Again Leta found herself waiting for the doctor. This time
with her son Dale and daughter-in-law Catherine. She was 88 years old and spent
more time than she liked being examined, having her blood tested, trying out
new medications and feeling poorly. Sometimes her back ached. Sometimes she
felt too weak to walk. Sometimes her head hurt. Sometimes she would find it
difficult to breathe. Sometimes she did not have the strength to bring her arms
to her face.
Lately her throat felt rough and dry. She had little saliva.
She could hardly swallow. She first noticed the discomfort a few months
earlier. It seemed like something viral. After all, she had been around for
some time; she knew about sore throats. She also lived in a closed community—with
50 elderly individuals with weak immune systems. Colds and bouts of influenza
raged in waves through the nursing home. She was feeling well, but her roommate
Dolores caught a cold. The two women she sat with at meals coughed for three
days. Four of the sisters and two of the nurse’s aids were also absent for
several days. It was only a matter of time before she, too, would succumb. So
when she awoke early one morning with a little rasp in her throat, she
anticipated that a full-blown cold was settling into her system.
She always liked to keep butterscotch candies at hand, but with
the sore throat, she alternated between lozenges and starlight peppermints. She
found the latter more soothing. As expected, the discomfort did increase and
included some fever, a lot of coughing and headache. She was old. It was
winter. The cold lasted a couple of weeks before symptoms of the virus began to
disappear. By the end of a month the fever and headache had disappeared, but
her throat still hurt and the cough continued, although not consistently.
She drank tea and returned to her favored butterscotch
candies. The ache in her throat and occasional fits of coughing continued. She
also had difficulty swallowing, which she attributed to the rawness in her
throat. First it was solid foods, like meat and vegetables, although most of
the vegetables served in the cafeteria were cooked to a near paste-like
substance. She could not eat fresh fruit or vegetables. Hot foods, in
particular, burned her throat, so she started to let her tea and coffee become
lukewarm before sipping.
Finally, her daughter-in-law suggested that she visit the
doctor.
“I asked him about it last time,” Leta said. “He told me to
keep drinking tea and using throat lozenges.”
“But, Ma,” Kate protested. “This has been going on for a long
time now. Weeks. You’re having trouble eating. You’ve lost weight. I think you
should get your throat checked. Do you still have your tonsils?”
“My tonsils?” Leta snapped. “What am I? Eight years old?”
“I’m just saying something could be irritating them, if you
had them.”
A brief outburst of coughing finished the conversation before
it could escalate. Each cough felt like someone dragged his claws down the
inside of Leta’s throat and then jabbed her.
A few days later, she went to the doctor’s for an examination.
The doctor expressed great concern and lightly scolded her for waiting so long
before visiting. He asked her about smoking, an activity she enjoyed for many
years of her adult life, but stopped shortly after her husband Richard Eckman
died. He asked her about her alcohol intake, which was minimal to non-existent,
although she had enjoyed alcoholic beverages for most of her adult life. He
asked about her eating habits, which she confessed had been reduced lately to
mashed potatoes with gravy, cream of wheat, creamed corn, pea soup, applesauce
and the juice of fruit cocktail.
Her general physician sent her to a specialist—an otolaryngologist
that focused on ears, nose and throat. By this time, Leta had become more
irritable. The discomfort in swallowing had increased, and she could hardly
stand drinking a glass of tap water.
“How long has this been going on?” the otolaryngologist
inquired.
“A long time,” she gasped.
“Weeks? Months?” he persisted.
“February, I suppose,” she answered. “But before you get all
surprised and nasty, I thought it was just a cold. I’m old. I live with a bunch
of sick old people. I get colds all the time.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Leta,” the doctor said. “This does
not look good.”
To be continued.
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