Beth took a swig of tepid coffee and considered her cell phone. Three missed calls from her mother. One voicemail, short, asking for help. The content was alarming, and more so, Lana’s voice. Was she drunk? Congested? Beth was used to her mom’s staccato messages, a mix of crowing and indignation, with a slug of guilt thrown in for good measure. This was different. Unfamiliar. Lana’s voice sounded lost, almost pitiful.
Beth left Amber in charge at the nursing station and walked out the side door of Bayshore Oaks. She gave a reassuring smile to the young man fidgeting by his car, clearly nervous about visiting the long-term care facility. Then she ducked around the corner, slipping into the grove of Monterey pines. She took a deep breath and dialed.
“Ma?”
“Beth, finally.” Lana’s voice came through in an urgent whisper. “Are you still working for the brain surgeon? The one with the big teeth?”
“The one with the Nobel Prize? You know I left two years ago to spend more time with—”
“Beth, listen to me. They’re telling me I’ve got tumors. Lots of them. In my brain. That I need surgery, right away. But you should see the shoes this doctor is wearing. I mean, how can he expect anyone to take him seriously?”
Beth’s face froze in a half smile. “Wait. Slow down. Where are you? Are you okay?”
“Besides being held hostage by a radiologist who can’t be bothered to brush his own hair, I’m fine. I’m at City of Angels hospital. They say I can’t check myself out. That someone has to take care of me. I need to get to a better facility. One with real doctors in decent suits. So . . .”
The non-question hung in the air.
If Lana had ever asked for Beth’s help before, she couldn’t remember it. Demanded her attention, sure. Assumed her acquiescence, constantly. But needed her help? Valued her expertise? If Beth weren’t so worried, she’d mark the day on the calendar with a gold star.
“Ma, of course I’ll come.”
Silence. Lana was never silent. For a moment, Beth pictured her mother in a hospital bed, alone, maybe even afraid. It was hard to imagine.
Beth spoke in her most confident voice. “Dr. K retired. But I know the charge nurse in neurology at Stanford. It’s one of the best neurosurgical facilities in the country. I’ll make a call.”
“Can’t we do it at UCLA?”
There was the prima donna she’d grown up with. Beth knew it would be useless to remind her mother that she too had a life, a job, and a child. Instead, she responded in language Lana could understand.
“Ma, this is brain surgery. Let’s get you the very best.”
“Stanford?”
“Stanford. I’ll take care of it.”
“Hold on. Someone’s coming in the room.”
Beth scanned her schedule for the rest of the day. Two more patients, nothing complicated: vitals check, an infusion, a bath, and a chat. She could get Amber to cover her. Jack had already texted to ask permission to go to a soccer game after school and sleep over at her friend Kayla’s house. Perfect. Beth could book it down to LA, scoop up her mother, and get her checked into Stanford the next morning.
Lana’s voice shot back through the phone. “Stanford. Fine. But I’m staying in a hotel.”
“Ma, you can’t be alone when you’re recovering from brain surgery.”
“I hardly think I’ll recover in a shack that’s about to fall into a mud pit.”
Beth closed her eyes and resisted the urge to throw the phone. “It’s not your condo. It’s not LA. But it’s nice. I promise.”
There was a long pause during which Beth presumed Lana was contemplating the many ways her daughter’s shabby house and backwater town fell short of her minimum requirements.
“Can you ask what time you’ll be released today?” Beth said.
“They want me to talk to an oncologist here, but then they said I’m free to leave.”
“All right. Sit tight. Get as much information as you can. I’ll be there in five hours.”
Beth sped down the highway in her dented Camry, stopping only for gas, a caffeinated energy bar, and a supersize iced coffee. As she drove, her mind raced, punctuated by the intermittent buzz of text messages from her mother.
Tumors in brain, lung, maybe colon? Stage 4 at least. Not good.
DR picking his nose. GET ME OUT OF HERE.
Pls swing by the condo for my laptop, good jeans, black top （slimming）。
Also if I die give my car to Gloria.
After the first hour of texts, Beth decided she didn’t need a car crash to go with the heart attack. She stuck her phone in the glove compartment and focused on the road and her spiraling thoughts.