Chapter 37

Margaret woke the next morning filled with delight at the thought of spending her afternoon and evening in the company of some of London's most pleasant society. Carly and Geoffrey were well connected and the Boxing Day open house to which they were taking her was bound to be a very pleasant diversion from her more recent London society. Nonetheless she had to put in an appearance at Christopher's care facility, and she arrived just before noon with the same sense of dread she had felt every previous day. Once again, he was absorbed in a golf match on the television and was so wrapped up in the game that he didn't notice her arrival. She greeted him and attempted to give him a kiss, but he pushed her away. "Can't you see that I'm busy. I haven't time for your 'pleasantries'." He spat out the word "pleasantries" as if it were poisonous.

"I just wanted to see you, make sure everything was alright," she replied in what she thought was a placating tone.

"If you really cared about me, you'd get that ingrate Martin to come and release me. It's like a prison. They won't even give me a phone so I can call him myself."

He saw her glance over to the bedside table where a phone sat within easy reach of both his bed and the armchair in which he was sitting, and he snarled, "That phone is useless, can't get it to work and they won't replace it. Like I said, I need to get out of here."

There were several holiday cards sitting on the bedside table and she busied herself examining them, noticing that several of his friends had sent very uplifting notes, commenting on how they all missed his presence on the course and encouraging him to heal quickly. She walked over to the guest chair and sat down. Nodding her head towards the cards, she tried to engage him in conversation, "I see that your friends are missing you, hoping you will be back to play with them."

His only reply was a bitter, "Humph"

She continued, "Did you have your therapy session this morning?"

He shook his head irritably, and raised both fists in the air, punching some imaginary foe, growling, "Total waste of time. Won't let me ambulate on my own. Put a leash around my waist, like a dog and insist I hold on to the railing while an aide leads me down the ramp. Felt like a damn fool."

"Were you able to walk down the ramp?"

"Of course I could walk. They seem to think I'm some kind of invalid."

She wondered at his response, but took it at face value, and said in an encouraging tone, "I'm glad to hear you were able to walk. That's good news." She stood up and walked toward his wheelchair sitting by the door, "It's time for lunch. Let's go down to the dining room. You enjoyed it so much yesterday."

She called for an aide, then rolled the wheelchair closer to where he was sitting. Just as he had the day before he tried to pull himself up to pivot into the wheel chair and was unable to rise more than an inch or so. Making a second effort, he managed to use his arms to pull himself upright, then took a step towards the chair before he crumpled down onto the floor.

"Don't just stand there, woman, help me up." He shouted at Margaret, who stood by helplessly, knowing full well she was not able to lift him.

Moments later, an aide rushed in," Mr. Ellingham. I've told you not to try to get up without one of us nearby to make sure you don't fall."

The aide reached into the cupboard and pulled out a wide safety belt and crouched down to wrap it around Christopher's waist. He slapped at her, crying out, "Don't touch me. I can do this myself."

She took a step to the phone on the table and made a call, requesting assistance, then looked down at him with compassion. To Margaret, whose face reflected the horror she was feeling at that moment, she said, "It's very difficult for our patients when they are unable to do what they have been doing all their lives. It's a difficult transition, and it's not unusual for them to lash out in frustration. You mustn't be alarmed."

To Christopher, she was a little more authoritative. "Now Mr. Ellingham, I need you to cooperate with me if you want to get up off the floor."

"No. You need to remember that I am a renowned surgeon, and should be treated with the utmost respect. Get my wife out of here. She doesn't need to see me like this."

"Mrs. Ellingham, perhaps you could go out into the hall. There is a comfortable lounge just to the right a few steps down; you can wait there and I will let you know when Mr. Ellingham is more comfortable."

Margaret did as she was told, making her way down to the lounge which was done up in peaceful shades of blue and green. There were comfortable armchairs scattered about in groups of three or four, with the latest magazines and newspapers resting on tables nearby. In a nook off to the side was a big screen television showing a news program with the sound so low it was barely audible in the rest of the lounge. Generic holiday tunes were still playing over the speakers which only highlighted, to Margaret, a sense of despair for those "incarcerated" in this facility.

She found a secluded seat tucked back in a corner near a window, sat down and thought about Christopher's condition. How could such a vital man end his days in a place like this. Was there anything more that could be done for him? Should she be doing something about it? Should she take him back to Portugal? He might be happier there if he could join his cronies for drinks even if he couldn't play on the course with them. Carly's husband had visited him twice since they arrived and his visits cheered Christopher enormously, but they would be leaving in a few days just before the end of the year to return to Portugal for the big New Year's Eve gala at the club. She wondered if anyone was holding a dinner party that night in her stead; it was one of the highlights of the holiday season, a time for her to shine, and she missed the attention. No one here seemed to know who she was; she was just the wife of one of the many invalids warehoused in this facility, a nobody.

