Top Down Day

by Nicole Overby

  My grandma catches my eye; her fingers frantically rubbing her rosary beads. I can tell she wants to cry during the argument, but is trying desperately to hold it in and not say anything. I imagine my grandpa lecturing her this morning about the importance of staying strong for Mom; keeping quiet. It must break her heart watching this all unfold; not being able to protect my mom.

  “Did the doctors say what the surgery was for, Mom?” I try asking calmly, hoping I won’t upset anyone since it’s obvious everyone is on edge.

  “The bleeding started again.”

  Her pause is weighing on all of us as we anxiously wait for her to finish.

  “After weighing out the options, the doctors decided they had to open him up. It is a more invasive procedure, but I guess the risk is necessary if they have any chance of stopping the bleed for good.”

  The bleeding came back… how is this possible? Where is the doctor who said the IR procedure worked? He told us last night he saved my dad’s life! He reassured us that he was more stable.

  “He isn’t out of the woods” keeps replaying in my mind. How could we have been so naïve to believe him?

  Natalie

  I know I’m not helping the situation by lashing out, and Thomas definitely doesn’t have a problem reminding me of it.

  This isn’t like me to talk to my mom this way. Why am I disguising my fear and sadness with irritation? Especially with her and Brandon. I’m certainly not angry with my mom; she has to know that. With everyone crowding around in the waiting room, I have no space to talk to her alone, to tell her I’m sorry. I reach for my phone and shoot her a text message. “I’m sorry. I am tired and I know you are too.” However, there is a more important question I need answered. Dad and Mom always tend to leave us kids in the dark with medical information, but I won’t let her leave me behind this time around.

  I follow up the previous text with, “Be honest. Did the doctors say this is life or death?”

  Dawn

  The text message pops up on my screen instantly. Why is Natalie sending me a text from across the room? My heart physically hurts when I read her text message.

  I know she is tired. I know she doesn’t mean to lash out. I know this is hard for everyone, especially Corey.

  Another ding.

  A distant ringing noise appears in the background as I read her next message. Every limb is paralyzed after her message sinks in. Did the doctors say anything of that sorts? Do I have a response to this question? I start to type out an answer, an honest answer, and then delete it. Looking around the room, I see the pain so evident on everyone’s faces. We have to be strong for each other. I have to be strong for everyone. I can’t let them begin to lose hope-- even if I am. I send back, “No. We aren’t there.”

  |1:14 PM|

  Thomas

  It’s been nearly two hours with no update. My mind needs a distraction.

  “I’m going to grab something to eat from the cafeteria downstairs. Does anyone want anything?”

  Brandon looks up at me. I had an inclination he would do just about anything to leave the waiting room, so it doesn’t surprise me when he stands up to join me on my food quest. Kristen and Grandpa yell out their orders. I look over at Mom, her stare completely blank, and I wonder if she even hears me.

  “Mom, want anything to eat?”

  “No, I’m okay.” She squeezes her eyes shut and slowly reopens them, bringing her back to reality.

  I had already decided to grab her an apple, but I figured I would give her the option. Right before we turn to go towards the cafeteria, I hear a door push open. My instincts tell me it’s finally time for an update. I hear a nurse call out, “Owen family” before I even turn around.

  Thank God I didn’t head for the cafeteria a second earlier.

  As we all gather around, the nurse explains that the doctor would be out shortly with an update. The surgery has ended and he would be able to provide more information on how it went and next steps. Anxiety is lingering in the air as we wait, knowing our update is close by. I don’t want to look up, for fear of meeting anyone’s eyes. I have to be put together. If I see the pain in their eyes, even for a millisecond, I know I will lose it.

  The doctor comes out, rubbing his hands. He seems as nervous as we all are.

  “The surgery is finished. We opened Corey’s abdominal cavity, creating about a nine-inch incision.”

  Holy shit-- nine inches? That seems large! Scanning everyone else’s faces for similar shock, I notice no accompanying open mouths or wide eyes. No one else seems phased by the comment. Maybe this is a normal incision?

