9. Errol

Chapter 9

Errol

This morning, before I took Grams to the doctor, I grabbed all of her pill bottles and put them in my backpack. When Davien suggested I make a list of them, I thought that was a great plan—until I started actually writing them down. I realized some of them were overlapping with similar names or the same names but different doses. Making heads and tails of them was nearly impossible. Some were listed as name brands, some not, and the dosing—it was everything from multiple times a day to half pills. It just got too confusing. So instead, I decided to take them all.

It was a good thing I did because when I went into the exam room with Grams—much to her chagrin—I took them all out and put them on the counter for when the doctor came in. He'd been her doctor for a long time, but his scheduling wasn't the best. She hadn't actually seen him in two months. His colleagues were great, but they weren't the same as someone who was familiar with you. And when you mixed that with specialists and ER visits, there were many, many people contributing to Grams's healthcare. Too many, if you asked me.

"Evelyn, do I even want to know why all those pill bottles are on my counter?" the doctor asked. It had been a long time since I heard someone call her that. The nurses used her last name, and I stuck with Grams. And at the police station, she was fully named every single time, including her last name.

Grams let out a sigh. "My grandson thinks you need to look at them. He doesn't trust me or the doctors."

"That's not what I said, Grams. I said that your primary doctor should know all of the things you're taking, and this was the easiest way to make that happen."

"Same difference." She rolled her eyes. Sometimes, she was like a kid, but this side of her was the side I loved—the little sassiness that was just her. It wasn't new, if anything it was a glimpse of the real her, the one I missed.

I'd started to notice that things got worse after lunch, and at first, I chalked it up to her being tired. But ever since Davien suggested that prescriptions might be an issue, I wondered if it was her lunchtime pills, and I told her doctor that, along with a little about what was going on. My Grams was not impressed, but the doctor Evelyned her a few times with some serious side-eye, and she gave up fighting it.

"There's a lot more here than on your chart, Evelyn," the doctor said.

She shrugged.

He took out his phone, typed on the screen, put it back in his pocket, and then went to work looking at all the pill bottles. Less than a minute later, the nurse came in.

"You needed me?" That's what he was doing with the phone.

"Yes, I could use some help documenting these while I examine Evelyn." She took out her iPad and started typing away.

As the doctor listened to Grams's heart and breathing, he asked her questions about her digestion, vision, and all the usual doctor things. Then he said, "Okay, I need you guys to stay right here while I go look at the list. Be right back."

About twenty minutes later, he came back in with a big printout and started to explain how some of the medicines were unnecessary, some were causing issues with others and doing more harm than good, and some were dosed poorly. More than that, one of them had a side effect of confusion, which was probably exacerbated by another one that caused memory loss. Basically, it was a huge-ass mess. I was so glad I brought them all.

By the time we left, he had whittled her down to only three prescriptions. Upon my request, he kept the other bottles for recycling or whatever they did with unused medicine. She could not only go back to her lazy susan, but things were going to be looking better. Not right away, but soon.

I felt great knowing that we were in a good practice, one that cared and took the time needed to help their patients. It was even better knowing that Grams was going to be okay. He said it would take probably a week for everything to even out, and that she had to come back in two days to check her vitals and touch base.

"Was I really that bad?" she asked as she handed me a mug of tea a few days later.

"On and off." I wasn't going to lie to her, not about this. "When Davien was here, you thought I was in high school. You even gave me a ten pm curfew on my first date with him."

"Huh? I don't remember that." She sat down at the table where her lunch was waiting.

"You don't remember me being in high school?" I attempted to lighten the mood. This couldn't be easy for her to hear.

"No, I don't remember saying that to your young man or anything about the curfew."

"It's no big deal." At the time it was. Now that we knew what was causing her issues and she was already on the upswing, it mattered a whole lot less.

"He's really into you." She smiled over the rim of her mug.

"I hope so. I'm really into him." Just thinking about him made me smile. It wasn't even about him helping me figure out what was wrong with Grams, even though that was amazing. It was Davien—who he was and how he made me feel.

"And how do you know him again?"

I told her the story of Julian and the wrong number and the bail. "Oh, sorry about that. Sorry about all of this. I'll get you the money."

"Nah, they'll give it back when you go to court." My hope was that now that we knew why she had done what she did, they might ignore the whole fine thing. Only time would tell.

I knew enough to understand there were going to be a few glitches in her getting back to normal, and that she wasn't really all better just yet, but the changes were already night and day.

She decided to go out and work in the garden after she ate, and I decided to make a cake for Davien as a thank-you. He'd made a huge difference for Grams. Sure, the doctors would probably have figured it out eventually—I'd already been worried about the medication and had planned to ask about them—but the longer she was on them, the worse it would've gotten, and I shuddered thinking about all the dangers she could've faced before her meds were fixed.

And that was all Davien. We were definitely in a situation where she was going to be okay now. That was twice he'd bailed me out for her. Cake it was.

I grabbed Grams's recipe book—the one with all her favorite recipes, either cut out from magazines or handwritten by her or someone else—and found her famous three-egg cake. It wasn't a very fancy name, but the cake was always delicious. How hard could it be?

Well, pretty hard, as it turned out. The cake came out lopsided, with a big bubble on top that exploded, leaving a crater. It stuck to the pan and looked absolutely horrible, which gave me the brilliant idea that I could fix it with frosting. Of course, that would be easy. I'd seen it on television shows all the time—they just boop, boop, boop, and it was beautiful. Only, I did that, and it somehow made the cake look worse.

But the layers stayed stacked the way they were supposed to, and the recipe was solid, so in theory, it would taste good. Whatever the case was, it was the thought that counted, right?

I got it ready to bring with me and went out to find Grams, who was talking to the garden.

"Grams, it's time to go inside. Looks like it might rain."

"I was just telling Mr. Gnome that." She pointed to the garden statue in front of her.

"And did he tell you anything back, Grams?"

"Oh, Errol, don't you know he's just a statue?" She stood up and brushed her hands on her thighs. "I know I've been a little off lately, and honestly, I don't feel quite myself still, but even I know statues don't talk."

We walked inside, and she took one look at the cake. "You were baking?"

"Yep, three-egg cake."

"I see. And that cake is for Davien?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's good. He's spent enough time with you that he might not notice how ugly it is." Sadly, she had a point.

"Thanks, Grams."

"Anytime, dear. Now go find your man."

"He's not mine, Grams." Even if I wished that he was.

"Not yet, no. But he will be."

Please let Grams be right.