BBC Hospital Drama pt.3

Episode 3: "Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday"

Jan 20, 2024

Scene 1- Exterior dining patio on the 34th floor of a new, high rise hotel, downtown Los Angeles. Friday night. Four middle aged, upper-middle class women in a sea of people of the same age and demographic. The hotel has been invaded by hundreds of sports parents whose teenage sons are competing in a tournament across the street at the LA Convention Center. The 4 women remark on the homogenous nature of this subculture, families drive the same cars, wear the same clothes, carry the same gear around, and seem to have the same priorities -- for their son's team to win the competition and for themselves to procure alcohol as soon and as often as possible.

American daughter-in-law is here with her lifelong best friend and that friend's 2 close friends who she just met. All four women sit on oversized couches that look like the oversized furniture in every other swanky bar in every big city across the world, sipping drinks under heat lamps to fend off the cool night air, around 55 degrees. They're talking about their ailing parents and the logistics of caring for them, housing them, and reasoning with them. One of the women has just come from two weeks of living with her mother-in-law to help with her diminished mobility before an upcoming surgery, during and after which another family member will take over as in-home caregiver.

"As soon as I knew I was going I ordered a mattress topper and new pillows online to be delivered the day I arrived. There's no way I was going to be sleeping on that old-ass mattress with a pancake pillow and my bad back."

"Where did you stay in England?" One asks Amerian DIL. "And who's there with your father-in-law now, anyway?"

"I stayed in hotels right by the hospital. His home was a hundred dollar cab ride away and there's no way I was driving a rental car around rural England in the dark. The roads on the way to his little seaside village are about 2 yards wide with huge trees hanging over the top, so it feels like you are driving through a tunnel but on the wrong side of the road!"

"Oh, so there was no one to drive you around either?"

"Yeah, Mike has no family there at all. He has a best friend from school who is also 90 years old and has severe limitations. Anyway, that best friend and his family live up near Bath, over two hours away. He's good friends with three of his neighbors, but they are also over 80 and you know how men are, they don't get it when it comes to care giving. They aren't gonna come sit by his bed for the day, you know? They just pop in, exchange stilted small talk, and lament their inability to go for a drink, complain about the parking, and they leave."

"Oh man. I never really thought about that." The other women nod. In all of their cases, the men have passed first and the women have been left to care for each other.

"I called Mike's goddaughter when I first arrived. We agreed his health has rapidly declined this year. She had visited with her mother around his birthday in August. His apartment had been untidy, and Mike told them he'd seen his doctor multiple times over the summer. But, when I saw him last month he told me his GP was new and didn't even have the phone number saved in his phone. I put the pieces together that he hadn't been to his GP or had any routine tests at all since my mother-in-law died over seven years ago. (!) He felt fine and his heart specialist kept assuring him his heart was doing alright, kept prescribing his blood thinners, and so Mike went on about his life.

"That's how he is. He never wants to show any weakness, physical or mental. He's hard on himself when he can't make it up the 3 stairs to our front door fast enough or when he forgets something easily forgotten, like my borrowed tupperware container. He's not one to go to the doctor for minor aches and pains; more likely to go out for a coffee or a beer to help him feel better."

"So how's he doing now then?" her best friend asked.

"Well, he's been home for about a month from the hospital I guess. Right when I was leaving, a GI specialist confirmed from a CAT scan that he had advanced colon cancer which they opted not to operate on because of his age and the severity of the problem. Like, who knows, right? Maybe he'd had colon cancer for those whole seven years! Or longer? Who knows?! But because he hadn't been tested it was never discovered and he never had to go to chemo or even any appointments. Sometimes, hearing about all the other sick, old people in our lives, I think his non-decision was exactly the right decision for him.

"Anyway, he has a nurse now who comes over everyday and checks on him. But a couple of days ago he wrote to Jeff and said he needs more help around his flat. He can't even carry out the trash. I told Jeff, 'Of course he can't! He's dying!' People have been texting me a lot saying, 'Mike isn't answering my emails. Mike hasn't answered my call.' and I just tell them, 'He is not able to cross a room without considerable effort. He is not doing well. Just keep writing.' He's telling people he'll be back to California in a few months, so they don't understand his actual limitations."

"He is lucky to have you, Nonni."

