Mrs. Mackey's Papaya Juice

He peeked into her room to see if she was awake. Mrs. Mackey, who was dying of breast cancer, had been in and out of the hospital frequently, staying four days, then five and now, ten days.    

As the medical floor’s unit manager, Mr. Brand had few actual management responsibilities. True, he supervised two ward clerks, but most of his day was spent checking the crash cart, which was filled with the medical items needed in the event a patient experienced cardiac arrest. He was also expected to keep an adequate supply of wheelchairs and stretchers on hand to transport patients to the lab, or x-ray.

Each morning, he visited every patient’s room to make sure they were receiving whatever they needed. Strictly speaking, this wasn’t in his job description, but it was his favorite activity. Mrs. Mackey was 57 years old. The first time she was admitted to his unit, she looked younger than that. Now, of course, she looked much older, shriveled by dehydration, exhausted in spite of many hours of sleep.

“Good morning Mr. Brand,” she said.

“Ah, so you’re awake early this morning.” He checked his watch. It was 7:15.  

“The pain has been especially sharp, especially the sores in my mouth,” Mrs. Mackey said. “I don’t mean to complain, Mr. Brand, really I don’t.”

“I wish you would call me Joseph, Mrs. Mackey. And please don’t worry about telling anyone on our staff how you’re feeling. I’ll ask one of the nurses to check on you as soon as they finish their morning meeting.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you, Mr. -Joseph. I’ll call you Joseph if you will call me Lucy. Is it a deal?”

Joseph hesitated for a moment. His boss warned him about becoming too familiar with patients. She said it was unprofessional. He studied his clipboard for a moment considering what to say. “It’s a deal, Lucy.” He said her name just above a whisper. He walked over to her bed and could see now that the woman was really struggling, her face contorted. Was it the pain itself, or her attempt to hide it? “Would you like some water?”

She struggled to sit upright. Joseph could see every vein in her thin hands and arms. He closed his eyes for a moment as he pressed the foot lever and raised the bed so she could sit up. When he plumped her pillows to support her back and neck, he stared at the blank TV screen.

“Thank you, Joseph. Right now, I would prefer some ice chips please. Whenever you get a chance, that is.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he took a quick, but close look at Mrs. Mackey, hoping she didn’t notice. Her eyes were sunken now, even more than yesterday morning. Yet, they retained the light of the living, notwithstanding her condition. “I’ll take care of that, but before I go, what kind of juice would you like today?”

She smiled. “Cold juice is my last pleasure on this earth, do you know that, Joseph?”

He smiled back at her. “Yesterday, I brought you cherry and apricot. How did that work out?”

“The cherry had too much acid, remember? It hurt my mouth something awful.”

“Oh, right. I’m sorry about that. Would you like to try some papaya juice?

“Oh, that sounds good. I’ll try it this morning, but what will you bring me for my afternoon juice?” Every day Joseph suggested different juices for Mrs. Mackey to try. She couldn’t tolerate acidic varieties anymore, like citrus or tomato juice. He even persuaded her to do a blind taste test for a few days, trying to guess what he’d brought. She correctly guessed watermelon and coconut juices, but she was simply too weak to play that game anymore. 

“Maybe we should go with apricot again. Would that be okay, Lucy?”

“I’ll say yes for now. Maybe I’ll change my mind later though. Okay?”

He laughed and gently patted her hand. “Certainly.” Joseph left her room to fetch a nurse, but they were still meeting. He stopped at the nurse’s desk just long enough to order the papaya juice. As he walked down the hall, toward the icemaker, he heard a sound all too familiar come over the loudspeaker, announcing a cardiac arrest. “Code 4, room 612. Code 4, room 612.” He ran to the nurse’s station and grabbed the crash cart, rushing it down the corridor. He knew he would catch hell if he didn’t beat the doctors to the room. He got there just seconds before the residents arrived.

As required, he stood by while the doctors worked to save the patient. It took thirty-five minutes, but it worked, the patient, now stable, was rushed to ICU. He immediately set to work to replenish the crash cart. Usually, the job took fifteen minutes to complete, but that morning one of the nurses’ aides, a pretty young woman he was interested in knowing better, stopped by to chat.  

Twenty-five minutes later, he finally had time to get the ice chips for Mrs. Mackey. He practically ran down the hall to bring them to her. He walked into the room ready to apologize for the delay. Her eyes were still open, but he saw immediately that the light was gone. He’d seen it before. Lucy’s soul had left her body.

Joseph walked back to the nurse’s station prepared to break the news. A large bottle of papaya juice was sitting on the counter. He took it to the break room and opened it, pouring himself a glass. He drank a toast to Lucy Mackey. It was the least he could do.