thank goodness. One less thing to worry about.” Thinking of her father,

Jennifer was relieved they had reached the same agreement years earlier, long before

dementia robbed him of his competence.

As she walked back into her office she thought, I definitely need my exercise

class today, She shut down her computer and prepared to leave.

“LET’S GO GIRLS.” The sounds of Shania Twain feeling like a woman blared out of the

speakers as twenty women of various sizes and shapes shifted into a last burst of high

speed spinning. They were almost finished. Jennifer could feel her tension evaporating

along with a good round of sweat.

“I’m getting too old for this,” her friend Carol finished a long catlike stretch to

wind down the session. “I’m forty-three and single. I have a great job, making great

money. My kids are off to college. You’d think I’d know how to find the right kind of

guy by now. But no, I fall for a schmuck years younger than me with bedroom eyes who

can’t hold on to a job or the money that comes with it. So what does that make me?”

Jennifer wiped a towel over her moist brow and grinned mischievously, “Well,

apart from being a cougar I guess that would make you human?”

“Me? A cougar?” Carol leaned over and stretched again. “I’m going to take that

as a compliment. Why not? But, seriously, I can look at a property and come within

dollars of its appraised value. I can negotiate and close a sale with the best of them. Hell,

I’m in the top ten in Boston. So why do the true motives of men continue to elude me?

It’s not like I didn’t kick husband number one out to the curb when I found him cheating

with a girl half his age.”

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Carol picked up her towel and water bottle as both headed towards the change

room. “Enough about me. You need to get back into the dating scene. It’s been five years

since Jason and Kaylee died. You’re in decent shape and you’ve got a good stylist. Let’s

get you a couple of new outfits and introduce you back into Boston society.”

“Boy, you never pull a punch. Dating? Not interested. There are days yet I still

can’t believe they’re both gone.” Jennifer shook her head and felt her throat tighten.

“They’re still the two loves of my life. I talk to them. Sometimes I think they even

answer.” Jennifer smiled, hoping Carol could understand. “I just don’t see me dating

anyone I can think of.”

“I still think you need to get into the social scene more.” Carol pulled out a

compact, checked her hair and slicked on some lip gloss. “If I were you, I’d join a Latin

dance class. Find a partner with some smooth moves. Maybe do a little horizontal

mambo.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“Carol, you’re priceless.” Jennifer arched her neck and laughed out loud. “You

know I have two left feet. Imagine me trying to master mambo steps, vertical or

horizontal. I can barely keep up with some of the moves in our class. You can’t be

serious.”

“Okay, I’m not serious about the dance class but I am serious about you getting

out. You need to care about people. You do care about people. Look at your work.” Carol

picked up her bag as they prepared to leave. “But deep down, you need someone to love

and cherish. And you need someone who will love and cherish you too. Admit it.”

As they walked into the parking lot, Jennifer shook her head. “It’s a lot to think

about Carol, especially with the situation with my father.”

The two women chatted companionably as they walked to their cars in the warm

April evening. The Boston air was bursting with the smell of fresh new growth and the

soft rustling of tender young leaves.

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MARY METCALFE is a professional writer and editor with an Honors degree in Journalism from Carleton University, Ottawa and a Master of Science in Communications Management from Syracuse University, New York. Her professional career to this point has involved technical writing/editing for clients in

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the public and private sector. She is now a full-time novelist. Learn more at www.lakefrontmuse.ca.