I stood in the emergency room cubicle, helping Indy dress. It was well after one o’clock in the morning. We were both exhausted. We were both relieved he was going home.
I watched Indy, noted how his Parkinson’s had robbed his once-broad chest of real estate. I thought about my childhood. Indy, the solid Marine would lift me up and throw me into the waves of the Atlantic.
Those waves that are an hour from the military base whose water poisoned Indy, possibly giving him the disease that had dwindled his once robust physique.
And I knew I could stand there and be angry. Angry for Indy, who deserves better. Angry for me, who most days is still that little girl Indy tossed in the waves. Angry for Willie, who has front row seats to a show she never wanted to see.
Or I could laugh about the rubber band.
I went the rubber band route.
Our emergency room adventure began at seven that evening. Willie called me to say Indy was having chest pain.
The pain had been fleeting, but Willie – ever the critical care nurse – had taken Indy’s blood pressure, pulse, temperature, and pulse oximeter.
Yes. Willie has the capability to run all of those diagnostics from her apartment. It’s basically a MASH unit. Just call her Hot Lips Houlihan.
Indy’s pulse had been irregular, so Willie busted out her stethoscope. Listening to Indy’s chest, she confirmed his heart was indeed falling down on the job.
“I wish you’d bought the Apple Watch that can do an EKG,” Willie lamented.
If you’ve met me, you know I not only bought the Apple Watch with an EKG app but also set the heart rate monitor to alarm if Indy’s heart rate goes too high or too low. Then I showed Indy and Willie how to use the EKG.
For all the good it did me.
I talked Willie through running an EKG from an Apple Watch, an exercise I probably should have recorded and sold purely for its hilarity.
The Apple Watch confirmed Willie’s concerns, although Indy’s chest pain had long since passed. Still, Willie and I agreed Indy needed to go to the hospital.
Now, Willie and I have been in a months-long battle for control of Indy. I recently told one of Indy’s doctors that Indy is Chrissie Watkins to Willie’s Jaws. I, of course, am the buoy – stalwart, but unable to save Indy/Chrissie Watkins.
Yeah, Willie knows I said that.
Throughout our battle, Willie and I have reached truces, set ground rules. She wants to be the one to take him to the hospital when the need arises.
This works out well as I enjoy fixing everything that goes wrong when Willie takes Indy to the hospital.
But this night there was a problem. Both Willie and Indy have recently stopped driving, Willie just that week. I suggested Willie call either an ambulance or an Uber.
“I think you should take him,” Willie said, because it’s fun to move the goalposts.
So I packed up Indy and shuttled him to the hospital. His symptoms bought him a formal, hospital-grade EKG. Indy shed his coat and flannel, passing them to me. Then he handed me the vital items he’d brought with him, anticipating a night or two in the hospital.
His wallet first. Not the nice wallet I bought him for Christmas. The wallet he passed to me was a tri-fold with no credit card compartments, brimming with dozens of cards.
Next came his cell phone charger, with no cell phone I could locate.
Then came the rubber band.
I looked at the collection in my hands, a collection very reflective of Indy. And despite my worry, despite my exhaustion, despite the small room cluttered with staff, a giggle erupted from my chest.
Why a rubber band?
I carefully tucked everything into my purse, even the rubber band. Indy’s wallet slid open, depositing his cards in the bottom of my purse.
Indy and I were escorted to his little room in the emergency department, a room we would spend the next seven hours in, waiting for testing results we both knew would be normal.
Sometimes we talked, sometimes we sat in silence. Sometimes I would think about that rubber band and laugh silently, a very Indy thing. Indy is known for finding humor in weird places, and laughing uncontrollably to himself.
I eventually learned the intent of the rubber band was to hold the overflowing wallet closed, which certainly sounds easier than cleaning out your wallet and using the new wallet your loving daughter bought you for Christmas.
Indy was discharged, but forty-eight hours later he was following up with his cardiologist and family doctor.
