Pretty Woman Spitting: An American's Travels in China Page 14

“Did you bring me some medicine? They won’t give me anything for the headache. Get them to give me some Panadol.”

  It was then that I saw all the tubes in her arms, the oxygen tube in her nose and a catheter coming out from under her skirt. Dianne was still dressed in her pink shirt with embroidered flowers that we had picked out only weeks before at a small shop near the bathhouse. It had puffy sleeves and looked like a young woman’s shirt, and yet on this spunky grandmother’s thin frame it was endearing. I noticed that the shirt and even the curls of her hair were matted with something.

  “Dianne, you just think you have to go to the bathroom,” I said. “Just try not to think about it okay?”

  “If I could just go to the bathroom…”

  She started to get up to go to the bathroom. I placed my hands on her shoulders and she stopped fighting and collapsed back onto the bed. When she tried again to get up, it seemed like she couldn’t resist the urge. She turned sad brown eyes on me and begged me to get her some water.

  “Please. Please get me some water. I’m so thirsty.”

  I turned to Linda and told her what Dianne was asking for. Then I looked into Linda’s eyes for the first time since arriving at the hospital. I saw panic in them. She pulled me away from the bedside. She started roughly patting my forearms and her eyes were searching the room for answers.

  “Linda, she needs to use the bathroom and she says she’s thirsty.”

  “See the tube? She is going to the toilet. And she is getting fluids through a tube. Do you see?”

  I saw, but I still couldn’t understand why she was so thirsty. If she already had a catheter and an IV, why was she so miserable?

  “Please help us to calm her down,” Linda said. “It is not good for her to sit up. She needs to be calm and not move. You must make her understand.”

  I sat next to Dianne and picked up her hands. Her skin felt thin and waxy and I could feel her small bones. Finally, I got the students with the smelly food to leave the room and I tried to explain the situation to Dianne.

  I remembered seeing a medical show on TV where the patient was extremely thirsty, but it was due to high blood pressure not a need for water. I told Dianne she wasn’t really thirsty and that it was just the high blood pressure.

  Margaret and I decided Margaret would go see if the doctors could get Dianne some medication to go to sleep. We thought maybe she could sleep through this phantom pain.

  Dianne kept grasping my arms. I noticed blood all over her hands and arms then. Alone in the room with Dianne, all I could do was say, “I’m right here Dianne. I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to be fine. Margaret is going to get them to help ease your pain.”

  In my head I was thinking I had no idea if she would be okay or if they could give her good medicine or if the doctors even knew what they were doing.

  Then I saw Chinese people in the hallway. They were stopping in front of the open door and staring at me. It wasn’t a new feeling for me, of course, but for some reason it made me so much angrier this day. In the bed on the other side of the room, there was a woman who was as frail as a cellophane noodle, lying prostrate in the bed as her husband and daughter prepared to change her bedpan and exercise her legs. For the first time since I’d gotten to the hospital, I noticed the stench of sickness hanging in the air. I guessed the Chinese food had hidden the smell until then.

  Minutes later, Margaret returned and whispered to me.

  “Leanna, this is not good. I asked the doctors if they could give her anything to put her to sleep so she wouldn’t feel the pain and so she would stop moving and they told me how experienced I was…Leanna, I don’t know anything. And I don’t think they do either. I just want to go back to the apartment and call America and ask someone what she should take for high blood pressure and a headache. And Linda told me that Dianne’s had a CT already and that it might be an aneurysm.”

  My heart skipped a beat. I knew this word. My mother had a thirty-five-year-old friend who got an aneurism and didn’t make it a week.

  “An aneurysm – are they sure?” I asked.

  “It’s a bleed in the brain. That’s what they said.”

  “Well, what did they say they’re giving her?”

  “I don’t know, but they want us to get in touch with the family and tell them she’s in critical condition.”

