Fed Up - By Jessica Conant-Park & Susan Conant Page 0,14

million years air this horrible episode?

Appalled by everyone’s seeming lack of compassion for Francie, who clearly was not just feigning illness, I decided to check on her. I made my way to the front hall and up the stairs. By the time I reached the landing at the top, I could hear gagging and groaning. Following the sounds, I rounded a corner and on the floor ahead of me saw Francie’s feet projecting from what was clearly a bathroom. Bright yellow towels hung on towel racks fastened inside the open door. Even before I entered the bathroom, I realized that Francie was horribly sick. She’d obviously been too ill even to close the bathroom door. Besides, the air in the dark hallway reeked. For a second, the taboo against barging into an occupied bathroom made me hesitate, but the dreadful sounds had now stopped, and the silence frightened me.

I stepped into the bathroom and knelt just inside the door. “Francie? Can I help you?” I put my hand on her shoulder. Francie didn’t respond. She lay curled up on her side on a yellow bath mat, her hair in her face and her arms wrapped around her stomach. Bodily fluids were spattered on the old white ceramic bathroom fixtures and lay in pools on the cracked tile of the floor. The stench was overwhelming. Holding my breath and fighting nausea, I grabbed one of the thick yellow towels that hung from the door and made a senseless, panic-driven effort to rid Francie of the wet filth that clung to her dark curls and stained her white linen shell. Covering my hand with the towel, I brushed her hair away from her face, and as I leaned in to clean her mouth and cheeks, I realized she was having a terrible time breathing. Before that moment, my efforts had been directed at restoring Francie’s dignity, I suppose. The sight of her sprawled on the floor, splattered with her own bodily wastes, had triggered a powerful impulse to clean her up and make her presentable, to spare her the humiliation being seen in this godawful condition. Now, all at once, the gravity of the situation hit me. At a minimum, she was dangerously dehydrated. Without question, she needed immediate help that I couldn’t provide. My experience in hands-on first aid consisted of having treated small children with scraped knees. Now, I was facing a life-threatening emergency.

I’d left my cell phone in my purse in the car, and even if I’d been willing to leave Francie alone, I’d have had no idea where to find a phone upstairs in the house. “Josh!” I screamed. “Robin!”

I looked down at Francie, whose jagged breathing frightened me. “Francie?” I whispered. Then with near ferocity, I demanded, “Francie! Francie, can you hear me?” I uselessly dabbed the towel on her face.

Francie made a small, throaty noise and groaned softly. Almost inaudibly, she said, “Oh, shit.” Her eyes were barely open, and her skin had a gray tinge.

I heard footsteps and then Josh’s voice. “Chloe, is there another bathroom up here? I’m not feeling so great.”

“Josh! You need to call nine-one-one! Get an ambulance! Now!” Panic had set in. My own voice sounded distant and unfamiliar. “Get an ambulance!” I screamed.

Looking up, I saw Josh grab one of the yellow towels. Then he retreated to the hallway, where I could hear him being violently sick.

“Oh, God,” I whispered to myself. Then, in spite of the nauseating stench, I took a deep breath and bellowed, “Robin! Leo! Help! Call an ambulance! Help! Help me!”

Footsteps heralded the arrival of Robin and Leo, and I heard Robin say, “God, it smells awful here,” and then, “Josh, what are you doing?”

I was still kneeling on the floor next to Francie. Rising a little, I again pleaded for help. “Call an ambulance! Francie is . . . For God’s sake, call an ambulance!”

Instead of responding to the emergency, Leo stepped into the bathroom. “Francie?” he asked. “Francie, get up! You don’t want people to see you like . . . We’d better get you to bed. The smell in here is . . . what a mess!” He held his hand to his nose and mouth.

Robin poked her head in and quickly withdrew.

“Chloe,” Leo said, “can’t you open the window? And help get Francie—”

When I’d first seen Francie, I’d also failed to grasp the reality of her situation. Still, I was furious at Leo. “Never mind the damned window!” I snapped. “Call an