This was a method we found that comforted me immensely when I was a child, and to this day it still relaxed me. Risk frequently did this whenever I was getting antsy or coming down from an attack. Sometimes I hated that I needed this kind of comfort because I wasn’t a child anymore, but I couldn’t help the fact that it was a source of solace for me.
No one seemed to mind it except me, though.
“Don’t be scared,” Mum said into my ear. “I’m okay.”
But she wasn’t okay.
Her leg being injured was just a minor black brush-stroke in a big picture of colour. My mind was revolving around the fact that my forty-six-year-old mother had Alzheimer’s disease. It was something I never even considered in a million years. I didn’t even know it was possible for someone so young to suffer from the disease. It was so far-fetched that it just didn’t feel real to me yet. That really bothered me. I was already terrified and the full weight of my mother’s health hadn’t even had time to settle and marinate in my mind.
I didn’t know what I would do when I had the time to process it.
“Are you really okay?” I whimpered. “Be h-honest with me.”
I leaned back and Mum used her thumbs to wipe away my tears.
“I was pretty sore,” she told me. “The doctors gave me some morphine so right now I feel a little loopy.”
I managed a little laugh as I tried to force myself to stop crying. Mum was going through enough, she didn’t need to see me so upset. I already knew she worried about me constantly, her biggest fear was me being alone when I had an attack.
“Where is your inhaler?”
“Right here, Mum.” I patted my bag. “I checked before I left my house.”
“Good girl. Did . . . Did Michael speak to you?”
I nodded, blinking back another wave of tears.
“Mum, I’m so sorry. I should have noticed the signs that Dr O’Rourke could see. I’m so sorry. I wish I could make this go away for you. I’d give anythin’, I swear I would.”
“Little, I know you would, but what’s happenin’ to me is not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s just the cards I have been dealt. We have to roll with the punches, okay?”
I bobbed my head as I sniffled.
Hearing her call me the nickname she had called me since I was a child made me want to curl up next to her and cry myself to sleep. This was my mum and she was really sick. I couldn’t even allow myself to think of what was going to happen to her because it made me feel trapped in a room with no air. That was how I had felt when my dad died, it was how I still felt every day when I thought about him.
“What are you of thinkin’, Frankie girl?” she asked, moving her hands to mine. “Tell me?”
“Dad,” I choked. “I can’t lose you too, Mum. I can’t.”
It had only been five years since my father passed away during an accident at his job and most days it didn’t feel like that much time had passed by at all. He was an electrical lineman. He was working on the line of a blown transformer the evening he died. He was electrocuted by a line that was exposed and had power when it shouldn’t have. He died instantly and just like the snap of my fingers, he left me and my mum all alone with nothing but his clothes and our memories of him.
“Oh, honey.” Mum hugged me to her once more. “Please, don’t think like that. Okay?”
It was impossible not to, but for her sake I nodded and tried my hardest.
“Listen to me,” she took my face in her small, soft hands. “We’re going to get educated in this disease and we’re goin’ to do everythin’ we can to help me stay strong for longer, okay?”
I hiccupped. “Okay.”
She kissed my cheek then said, “D’you have your inhaler?”
I frowned because she had already asked me that. I glanced at Dr O’Rourke, he gave me a discreet nod that he had caught it too. Mum had forgotten she had already asked me that question. This was my first experience with her disease now that I was aware that she had it. A feeling of helplessness that I had never felt before overcame me.
“Yeah, Mum,” I answered. “I have it right here in my bag.”
“Good girl,” she sighed. “You’re due a refill soon.”
“Two weeks’ time,” I nodded. “I have it on a reminder in my phone so I don’t forget to go to the pharmacy.”
Mum relaxed like she always did when she heard I was on top of taking care of my asthma. Ever since I moved out, she had been constantly worried about me since she wasn’t there to check that I had inhalers always stocked and on hand should I ever need them. I took her hand in mine and stroked my thumb back and forth, and before either of us could say another word, the curtain to her cubicle was pushed aside.
“Good morning.” A brown-skinned, middle-aged, balding man inclined his head. “I’m Mr Coleman.”
“Nice to meet ye, sir. I’m Dr O’Rourke, Mrs Fulton’s GP and partner.”
The doctor looked to me after he shook Dr O’Rourke’s hand.
“I’m Frankie.” I gripped his extended hand. “Mrs Fulton’s daughter.”
“Lovely to meet you,” he retracted his hand and looked to my mum. “Sorry we have to meet under these circumstances, Mrs Fulton.”
Mum smiled. “Me too.”
“I know you’ve been told you need surgery on your leg, I will be the surgeon leading it. I just want to examine your leg, if you don’t mind?”
“Go ahead.”
The surgeon carried out his examination and I had no idea what he did because I was staring down at my mother’s face, trying to gauge if she was in any more
