The Reluctant Savior. Krystan

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      chapter 4

      Gabriel’s Dilemma

      Dallas, Texas

      July 7, 2002

      Carmella winced as she struggled to help Mr. Wiggins sit up at the bedside. “Now, Sam,” she implored, “you know you got to help me out here, honey. You’re makin’ little ole Carmella do all the work here, sweetie. Come on now, let’s sit up straight and swing yo’ legs over the bedside for me.”

      Getting Sam Wiggins out of bed was no easy task, as was the case with most of the patients Carmella cared for. Since she started nursing school a year ago now, she had been employed there at Shadyside Convalescent Center, a small rather poorly run nursing home in the Oak Cliff area, just south of downtown Dallas. Carmella worked there as a certified nursing assistant on the 3–11 shift to help pay some of her school expenses at TWU. Although she had a full scholarship to Texas Woman’s University, it seemed that living expenses always far exceeded her scholarship monies, so the evening job helped to make up for the shortfall. It was very hard physical work, though, as many of the patients, including Sam, were largely incapable of functioning independently. Mr. Wiggins had a stroke just following his 61st birthday and had lost most of the use of the right side of his body. His 260-pound obese body didn’t help matters either, making his care all the more challenging for the nurse’s aides, who were responsible for his physical assistance.

      Carmella didn’t mind the nursing home, though, at least for now. She knew that if she was going to be a nurse, she had to know health care from the bottom (quite literally) up. It was kind of like paying her dues, she reckoned, giving her a better understanding of what usually happened to people as they got older—events that she was now committed to avoiding in her own life if possible. Even though she was only twenty, Carmella had experienced a lot in those few short years, especially the last year at Shadyside. The nurses and aides worked hard there, but even so, it was never enough. Just one patient like Mr. Wiggins could easily consume several hours of her time, and she often had ten or more such patients to care for. For now, however, Carmella forced herself to endure. She was taking her academic coursework in Denton, a smaller town about 30 miles to the north of Dallas, but she would be starting her clinicals on the nearby Dallas campus next year, a point at which she hoped to say goodbye to whatever learning experiences she was able to glean from Shadyside and move on to a more acute setting and, possibly, a job at one of the hospitals there by the campus.

      Mr. Wiggins, with Carmella’s help, had finally managed to get his large, overweight body over to the edge of the bed, where he could transfer to the wheelchair. “Just sit there, honey, and let yo’ head settle while I put on your robe and slippers. It’s almost 5 o’clock and time for yo’ dinnah!” Carmella’s voice was encouraging as it heralded Sam’s favorite time of day: mealtime. Not that he needed the food or anything like that, but he looked forward to getting out of his small room and seeing some of the other patients. Residing at Shadyside was a lonely and largely depressing existence for him, and after two years there, he was fairly certain he would never leave or, worse yet, regain the use of his right arm and leg. He often wished that he had taken better care of himself, but it was all hindsight now. Very few choices remained for him other than to lie there in bed at the mercy of young women like Carmella and a few that were not so friendly. Sam actually liked Carmella. She was so young and relatively untainted by the world. He envied her, really, and wished that he could be her age again and start all over. So many things he would do differently! It was hard for him to accept that there was not much hope left for him. Honestly, he wished he would just die and hopefully move on to a better place. No such luck now, though, as Carmella’s voice brought him back to the here and now. “Sam! Whachu doin’ there, honey? I can’t stand here all evenin’ waitin’ for you to help me. Come on now and let’s get you into that wheelchair!”

      With that last exhortation, Carmella pulled on the gait belt fastened under Sam’s arms and struggled to help him to his feet. With all his weight resting on his good leg, she deftly pivoted him and plopped his body into the oversize wheelchair. “Whew, Sammy, you just gotta be more help than that, or one o’ these days my back’s gonna plum give out and we both’ll be pickin’ ourselves up outa dat flo!” Carmella’s English hadn’t evolved much from the South Oak Cliff dialect of her youth, but Sam got the picture and actually liked it. He could think of a lot worse things than crashing to the floor with a cute young girl on top of him! Fantasies were about his only pleasure at this point.

      The evening meal was a big time for socialization at Shadyside, and Sam, as token male, was the reigning king of the roost. The other 29 residents on his unit were all females, which he would have enjoyed immensely had he and they not all been in such a debilitated state. Nevertheless, his position was, at first glance, a somewhat-enviable one, at least from a gender perspective.

      “Hiya Sammie,” came a sweet-sounding voice from across the room as Sam made his entry with Carmella propelling his wheelchair from behind. The voice belonged to Margaret Crawford, a feisty little 98-year-old widower whose primary problem was the fact that her body had unfortunately outlived her mind. “Are you just coming back from church?” she queried. “I heard the preacher say he saw you out in the audience today. I’m glad СКАЧАТЬ