  “Quite frankly, the blood came pouring out. We took out about a liter of blood clots.”

  My heart sinks and my lungs hold in the air, refusing to let it out. How did it get this bad?

  “The stomach was lined with ulcers.”

  Feel free to spare some details; can’t you tell the pain your words carry? Torn between vomiting or getting up to get fresh air, the doctor keeps going.

  “With the massive amount of blood, everything is completely swollen. The stomach became so enlarged, the sac around the spleen ruptured. So, unfortunately, I had no choice but to remove the spleen.”

  My mom’s intake of breath is so loud, it’s heart wrenching to hear. The doctor looks at her and pauses before continuing.

  “We have a new fast-acting gel; it’s an injectable hydrogel bandage. It’s essentially a magic gel.”

  I make a mental note of this magic gel; I’m sure Google has some type of information about it.

  “I poured this over his wounds and sources of bleeding. It’s really our last resort to try to contain the bleeding.”

  Vocal sobbing is taking over every inch of the room. Kristen can’t help but wail in response to his words. The doctor’s jaw twitches; I imagine how uncomfortable it must feel being the person responsible for delivering such life-altering news. I wonder if he finds himself sugarcoating updates in attempts to alleviate some pain, since he knows damn well he can’t prevent it.

  “Due to his swelling, I could only pack the wound; I wasn’t able to close the incision. I have him on the schedule to go into surgery tomorrow morning to check the progress of the gel and, hopefully, close the wound.”

  They didn’t even close him up? Dad will be mortified knowing we will see him with his stomach exposed. The doctor is turning his head, trying to look at us all.

  Trying to reassure us, he continues, “Listen, he is better off now than he was before the surgery. For that reason, I think the surgery was a success. In the morning, however, we may need to remove his appendix and take a look at his kidneys.”

  Are you kidding me?

  “During surgery, I noticed his kidneys don’t seem to be fully functioning. I notified the nurses to start him on dialysis when he returns to his room. We also may need to consider the likelihood of removing his stomach tomorrow.”

  You can live without your stomach?! I can’t even begin to imagine how this is possible.

  “I’ve done this procedure only one other time in my career. It isn’t the most ideal form of living, but it is manageable. I know this is a ton of information thrown your way. Do you have any questions I can try to answer now?”

  Would it be acceptable to ask him to repeat everything he just said? There is no way I heard that all correctly.

  “Is he going to survive all of this?”

  I can’t make out who asked the question. We all are thinking about it, but I never would’ve dared to be the one to vocalize it. Silence fills the room. Why is he taking so long to answer?

  “I am honestly not sure. Truthfully, this is the first case I’ve ever seen like this.”

  I recognize this is a tough question for a doctor to answer, and I respect his honesty.

  “But, if he does make it out of this, it’s going to be a long journey and you all need to be prepared for it. During surgery, we had to induce him into a light coma to guarantee his safety during the proced
ure and potentially for his future. I’m worried about his kidneys not producing urine and the long-term effects of his organs from losing blood.”

  He’s talking about his brain. I overheard my mom telling my grandpa the nurses were going to re-run the Glasgow Coma Scale because the ICU doctors were nervous about his brain functionality. My mom mentioned the possibility of Dad waking up and being a completely different person, but never shared with us about his low Glasgow score. I hate how she withholds certain information from us. I wish she realized it doesn’t protect us, it blindsides us.

  “Well, if that’s all the questions for now. I’ll notify the nurses to grab you when Corey is ready for visitors.”

  Although we’re clinging onto his every word, without question, the word ‘visitors’ stings. We aren’t simply ‘visitors’ we’re his damn family!

  |3:12 PM|

  Kristen

  We are now waiting on the eleventh floor’s waiting room. Jeez, today has been consumed with a whole lot of waiting around.

