Chapter 2 - THE STORY LAUREN HAD BEEN BUILDING
The police separated us.
An ambulance took Mom to the hospital.
I went with her.
Lauren stayed behind to answer questions.
At the emergency department, the doctor examined Mom’s injuries.
The cut at her temple needed three stitches.
Her wrists were bruised.
She was dehydrated.
Her blood sugar was low.
She had lost almost fourteen pounds since her last documented appointment.
That number hit me harder than I expected.
Fourteen pounds.
I had spoken to her three nights earlier.
On video.
She wore a cardigan.
Sat in the same chair.
Lauren stood just off camera and told me:
“She’s doing great.”
I had believed her.
The doctor asked:
“Who manages your medications?”
Mom looked at me.
Then whispered:
“Lauren.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“She said I was forgetting.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
The doctor reviewed her chart.
There had been no diagnosis of dementia.
No cognitive disorder.
No physician instruction transferring medication management to Lauren.
Then the doctor asked:
“Have you missed doses?”
Mom nodded.
“How often?”
“I don’t know.”
Some medications had been withheld.
Others doubled “when Lauren thought I needed calming.”
I had to sit down.
This was no longer one bad afternoon.
Lauren had been practicing control under the language of caregiving.
That night, the attending physician documented suspected elder abuse and neglect.
A hospital social worker contacted Adult Protective Services.
I sat beside Mom’s bed, sick with guilt.
She reached for my hand.
“Andrew.”
“I should’ve known.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She squeezed my fingers weakly.
“She was convincing.”
May you like
That made it worse.
---