I took Indy to the cardiologist, someone Willie refuses to see. She doesn’t like Indy’s cardiologist. She likes her cardiologist.
I also took Indy to his family doctor, who is a family friend, making this a social visit. Willie tagged along for this trip.
I parked my car in what Willie told me was “her” spot. And here was where the argument began.
Well, “argument” is a strong word. Discord might be better.
When I suggested Indy and Willie get driving evaluations, their family doctor, this family friend, texted me I’d made a good call. He told me – and Indy – that his office window overlooks Willie’s parking spot. He said he’d seen Willie drive. He said it wasn’t pretty.
The discord, of course, is that Willie and Indy maintain their doctor doesn’t have an office window overlooking Willie’s parking spot.
“Do you think he’s lying?” I ask in disbelief, every time the subject comes up.
Willie and Indy never answer.
As I pulled into the spot, I could see numerous windows looking down on us. I pointed them out to Indy and Willie, both of whom huffed that the windows couldn’t possibly belong to their doctor.
“Do you think he’s lying?” I ask in disbelief once again.
Total silence.
We crammed into the exam room, Indy, Willie, and me. As we waited, Indy took a quick glance at me, then at Willie.
“Psst,” Indy hissed at Willie from the side of his mouth. “Psst!”
Willie didn’t notice. I did.
Indy looked at me again, then at Willie. “Psst!”
Nothing.
“Hey Willie!” Indy whispered.
Nothing.
“Mom,” I sighed, “Daddy wants you.”
Willie looked at Indy, who again cast a furtive glance my way. He beckoned Willie to lean in closer.
Willie obliged. Indy looked at me again, then whispered to Willie, “No windows!”
If I wanted to, I could have stretched my arms out and touched Indy and Willie at the same time; the exam room is that small. There would be no secrets here. Not that there are many secrets between me, Indy, and Willie anyway. Want to know the last time they had sex?
“I can hear you guys. You know that, right? This isn’t the doctor’s office. This is his exam room. That’s why you don’t see any windows.”
I presented the discord to Indy’s doctor, who escorted Willie from the room.
“He’s taking her to see his office,” Indy said. I couldn’t read him. Was he contrite? Defiant? Defeated?
“Does he have windows?” I asked Willie upon her return.
“Yes!” Willie breathed. “But I looked out and do you know what? I didn’t see my car! He can’t be watching us park!”
“He didn’t see your car because you came here in my car,” I reminded Willie. “That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement for your driving.”
Willie paused a beat before telling me to shut up.
And I’m her favorite kid. Imagine how she talks to the other ones.
Still, I understood where she was coming from. Willie’s driving is like Indy’s rubber band – it’s holding everything together. As long as Willie can drive, she can get groceries. She can take Indy to the emergency room. She doesn’t have to worry about whether her doctor’s office has windows.
Now that rubber band has broken, and everything is falling apart, like Indy’s many cards sliding from his wallet to the recesses of my purse. Willie can’t just run to CVS – she has to ask me to stop there after the doctor’s office. She can’t just order her groceries – she has to coordinate with me. She can’t just take Indy to the emergency room. She has to rely on me.
Do we have any rubber bands left, Indy, Willie, and I? Probably. But in true rubber band fashion, nobody sees rubber bands when they’re not looking for one. But we surely do see the mess left behind when a rubber band snaps.
Why did I tuck that rubber band so carefully into my purse? Is it because it was Indy’s, and everything Indy is precious to me?
Is it because I saw some of myself in that rubber band? Did I appreciate how much we both hold things together, how much we’re both stretched?
Or is it because that little rubber band made me laugh, laugh when I was angry, laugh when I was hurting, laugh even now, a week later.
Because really. Indy’s emergency room supplies – phone charger, wallet, rubber band – are so random. As random as those ocean waves he once tossed me into.
It was Indy’s way of tossing me, one more time. The only way he could.
