Page 118 - Too Much and Never Enough - Mary L. Trump

CHAPTER NINE
The Art of the Bailout
“MARY TRUMP MUGGED” the New York tabloids, subtle as ever, blared in 100-point font the day after Halloween 1991. Even though I already knew what had happened, it was jarring to see the headlines as I passed news kiosks on my way to the subway.
My grandmother hadn’t just been mugged, though. The kid who’d grabbed her purse in the grocery store parking lot as she loaded shopping bags into her Rolls-Royce had slammed her head against the car with such force that her brain had hemorrhaged, and she had lost some sight and hearing. When she hit the pavement, her pelvis fractured in several places and ribs broke, injuries that were no doubt more dangerous than they might have been if she hadn’t had severe osteoporosis. By the time she arrived at Booth Memorial Hospital, her condition was grave, and we weren’t sure if she was going to make it.
It wasn’t until she was moved out of the intensive care unit and into a private room that her progress became visible, and it was weeks more before her pain became bearable. When her appetite started to come back, I took her whatever she wanted. One day she was drinking the butterscotch milkshake I’d picked up on the way when Donald showed up.
He said hello to us both and kissed her quickly. “Mom, you look great.”
“She’s doing much better,” I said. He sat in a chair next to the bed and put a foot up on the edge of the bed frame.
“Mary’s been visiting me every day,” Gam said, smiling at me. He turned to me. “Must be nice to have so much free time.”
I looked at Gam. She rolled her eyes, and I tried not to laugh. “How are you, sweetheart?” Gam asked him.