She herself would love to return to their home in Portugal, return to a semblance of their life there. But, even if she could take him back to Portugal, there was no way she could care for him on her own; she would have to hire help. Was that kind of help easy to find? She was full of questions with no one to turn to. Martin, she must make Martin help.

As she was thinking this over, the aide came to retrieve her and take her back to Christopher's room. "We have given Mr. Ellingham something to make him less anxious and have ordered his meal to be brought to his room. You might want to stay to help him eat."

She wondered at this last suggestion. His had developed a slight palsy in his hands since arriving in London, but he had still been able to feed himself. Why should she help him eat? She followed the aide back to his room where he was sitting in his armchair, passively staring at the golf match still playing on the screen.

"Hello Chris." She walked over to his side and sat in the chair reserved for visitors. "They will be bringing your dinner in a few minutes."

"Yes," he grunted still staring at the screen.

Rather than engage him in conversation, she pulled her book out of her handbag and opened it up for a few minutes until the dinner cart arrived with his meal. The aide moved his table over to his chair and adjusted the height before setting down the tray. The meal looked appetizing, a nice filet of fish with a mango salsa, rice pilaf, and a side of asparagus with a ribbon of bernaise sauce. There was a soft white dinner roll with a pat of butter and a pot of tea, as well as a good-sized portion of chocolate cake for afters.

"Do you want any help?"

Ignoring her offer of assistance, Christopher picked up his fork and stabbed one of the asparagus spears, shakily raising it to his mouth. Margaret leaned forward in her chair and watched over him warily, thinking he had manged well so far; he might not need her help. He fumbled with the salmon dropping the first piece on his trousers as well as the second piece he tried to eat.

"Here, let me help," She reached over to take the fork from him, but he glared at her swatting her hand.

"I can manage. I don't need you to feed me like a child."

He continued to fumble with his fork, dropping more than half of his meal on his lap, but refusing any help.

"Perhaps I can pour your tea for you," she offered as she picked up the teapot, but again he swatted her away causing her to nearly drop the teapot and spilling some of the still hot liquid on his hand, prompting him to shout out at her clumsiness.

Giving up, she bade him good-bye and left the room. She staggered down the hall toward the lounge thankful that it was nearly deserted. What was she going to do? She couldn't manage this any longer. She pulled out her phone and rang Martin.

His phone rang and rang, and just as she was expecting to reach his answer phone, she heard him pick up with a hesitant greeting, "Mum?"

"Martin. I'm at your father's care home and he's become unmanageable. I need you to come back here immediately and make things right."

A few seconds passed, perhaps longer, "Martin? Did you hear me?"

"Mmm. Yes. Tell me exactly what the problem is."

"He's becoming violent. Belligerent. They gave him something to calm him down, but now he can't feed himself, won't let me help and refuses any help, just lashes out at anyone who tries."

He responded quickly, using his professional surgeon's voice, "Right. This type of behaviour isn't all that unusual with the type of brain damage that Dad has experienced. There is really nothing that I can do."

"He keeps yelling for you to come and get him out of here. You need to come … now." She put a forceful emphasis on the word now, hoping he would feel compelled to help.

"As I said, there is nothing that I can do for him, ethically. And even if I were allowed to treat him, there is little that I could do that Mr. Brendall could not do as well. I will contact him and ask that he monitor Dad's medications and treatment more closely. And I will have him give you the contact information for the hospital social workers who can help you cope with this new stage in Dad's life."

"Martin!" She interrupted.

"That's the best I can do. Good-bye."

He hung up. He hung up on her! She was stunned. How dare he refuse to help her, now when she needed it most. She sank further down into the couch, shocked at his lack of concern.

It had been drizzling when she arrived, but the sun had come out and she saw that as an omen. It was time to leave. There was nothing for her to do here and she had the party to attend this afternoon. She needed the diversion of holiday cheer. Hoping she would find it with Carly and Geoffrey and perhaps a few others, she rose, went to the ladies to freshen her make-up and asked the front desk to call her a taxi to take her to her flat to prepare for the party. She needed to look her best. After all, there was always the possibility of meeting a special someone, and she brightened at the prospect.