  Then, six Chinese men in grayish white coats walked into the room. I moved to the foot of the bed so they could see Dianne. They took her pulse and spoke to each other in Chinese. Their eyes darted around to Margaret and me. Then the doctors filed out of the room together.

  Two of Dianne’s male students came back in the room just as she tried to get up again. Margaret told them to leave and, taking Dianne’s arms, I asked her to lie back and relax.

  She could not stop begging for water, to use the toilet, and get medicine. I had no idea what to do as I watched her suffering. I could only keep repeating, “I’m here for you, Dianne. It’s going to be fine, but you need to lie still and try to relax.”

  Nurses came in and out to check on her IV and to give her various shots, none of which seemed to be putting her to sleep.

  When she seemed to almost drift off, I left Margaret with her and went to find out what the plan was. Could we get her to Nanjing? Shanghai? Linda was standing in the hallway looking towards the stairs.

  “Linda, what’s going on? Margaret told me that the doctors saw an aneurysm in some test they did on her.”

  “Yes. The doctors saw blood in her head. They are now trying to stop the bleeding. This is very serious. They must get the bleeding to stop and Diana must not move right now.”

  “Are they sure it’s an aneurysm?” I asked.

  “That is what they said. They are now trying to stop the bleeding with medicine, but Diana must not move. They will do another test to see if the bleeding has stopped. When Dianne falls asleep you and Maggie should go back to the apartment and rest.”

  “We’re not tired, but we can go get her some other clothes and we’ll call her family if you want us to.”

  “Yes, tell the family that she is in the hospital.”

  When I walked back into the room, Margaret and the six doctors were all standing around Dianne. I stood at Dianne’s side.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. None of them speak English, but I think they’re going to do some tests on her or something.”

  They gave her a series of shots and then one of the doctors brought a student into the room. She turned to us and said that we should ask Dianne her age.

  “Dianne?” I asked. “Dianne? The doctors want to know how old you are. Can you tell them?”

  “Sixty years old.”

  Then the students translated what she said and came back to us, they want to know if she knows who you are.

  “Dianne? What’s my name?”

  She focused her eyes on me and slightly smiling said, “Leanna.”

  It was barely audible. I wiped the sticky hair that was matted to her face away with my hands as she closed her eyes.

  The doctors then began to do physical tests on Dianne as Margaret and I sat on the spare bed in the room. Moments later, we could tell she was asleep. We decided to go home then to get her some pajamas and toiletries.

  If I had known then that this would be the last time I or anyone else would talk to Dianne, I wouldn’t have left. If I had known that she would wake up again thirty minutes later, afraid and unable to communicate, or that the next time she fell asleep it would be the last time, I would have stayed at her bedside and held her hand.

  An hour later, we returned to the hospital. We had already left messages for the family to call us. Linda told us that surgery was necessary.

  “The only chance is the surgery and it is a slim chance,” Linda said.

  We left another message on the phones of Dianne’s family in Australia. They had no idea what kind of situation their mother was in. I could only think, ‘What if this was me get
ting this message at home?’ Margaret thought that we were committing an international crime by sending these awful short emails and leaving dire messages for the family.

  Two hours later, Dianne’s husband and oldest daughter called us and approved the surgery. Margaret, Linda and I waited through the five-hour surgery.

  Linda was as nervous as a hostage at gunpoint. She paced our waiting room and went out into the hall to talk with her colleagues. She kept repeating what we should tell the family about how much they had done for Dianne. We could sense that this could be a very bad situation for Linda.

  After the surgery, the doctors told us that there was still a “slim chance” Dianne would survive. Linda told us to tell the family to come immediately. That was on Wednesday.

  By Friday, we had been to the hospital every day, sitting with Dianne, sitting with the English teachers that had been taking turns at the hospital all day and all night every minute Dianne was there. I saw three English teachers there for long periods of time, but I’m not sure how many took turns sitting with Dianne. The school had arranged that they be there around the clock.

  Linda made arrangements to pick up the family on Friday and decided that Margaret should go with her. Having seen me cry several times during the last few days, Linda told me that I should stay behind. She was afraid that my tears would only upset the family more. I was to stay at the hospital so the family could call and speak to Dianne through my cell phone.

  Just before Dianne’s family arrived at the hospital, I noticed that Dianne’s room took on a very different look. She was changed into a white hospital gown and had a starched white comforter laid over her instead of the dingy sheets that she and everyone else in the hospital had. The bed on the other side of the room that was metal with a two-inch mattress and looked like it came out of a World War II barracks was removed from the room and fifteen humongous bouquets of bright flowers were put there instead. The scent of the flowers covered a little of the sick stench of the hospital.

  As I sat by Dianne and looked into her skin, which had turned a shade of yellow, I couldn’t help but wonder what “slim chance” the doctors were talking about. I kept telling her about our times at the bathhouse and how I couldn’t go back without her and about her family coming. In my head, though, I wondered if she was already gone. At some point, I realized that the blinds on the wall behind me had been opened up and a group of students and school officials had gathered to view Dianne.

  When Dianne’s daughters, Danielle and Michelle, and Dianne’s husband, Neville, came off the elevator, I heard loud sobs as they looked at the conditions of the hospital. By now the blinds had been closed. When I walked into the hallway, they each gave me a long hug and thanked me for being there. Then the family went into the room and I could hear them crying through the closed door.

  The students left and five school officials were all that remained in the waiting room. The doctors, who had been working on Dianne, were also there along with Linda and Ms. Gu, the liaison of the downtown foreign English teachers. It was an imposing crowd. When the family and Margaret and I joined them in a break room, it felt as if we were staring at a panel of judges.

  A Chinese foreign ambassador from Shanghai explained what had happened to Dianne and every measure that was taken to save her life. He spoke for fifteen minutes and then the family was allowed to ask questions. He told them repeatedly that Dianne only had a “slim chance” if she stayed on the life support and she had “no chance” without it. He asked that the family take all the time they needed to figure out what to do for Dianne.

  Then the doctors, the school officials and Linda and Ms. Gu left the room. The family asked that Margaret and I stay. They asked us to tell our side of the story of how everything happened. Then they said they wanted to get an Australian doctor on the phone to figure out what was really going on. The “slim chance” explanation of what was going on wasn’t enough. They knew that their mother would never want to be lying in a hospital bed like she was. Before she left Australia, Dianne had even signed a power of attorney document stating that she not be resuscitated in the event that her heart stopped. She had divvied out her best jewelry to her daughters and closest friends in case anything like this happened.

  They turned and asked us what we thought. For the first time, I realized what they should ask:

  “You need to ask them if she’s brain dead. I don’t think anyone has mentioned that and really that’s what you need to know.”

  When the doctors, the school officials and Linda and Ms. Gu returned, Dianne’s daughter Michelle asked the question.

  “Yes,” they told us. “She is in a state that is vegetative. She can only breathe with the machine. If you decide to turn the machine off, she will have no chance. If you decide to keep the machine on, she will have a slim chance. The machine is breathing for her.”

  I heard Dianne’s daughter Danielle sob.

  Dianne had been brain dead since Wednesday night. The slim chance they mentioned was just the chance for her to keep breathing without any brain functioning. For days I had pictured her waking up out of a coma when her family arrived.

  After letting this sink in, the family looked at each other and without any needed discussion Michelle spoke for them.

  “We want to thank you for everything you’ve done for our mother. We know that you’ve done everything you could. We are going to speak with our family doctor and then we will let you know what we decide.”

  After the family spoke with the doctor in Australia, they decided to turn off the machine after she was read her last rites.

  The family priest read Dianne her last rites over the phone. An hour later, a Chinese priest, dressed like every other priest I’d ever seen, was called in and the family, Ms. Gu, Linda, Margaret, the nurse on duty and I went into the room while he, with two nuns beside him, read Dianne her last rites in Chinese.

  When they were finished, we were all allowed to say goodbye to Dianne in our own way before they turned off her life support. I was told to go first. I wanted to keep from crying. It wasn’t my time to be emotional, especially not in front of the family. But as soon as I started speaking, Linda, Ms. Gu, and the female nurse started wailing at the top of their lungs. A lump formed in my throat and I could barely get anything out. So, I just whispered to Dianne that I would always remember her. What I didn’t say, but thought at the time was that I would do more than remember her, I would write about her so other people would know how loving and generous she was, that I would try to be more like her, more adventurous, more giving, that, like her, I would go after my dreams, too.

  It had been my dream to be an actress and a writer, but I had stopped acting and hadn’t allowed myself to write. Now I had made a pact with Dianne and would have no excuse for quitting. She had been such a bright and shinning star and her light had gone out so quickly. How can any of us afford to wait to try for what burns inside us?

  I stepped back from her bed. Linda and Ms. Gu and the female nurse continued to howl as Margaret stepped up to say goodbye. They continued until we were all finished. When the door opened for us to leave so the family could say their goodbyes privately, the wailing abruptly stopped.

  I had no idea that the Chinese wail. They were normally such a reserved, stoic people that I never could have guessed it was part of their culture.

  After a few minutes, Dianne’s family came out of the room wiping their eyes. Dianne was gone.

  - - - -

  There was one last meeting with the school officials and the ambassador in the waiting room. They wanted to discuss the final arrangements.

  The ambassador told the family the school would arrange for a funeral and allow officials and students to attend. Then he spoke with the other officials in Chinese. I heard the word “cremation” come out in English. Then he explained to the family that in China everyone was cremated. It made sense to me since there probably wasn’t enough room to bury them all or enough money to house people in mausoleums.


  Then he said, “We will have Dianne cremated and you can take her back with you on Sunday.”

  Danielle clutched her heart and started hyperventilating. Michelle patted her knee and spoke for the family. “We are going to bury our mother in Australia. She is an Australian citizen.”

  “In China, we have laws.” The ambassador blurted. It was a harsh and undiplomatic statement. I could feel my own mouth gaping.

  “I understand that you have rules and that you might need to speak with the authorities in China,” Michelle continued, surprisingly calm. “But we have spoken to our insurance agent and they have assured us that they have taken many Australian citizens’ bodies out of China and they will arrange it with your hospital.”

  “We will find out if you can take Dianne with you, but we strongly recommend that you have her cremated. It is for the best.”

  Then the ambassador and his entourage left the room.

  Who the hell did he think he was?

  “What if they do it anyway?” Danielle said. “It isn’t right. Mum would want to be buried in Australia.”

  “Dani, I’ll be with her,” Michelle assured her. “I’ll stay and make sure that nothing happens. The agent told us that mum could come home. She’s an Aussie citizen, there’s no way they can make us cremate her.”

  Minutes later the ambassador came back and informed us that Dianne could go back to Australia. He suggested it happen soon, since they were not equipped to preserve bodies for very long. That must have been why they were so adamantly pushing to cremate her. It was decided that a funeral would be held the next day and that Dianne would be taken home two days after that.

  The next morning we got up for the funeral. We met Linda and Ms. Gu and the family at the hotel they were staying in. The other foreign teachers from Aston and the downtown campus met us as well. A somber Mr. One drove our group to the funeral home, which looked like a power plant in the distance. It was a long, flat, concrete building with large glass walls and doors that made it look like a see-through rectangle.

  Fifty of Dianne’s students were lined up at the steps leading up to the building with yellow flowers pinned to their shirts. I found out later that there was no announcement about the funeral at the school and that fifty of her students had been handpicked to come. The other one hundred and thirty were not allowed to attend and our students, many of whom were fond of Dianne, didn’t even know she had passed away.