Robert Has a Heart Attack, part two

The taxi driver took Leta to the emergency room entrance of the hospital, and she proceeded directly to the intake counter.

“I’m Mrs. Robert Fields,” Leta told the nurse. “My husband was brought here from work. There was some kind of accident.”

The nurse looked stiff in her white cotton uniform, but smiled compassionately.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, “your husband arrived a few minutes ago. He is with the doctor right now.”

“How is he?” Leta inquired. “How badly is he hurt?”

The nurse lowered her eyes. “I don’t know.”

Leta’s heart sank, and the nurse walked her to one of the seats in the waiting room, where she sat and stared at the floor. There was bustle and conversation going on around her, but she was afraid to listen. She was afraid to move.

That morning, she and Robert rose as they always did. While he shaved and dressed for work, she put the coffee on and made his morning toast and oatmeal. Of all the breakfasts that she could prepare for him—from eggs to pancakes—he preferred oatmeal. Her timing was impeccable. The food was ready just as he entered the kitchen. They sat and ate their breakfast and talked about evening plans, mostly what Leta would make for supper and whether or not it would rain any time over the next several days. Leta told him that she believed she would have enough strawberries to go with shortcake, and he smiled. “Now that’s something worth coming home for!”

As she sat in the waiting room, she wondered if she had left any burners or the oven on at home. She had left so hastily after she received the phone call from one of her husband’s coworkers that she could not remember even her actions once she hung up the phone. She had been preparing their supper at the time. But then she remembered that she was peeling potatoes. The shortcake was done. She hadn’t started the actual cooking. Everything at home was fine.

“Mrs. Fields?” a voice asked. Leta was startled. Had the nurse standing beside her said her name before?

“Yes, what is it?” Leta gasped questioningly and started to rise. The nurse gently kept her in her seat.

“Is there someone we can telephone for you?” the nurse asked. “Someone who can come and sit with you while you wait?”

Until that moment, Leta had not thought about how long her wait might be. She did not know the extent of her husband’s injuries or even what happened at the factory.

“Yes, please,” Leta said. “Will you telephone my daughter?” Then she rose. “Or maybe I should call her myself.” Again, the nurse gently kept her seated.

“I can telephone her for you.”

Leta gave her the telephone number, and the nurse left to perform her task. Once she was alone again, Leta looked at her watch. It was 3:40 in the afternoon. Her seven-year-old grandson Don would be arriving home from school about now, she thought. He would be hungry and maybe tired. He would want to tell his mother about his day, and she would be happy to see him. Vivian would feed him a small snack while she prepared supper for them and her own husband. How could Vivian leave to be with her right now? How would she even get to the hospital? She only had a car when she drove Ed to work. This wasn’t a good idea.

Leta decided to stop the nurse from carrying out the task.

To be continued.