Chapter 4 - DANA MORRIS
Dana Morris was an RN from the home-health agency associated with Camille’s discharge plan.
Three scheduled visits.
Not permanent nursing care.
Wound check.
Vitals.
Recovery assessment.
Medication reconciliation.
Basic postpartum follow-up.
And, importantly, private questions.
Dana met Camille directly.
Not Darlene.
Not me.
On the first visit, I answered too many questions.
Dana looked at me.
“I’d like Camille to answer unless she asks for help.”
I shut up.
Darlene laughed.
“Good luck.”
Camille glared at both of us.
Dana did not laugh.
She turned toward Camille.
“Would you like them to stay?”
Camille thought.
“Everett can.”
Darlene’s face changed.
Tiny.
She left the room.
I stayed.
Dana asked Camille about dizziness.
Pain.
Sleep.
Mood.
Food.
Support.
Then:
“Do you have privacy when you want it?”
Camille glanced at the camera.
I felt suddenly stupid.
Dana noticed.
“Is that recording?”
“No. Live video.”
“Whose access?”
“Mine and Camille’s.”
Camille said nothing.
Dana looked at her.
“Do you want it on during this visit?”
Camille hesitated.
Then:
“No.”
I unplugged it.
No argument.
Why?
Professional was in the room.
That fact bothered me later.
I could accept the boundary when somebody with credentials made it legitimate.
Camille’s discomfort alone should have been enough.
After Dana left, I repositioned the camera toward the bassinet.
Camille said:
“Thank you.”
Then two days later I widened the angle again because she nearly tripped over a blanket.
There.
My own relapse.
Dana’s second visit happened while I was at work.
Darlene was there.
The main camera went black for forty-three minutes.
At the time I assumed privacy.
Good.
Then the third visit never happened.
I thought it had been completed.
Darlene said:
“Dana called. She said Camille doesn’t need another one unless something changes.”
I accepted.
Why?
Because home health is finite.
Because Camille seemed somewhat stronger.
Because Darlene sounded certain.
Two days later, Camille asked:
“When’s Dana coming back?”
I stared.
“I thought she discharged you.”
“What?”
“Your mom said—”
Camille’s face changed.
Darlene entered carrying laundry.
“What?”
I looked at her.
“Did Dana discharge Camille?”
“Yes.”
Camille said:
“No, she didn’t.”
Darlene’s mouth tightened.
“She called.”
“What did she say?”
“That another visit was unnecessary.”
Camille reached for her phone.
Darlene immediately said:
“She is not going to tell you something different because you call.”
Interesting sentence.
Not:
Call her.
I watched.
Camille called.
Voicemail.
Left a message.
Dana called back two hours later.
I was there.
Speakerphone.
“Camille?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry we missed each other yesterday.”
Camille looked at her mother.
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Mom said you canceled.”
Silence.
Dana’s voice became careful.
“I was told you were too tired for the visit and did not want to reschedule this week.”
Darlene said:
“That is what she told me.”
Camille stared.
“When?”
“After your last appointment.”
“No.”
“You said you were tired of people checking you.”
“I said I was tired of being a patient.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Dana interrupted.
“Camille, would you like me to schedule the final visit?”
“Yes.”
Darlene immediately said:
“She doesn’t need—”
Dana:
“Mrs. Hale?”
Darlene stopped.
“I’m asking my patient.”
There.
Darlene’s face hardened.
Camille said:
“Yes. Friday.”
“Good.”
Dana arrived Friday.
Darlene stayed in the kitchen.
The camera was off because Camille asked.
After the visit, Dana took me aside.
“I’m going to say something that may be uncomfortable.”
“Okay.”
“Your wife is physically recovering appropriately.”
Relief.
“But she looks overwhelmed by the amount of supervision in this house.”
I stared.
“Darlene?”
Dana’s face remained neutral.
“Everyone.”
That annoyed me.
Which usually meant something had landed.
“I’m working.”
“You are also checking the video feed enough that Camille knows when she stands whether you’re likely to call.”
My face became hot.
“She told you that?”
“Yes.”
“What else did she say?”
Dana stopped me.
“That’s the wrong question.”
There.
Again.
The professional boundary.
“She said she wants more control over when she has privacy.”
“Fine.”
I sounded defensive.
Dana looked toward the bedroom.
“She is recovering from surgery. That does not make her incompetent.”
“I know.”
“Then treat preferences like preferences, not symptoms.”
I wanted to argue.
Instead:
“Is Darlene taking her phone?”
Dana looked at me.
“Ask Camille.”
Of course.
I did.
That evening.
Camille hesitated.
Then:
“Sometimes.”
“What does that mean?”
“If I say I’m tired, Mom puts it downstairs.”
“Do you ask?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
“I don’t know.”
She started crying.
“I say things like ‘I need to stop looking at this.’ Mom hears ‘take it away.’ Then tomorrow I want it and she says I need rest.”
I sat beside her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She laughed through tears.
“Because you’d turn it into a war.”
I flinched.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“My mother-in-law taking your phone—”
“There.”
“What?”
“You’re already saying it like a charge.”
I went quiet.
Camille looked at me.
“I need you to care without making every bad thing require action right now.”
Hard.
“Then what do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
There.
My least favorite answer.
I felt panic rise.
She saw.
“I’m allowed not to know.”
I nodded.
Tried.
Then two days later the camera went black again.
Camille reached toward me through the closing door.
“Everett… don’t leave me alone.”
My fear took over.
Instead of asking her what she wanted me to do after that sentence, I hid a camera.
I wanted proof strong enough to eliminate uncertainty.
That decision exposed Darlene.
May you like
Then exposed me.
Exactly the kind of evidence good evidence sometimes provides.