"Yeah, I guess that's true, poor guy. I guess I'm sort of his person now. You go through different friendships and things through your life and then at the end, the people who are left may be relatively new to your life. But that's who's around. I mean, I'm new. I've only been close to him for about 5 or 6 years, really. But, I'm the person. I'm his person." She takes a sip of gin and looks around. The view from the roof of the building is incredible but the air is uncomfortably colder each minute.

Mike spent the winters in California and in 2016 cancer was eating away at Diana the entire winter. By the middle of March, it was the time for Mike to return home because his traveling insurance coverage would expire.

About a week after he'd left California, a doctor told my husband and his sister that it was time to take their mom home from the hospital because there wasn't anything else to be done. We wondered what to do about Mike. Do we tell him? What's the protocol?

Diana had sent him home despite his protests because her favorite cousin was in town to care for her now. Or maybe she didn't want him to watch her die.

In the end I was chosen to tell Mike the news over the phone and listen to him mentally stumble around figuring out how to get back to her as soon as possible with the upcoming Easter holidays filling flights. The words he spoke were stoic and practical, but his tone was frantic and broken. I hated that phone call because I knew I was breaking his heart. He could no longer deny his person was about to leave him for good.

Scene II- Interior. Double queen room in the high rise, downtown LA hotel. Saturday. American DIL wakes to find a voice message from Mike's goddaughter in England, Anne. The transcription says Mike was found, fully conscious, on the floor of his flat this morning and taken again to the hospital by ambulance.

The daughter-in-law feels sad, mad, and frustrated that he's been taken back there. She had lobbied and arranged for him to receive care at home. But, like the other big parts of life, we have to take whatever we get.

He suffered enough in that place! She thinks. And he has no one to visit him again except for a few neighbors. I can't go back there she writes in her journal after texting Anne a thank you for the update. She also writes a therapeutic letter to Mike to help her move on with her day until she can figure out what to do when she sees her husband the next day. She looks at her best friend asleep in the other bed and thinks of how much she loves her, how much she loves her own parents and children, husband and family. A haunting song in the movie "The Eight Mountains" says,

Everyone you love, grass will grow above.

Everyone you know, folks all come and go.

Around noon the two besties get dressed and head out to meet the other ladies for lunch. The phone in AmDIL's purse rings and she thinks it's Mike's goddaughter. So they pop back into the hotel room for her to take this call.

It's Claire, an end-of-life-care nurse at Poole hospital who has called to tell her that Mike has been admitted and is on his deathbed now. She asks the DIL what she knows of Mike's prognosis.

"When I visited in October, I knew I wouldn't be seeing him again and so yes, I'm aware." She sits with her BFF on the edge of the hotel bed.

Claire's chipper voice and mellifluous English accent assure Mike on the other end, "Oh Mike! She knows already! It's alright." Then she's back talking to California, "He didn't want to be a bother or upset anyone."

"That sounds about right!" the DIL says.

"Well, here's Mike now. We're just trying to keep him comfortable."

Mike gets on the line and shouts out, high as a kite, "Nonni!! Talk to me!"

DIL chokes out loud, equal parts laughter and tears.

"Well, I guess that's about it for me then!" Mike continues his stand-up routine across the pond. "We're just going to take it day by day."

"It seems like you're in good hands today, yeah?"

"Oh yes. Everything is fine!"

"I'm so glad I came to visit you in October. That was a good time for us." She gets out a few words.

He agrees and relief knocks her onto her back in the bed. It's actually a good thing he's back in the hospital. Now he can get the good drugs! She cries and cries and says goodbye again.

His answer, "I'll keep you posted then."

I looked back on the emails I've shared with Mike to find some stories to explain our relationship. There are 576 of them, and after sorting through a few, I couldn't tell you what they said. Nothing very noteworthy. They convey a feeling of "We are both here, outside members of this Driskill family, but friends and partners in mischief." Over fifteen years I wrote to him about my nights out drinking, my tennis matches, worrying over my kids, trying new business ventures, and everything in between. He was always interested, always asking, and always there -- but not overbearing. He was always there.

Yes, he was 90 years old and not as fun to hang out with in person anymore. And yes, I believe it was his time to leave the earth. But it's still terribly sad to think of not having our grandpa, my friend, around to talk to.

After hanging up with Mike, the daughter-in-law and the other 3 women head out to lunch. She orders everyone a round of margaritas, calls her husband, and texts her grown children to get in touch with their grandpa today.

Her text to Mike a few hours later: