CHAPTER 93: CHAPTER 93: NOT EVEN WORTHY TO CARRY MY DAUGHTER’S SHOES

Susan Kingston’s thoughts seemed to have drifted to her future new clothes at this moment, and she just vaguely murmured, "Mm."

Jean Ellison followed Simon Sterling out of the ward.

The corridor was brightly lit, and the hem of Simon Sterling’s white coat gently swayed as he walked.

Reaching the corridor window a bit further from the ward, Simon Sterling stopped and turned around.

The gentle smile on his face faded somewhat, and his gaze became more professional and calm.

"Does this situation happen frequently?" he asked, his voice lower than it was in the ward.

Jean Ellison nodded, her fingers unconsciously twisting together: "It’s good at times, bad at others. Sometimes she’s very clear, other times... like just now, completely living in the past. Each time she asks like that, I don’t know what to do."

"Cognitive decline, accompanied by intermittent disorientation and delusional memory recall. This is part of her condition."

Simon Sterling explained, his tone steady, "Forcing her to correct her cognition, especially when she’s emotionally agitated, is likely to provoke intense resistance and greater mental fluctuations, as you may have experienced before."

He looked toward the direction of the ward: "Like just now, temporarily going along with her logic and giving her promises she can understand and accept is an effective way to stabilize her current emotions. Although it’s not a long-term solution, at least it can prevent her from falling into a worse state."

Jean Ellison lowered her head: "I know... Thank you, if it weren’t for you just now, I really wouldn’t have known how to end it."

"That’s my job," Simon Sterling said indifferently, "However, you need to understand that this promise is just a temporary measure. Her condition means that this need will recur, and may even worsen. You need to be mentally prepared."

"I understand." Jean Ellison’s voice was somewhat bitter.

Simon Sterling looked at her, his gaze sharp yet not uncomfortable.

"More importantly, you yourself, I hope you can feel better, don’t get trapped in it."

"After all, you’re not her daughter, you’ve done enough."

Jean Ellison looked up, somewhat surprised at him.

She hesitated, wondering whether to tell Simon Sterling that she was really Claire Caldwell.

After a few minutes, she said nothing.

Speaking or not speaking is the best choice, more people knowing means more danger.

Simon Sterling didn’t continue on this topic, instead said: "Next, I suggest making some adjustments to the medication, trying to extend her state of clarity and reduce the frequency and intensity of delusions. But this requires observation and might have side effects. You need to sign an informed consent form."

"Okay, I’ll cooperate." Jean Ellison immediately agreed.

"Hmm." Simon Sterling nodded, "Are there any other questions?"

Jean Ellison hesitated for a moment, then asked: "Doctor Sterling, the things you said just now, how should I deal with them in the future?"

She meant those promises that couldn’t be fulfilled.

Simon Sterling was silent for a moment, then replied: "Handle them vaguely. Tell her you are preparing or it takes time, the focus is to divert her immediate attention, appease her emotions, rather than getting tangled up in whether the promise can be fulfilled."

He glanced at his watch: "If there are no other issues, I’ll have the nurse deliver the consent form shortly. You should go back and be with her."

"Alright, thank you, Doctor Sterling."

Jean Ellison thanked him again.

Simon Sterling nodded slightly, turned and left, his white coat’s silhouette gradually receding down the long corridor, steady and reliable.

Jean Ellison stood in place, took a deep breath, organized her thoughts, and turned to walk back towards her mother’s ward.

She pushed open the door; Susan Kingston was gazing out the window, humming a vague old tune softly, her profile looking exceptionally calm, even with a hint of illusory contentment.

Jean Ellison’s heart, however, was heavy.

In the evening, the lights of the nursing home began to illuminate sequentially.

The amber illumination replaced the clarity of the day, and the corridor grew quieter.

Jean Ellison carried dinner and pills into Susan Kingston’s room.

Susan Kingston was sitting in a wheelchair, facing the increasingly dim twilight outside, her back seemed somewhat lonely.

Hearing the sound, she slowly turned her head.

Her gaze fell on Jean Ellison, devoid of the dependence and warmth of the afternoon, leaving only a sense of unfamiliar scrutiny.

"Are you delivering food?" Susan Kingston’s voice was dry, carrying the hoarseness characteristic of the elderly, and a hint of impatience, "Put it there."

Jean Ellison’s heart sank slightly.

She had forgotten again.

She placed the dinner tray on the bedside table, speaking softly: "Mom, it’s time for dinner, and there’s medicine..."

"Who’s your mom?" Susan Kingston suddenly interrupted her, frowning tightly, her gaze sharp and vigilant, "What nonsense are you talking about? New caregiver so unruly?"

Jean Ellison’s throat tightened, trying to explain: "It’s Claire..."

"Claire?"

Susan Kingston seemed to be hearing something absurd, scrutinizing Jean Ellison up and down, sneering, with obvious disdain.

"You dare compare with my daughter?"

"My daughter is the young miss of the Caldwell family, you being a caregiver, dressed so poorly, not even fit to hold a candle to her, don’t try to get close."

Yes, in Susan Kingston’s eyes, her daughter is the best, even if she were a hundred sixty or seventy pounds, she’d still be the unmatched young miss.

Jean Ellison clenched her fingers, striving to maintain calm: "Would you eat first please? After eating, you take the medicine."

"What medicine? I’m not sick!"

Susan Kingston’s emotions abruptly surged, she swung her arm, knocking over the dinner tray Jean Ellison had just set down.

Dishes crashed to the ground, emitting a piercing shattering sound, food splattered everywhere.

Jean Ellison instinctively stepped back, yet still got her pants hem dirtied with splashed soup.

"Get out, get your person in charge here, I want a change, bring someone who knows the rules."

Susan Kingston gasped heavily, her chest heaving violently, pointing to the door, shouting intensely.

"Don’t get agitated, it’s bad for your health..."

Jean Ellison endured the ache in her heart, stepped forward attempting to soothe her.

"Don’t touch me." Susan Kingston abruptly shook off her hand, her gaze fierce, "So dirty, who knows if your hands have germs."

Jean Ellison saw her out-of-control state, knowing that reasoning wouldn’t work, she decided to go along.

"Fine, fine, I won’t touch you, would you take your medicine first, then? After taking your medicine, I’ll go get the head nurse."

She picked up the water cup and pills placed aside, offering them to her.

"I said I’m not taking them."

Susan Kingston was thoroughly enraged, she suddenly raised her hand, fiercely hitting Jean Ellison’s hand.

"Bang!"

The water cup was sent flying, crashing into the wall, instantly shattering, glass shards and water splattered everywhere.

Jean Ellison felt a sharp pain on the back of her hand, looked down, saw a thin cut oozing blood, caused by flying glass shards.

She gasped in pain, covering the wound.