  A text from Lindsey glows up my screen. “Thinking of you and your family.” I told her yesterday about my dad. It feels nice having other people to talk to about my feelings besides my family. However, I feel guilty for telling outsiders. It doesn’t seem like anyone else is texting their friends. Well, besides my grandpa, of course. He’s so good about quietly leaving the room and updating family members as we find out more. I’m surprised we haven’t received a text message from our dad’s sister. She looks up to her brother so much, and we all know it. I can only imagine what the updates are doing to her.

  “I wonder if you should notify your professors” my mom utters.

  I haven’t even thought about school. All of the homework due on Monday suddenly comes to mind. If I am going to be allowed to turn in my assignments late, I would have to give my professors enough notice. What do I even say?

  I begin to draft an email to my professors. Did I need to email each one individually or is a group message okay?

  “Dear Dr. Murphy,

  I wanted to make you aware of a family emergency that has arisen over the past 24 hours.

  My dad has been admitted into the hospital with internal bleeding. The doctors seem hopeful about the recent surgery, but have assured us the journey is going to be long. I want to be by my family’s side until he comes out of the coma.

  I hope my dedication to my schoolwork has been evident this semester. I do not plan on deliberately missing any assignments or exams, but I was wondering if I could keep you updated on my situation in case I were to need an extension.

  I completely understand if this is not possible, and I am willing to accept any ramifications which may follow.

  Kristen Owen”

  This draft seems very formal, but I send it anyway. I update Lindsey on the possibility of me missing some classes next week, and ask her for the study notes for Thursday’s test. I’m sure I’ll make it back for that. Plus, even if I’m not going to make it, I could use the distraction.

  I hear Natalie updating my mom on her call to her boss and the director of her M.B.A program.

  “I spoke with my Dr. Ash and Dr. Brown. Both told me to do whatever I need to do for my family and they would manage without me. Thankfully, there are no more events left in the semester so my workload will be minimal. My professors reassured me my grades are sufficient to miss a few weeks of school.”

  She always seems so much older than me, even though she isn’t.

  “I can’t believe we still aren’t allowed to go back,” groaned Thomas “it’s been almost two hours since the last update.”

  “I really wonder if you should all go home. Go eat some dinner and come back later tonight.” Mom’s concerned we aren’t sleeping enough, when she should really be worrying about herself.

  “No, I’ll stay with you.” I don’t want to go anywhere.

  I look at my brother and sister. Both appear drained. Natalie and Brandon both look at each other and exchange exhausted looks. I keep forgetting they are going on about 36 hours of not sleeping. I can’t imagine what their body must feel like right now. I can barely keep a straight thought, and I got seven hours of sleep last night.

  “Seriously, go home. Get some rest and come back tonight. It will be better for all of us if we rest up.”

  My grandpa is the first to answer. “I think Mom and I might take the offer. Call us if you need anything, Dawn.”

  Why do I keep forgetting my grandparents are here? I watch them hug and kiss her goodbye. They are trying so hard to be resilient for her.

  “You need to eat dinner too.” Natalie had a point. I don’t remember seeing my mom eat since Marianne brought dinner for us last night.

  “Go cook something for dinner and bring me back some of it. It will help me more if you go home. I promise.”

  We all moan. None of us have acquired my Mom’s cooking skills.

  Brandon proudly sits up and adds, “I can make baked ziti for everyone and bring some back for you, Mrs. Owen.” His addition makes him feel like he has a purpose for being here again.

  “Perfect,” my mom responds smiling “But you must get some sleep before cooking. Natalie, could you grab me some clean clothes too?”

  Natalie takes down the clothing items my mom needs, and then we head to the elevator.

  As the four of us enter into the elevator, the familiar silence returns. “I still have hope. I think he’s going to make it out of this.” Natalie spoke softly, but she seems confident in her assessment. Brandon reaches for her hand, and this time she lets him hold her. “I think so, too,” both Thomas and Brandon respond. I look Natalie in the eyes and only manage to whisper, “I hope you’re right.”

  - SIX -

  |3:47 PM|

  Dawn

  About forty-five minutes after everyone leaves, a nurse comes looking for me. She guides me down the halls, eventually leading me to Corey’s dark room.

