The receptionist at Carewest nursing home heard the front doors open and looked
up from her desk. Almost instantly, her
pleasant greeting smile was replaced by a disapproving frown as she saw the two
white-smocked men enter pushing a gurney.
All patient deliveries and pick-ups were supposed to be done at the
home's rear entrance. An ambulance at
the front door invariably meant a problem and was known to unsettle some of the
residents. "May I help
you?" She asked coolly.
"We're here to pick up Dora
Kent for a transfer." The thin,
stoop-shouldered man with the chalky skin smiled politely. "My mother."
The receptionist's hand
instinctively reached for the phone.
"I'll need to call the charge nurse." She made the call and spoke a few barely
audible words. After returning the phone
to its cradle she looked back up at the pale man. "The nurse in charge will be here
shortly."
The man nodded. His expression did not reveal whether he felt
any disappointment at the delay.
The charge nurse was in her early
fifties, slightly plump, and her hair was darkened artificially to a monotone
brown. She walked the hallway with the
metronomic step and ramrod purpose of a Marine Drill instructor. She recognized the pale-skinned man. Her smile was polite but held no pretense of
warmth. "May I help you, Mister
Kent?"
"I'm here to transfer Dora
Kent to my house." Kent
stated evenly.
One of the nurse's darkly
penciled eyebrows raised slightly. "Transfer? Your mother? Is something wrong?" Her voice was calm and professional. She took great pride in her job. This was her domain, and the pronouncement of
someone removing a patient from her care was a very serious matter. Almost a personal affront.
"No, we're just taking Dora
home." Kent
explained.
Eighty-three year old Dora Kent
had been brought to the rest home 18 months earlier to live out her remaining
days and nights. She had advanced
Alzheimer's and several other ailments, which were characteristic of an elderly
person in decline. Though the deterioration
was slow it was steady and inevitable.
That particular morning Dora had
actually experienced one of her better days.
Dora had remembered who she was, and some of her past, though the light
of awareness had quickly dimmed. She'd
even been able to converse, though only in fractured Yiddish. But why take Dora out now?
It was the nurse's nature to be
suspicious of people who wanted to remove a patient from her care. Even though Saul Kent had always voiced
concern for his mother, the nurse had never detected any true feelings behind
his actions. To her experienced eye it
had appeared as if Kent
had concocted a prescription label schedule of the proper amount of time to
spend with his mother. He had stuck to
the formula, never increasing or decreasing the frequency or length of the
visits. And perhaps it was nothing more
than the unsettling feeling she always had when Kent
was present. There was just something
about him... "As I'm sure you are aware she requires constant, 'round the
clock attention." She stated. And what game was Kent
playing by showing up in a white medical coat?