  I am taken aback by the number of nurses in his room. The nurse in the corner looks up from the machine in front of her. She must be in charge of dialysis. I know this machine well, as Corey’s mother had to have it when she was suffering from Lupus. Corey always told me how hard it was on their family knowing this machine was the only thing keeping her alive. We aren’t there yet with Corey; I just know it.

  Before sitting back into the familiar recliner, I turn to face Corey. I am thankful for the blanket covering his open wound. He looks better than before the surgery. His face has more color and the swelling seems to have gone down. My spirits begin to rise and I want to let everyone know. I send out a quick text to the kids and my dad, “made it back to the room. looking better than before. all good signs!”

  My eyes feel heavy as I hit send.

  As I am getting settled, I hear the head nurse direct the other nurse in the room to write down his score of 4.

  When I wake up, I will ask her what this means. I’m only going to rest my eyes for a few minutes.

  I wake up to a nurse screaming, “We keep chasing the numbers here! We need to get more blood!”

  She doesn’t seem to notice I’m in the room. The alarm in her voice rises as she runs around the room checking different monitors. Did they never get him stabilized? How long was I sleeping? Three more nurses appear in the room. Rubbing my eyes, I check the time-- it is almost four in the afternoon. I notice a text from Natalie; she sent it about forty-five minutes ago.

  “How’s Dad?”

  She is going to get suspicious if I don’t answer her.

  “sorry it is crazy busy in his room. he is about the same.”

  Almost immediately she pings back, “Why so busy, still not stable??”

  She always has a sense when something is wrong. “not really. but close.”

  Is that even true?

  Natalie

  By the time we finally make it home, we have already drawn up our plan. Thomas and Brandon will head to the store while Kristen and I prepare a bag for Mom.

  When t
he boys leave, Kristen looks at me and says, “I can do this by myself. Why don’t you go lay down for a little?”

  I don’t even have the will to tell her no. My head feels foggy from my lack of sleep.

  “Thank you. It’ll be short, I promise.”

  My eyes are killing me. I try rubbing them to relieve the extreme dryness and itchiness. I head to my room and look in my suitcase. Where is my bathroom bag? Pulling every last piece of clothing out of my suitcase, rummaging through my backpack, still nothing appears. Shit. I must have left it in the hotel room. I stare at my empty bathroom. I have no contacts, no glasses, no antibiotics, and no toothbrush. I’m going to be a pleasant person to be around.

  I’ll go to CVS after I lay down for thirty minutes. My head feels heavy and I can feel my body craving sleep. Right before my head hits the pillow, I hear my phone. Finally, an update on Dad.

  “sorry it is crazy busy in his room. he is about the same.”

  Did I read that right? I rub my eyes again trying to clear my vision. Once I re-read the message, I feel a burst of energy throughout my entire body. Any tiredness I felt before is completely gone and the urge to go to bed has disappeared. I quickly send a response and wait eagerly for her to answer. Biting my fingernails and picking my skin to create hangnails. What I really want to do is call her. I want to hear my mom’s voice-- then I can determine how bad the situation is or isn’t, and if she’s bullshitting me. Tone is hard to capture in a text message.

  “not really. but close.”

  My gut is urging me that she’s hiding information. She isn’t telling us the full truth to try to protect us. I hate when she does this shit; it makes me paranoid. The garage door opening scares me upright. Positioned right below my room, the movement of the door going up shakes my bed. Thomas. Kristen. I need to see them, tell them. I race downstairs, skipping every other step.

  Kristen is spraying down the pan while Thomas comes in with his hands full with grocery bags. Thomas cracks a joke, so typical, and it sends Kristen off into a laughing spree. Maybe I should wait to say anything until I get a clearer response from Mom. They both finally seem relaxed, and for a moment, the trauma isn’t consuming every part of their brain. Detouring my original plan, I head to the door to help Brandon get the last bags. He pulls me aside.