“I’m sorry if I’m doing something wrong.”
I want to lean in and kiss him. I want to tell him he isn’t doing anything wrong. I want to tell him I’m sorry for being so rude. I keep locking ‘I’m sorry’ in a box and never opening it up for anyone. But before I can say or do anything, I hear a phone ringing in the kitchen. I know it’s mine, even though all of our phones have the same generic ring, I just know it’s mine.
Thomas
I watch the color in her face disappear while she talks on the phone with Mom. She’s never looked this weak before. She is so similar to my Mom-- definitely a hard-ass; always trying to stay strong, even when no one asks them to. Something in the corner of my eye catches my attention. Brandon is holding Kristen. I imagine Kristen realizes just how serious it really is since she has a background in all of this medical shit. She hasn’t been able to keep any emotions in these past two days. I have to turn away; I hate seeing Kristen cry. She’s usually trying to comfort everyone else. But she can’t anymore; she is scared of losing her best friend. I’m glad Brandon is here to help comfort people, because I’m too exhausted and busy trying to hold in my own tears to try to console someone else right now.
“We have to go pick up Mom. They’re transferring Dad.”
Natalie is already halfway out the door when she finishes her sentence.
“Grandma and Grandpa will meet us at the new hospital.”
We all look around, confused, but we quickly follow her when she yells out, “Hurry up!”
On the way to the hospital, Natalie catches us all up on her phone call.
“The hospital is running low on his blood type, I guess. He has gone through thirty-one or so units of blood, but still needs more. And the surgeon told Mom he’s running out of ideas on how to stop the bleeding. He’s hopeful the main hospital will have more options.”
Kristen speaks up, “Their staff is better trained in trauma and the hospital has more resources. Makes sense.”
I keep forgetting she’s gone through clinical rotations in the different hospitals in town, so she understands each hospital’s specialty.
“You guys still have hope, right?”
Natalie shoots us all a look when she asks her question. Her body language appears irritated, yet weak. I can tell she wants us all to be on the same page before we enter the hospital. Looking at Kristen, Natalie pushes her head forward implying she’s waiting for her response.
Brandon is the first to answer, “Of course we do.”
Peeking in my rear view mirror, I watch him take her hand. I’m surprised she didn’t pull away. She always acts like she doesn’t need others to comfort her.
Kristen whispers to me, “What do you think?”
“I’m hopeful,” I mutter before contemplating how I really feel.
I want to tell Kristen I’m not entirely sure. I want to tell her how I’m uncertain of what the next hours will hold for us. However, I need to reassure both girls, because I know they need it. I also don’t want to know what will happen if Natalie thinks I’m losing hope.
I know it’s not right, but the night before keeps fucking with my head. I did have hope though-- right?
|6:36 PM|
Kristen
Mom is sitting in the waiting room on the eleventh floor. Foot tapping, hands running through her hair, she seems frustrated, but who can blame her. God only knows the last time she had more than thirty minutes of sleep.
“I told my parents to meet us at the main hospital. I don’t know what is taking so long.”
She gets up and starts pacing near the door. I watch Natalie go over to her, whispering something in her ear, and sure enough she visibly calms down. Natalie is always good at talking Mom down from the ledge.
Finally a nurse appears in the doorway. “The Owen family. You can say your goodbyes now.”
Goodbyes? Why would she use that word? Of all words, goodbye is the one she chooses? I know I’m overthinking.
“The pilot is on his way over now. It’ll be about twenty minutes till he starts his flight to the main hospital.”
I look at Natalie. She didn’t mention Dad was being air-flighted to the new hospital. I can tell she is just as surprised as I am. Thomas and I make it to the room first. His stomach isn’t covered anymore. The incision is wide open; the large cut down his stomach exposes his insides for everyone to see. Before I can even sort out my emotions, I turn to Natalie and yell, “Stop!” She will not want to see this. If Natalie sees Dad like this she will lose her hope and she is the only one with unaltered hope.
Natalie stops in the middle of the hallway, feet stuck to the ground. She knows I am protecting her from seeing something. She trusts my judgment and doesn’t come any closer.
“Tell him I love him and I’ll see him soon,” she whispers.
Wiping tears from her eyes, Natalie turns around and heads back towards the waiting room. Passing beside her is the pilot. He takes one look at my dad and says, “He isn’t going to fit.”
What! What does he mean he isn’t going to fit! Not knowing what to do, the nurses exchange surprised, yet concerned, facial expressions. I slowly turn towards my dad. It is the first time I really look at him. His stomach is so inflamed, it’s hard to see his face. Not just his stomach, but his arms and legs are significantly bigger as well. Leaving no room between his arm and hand, the distinction of his wrist is no longer there. The swelling really has gotten bad. How did I miss this before? He’s retaining fluids from all of the blood the nurses have pumped into him.
The pilot repeats, “He isn’t going to fit. His stomach is way too swollen. The helicopter only has 15 inches of clearance. With all of those monitors and IVs, I am telling you he will not fit.”
I hear my mom let out a sob from behind me. Emotions running high, I whip my head back to face her. She’s pacing back and forth again muttering, “You have to be kidding me.”
The ICU doctor must have heard the commotion because he enters the crowd from the hallway. “What’s going on?”
The pilot starts again, “He isn’t going to fit. I’m not having my team bring him to the roof and waste time.”
The ICU doctor signals to the nurses to stop. This is when I notice the nurses have found a tape measure and are trying to determine the height of his stomach while he’s lying on his back. I shiver thinking how embarrassed my dad would be if he saw all these strangers measuring his stomach.
“What should we do?” the nurses ask frantically.
“Take him by ambulance. Transfer him from the flight stretcher back to his bed, and get him downstairs fast.”
The ICU doctor sounds so calm in his orders. He looks at us now with piercing eyes.
“Traffic won’t be bad on a Saturday. The ambulance will get him to the main hospital just as fast as the helicopter.”
Everyone is moving quickly, barely allowing time to think. The nurses are transferring my dad to a new stretcher and reorganizing his monitors. The EMTs come rushing through the doors, barking to the nurses that an ambulance is waiting outside exit 3.
“Goodbye, Dad. See you in a few minutes.” Thomas lets out, barely able to hold back his tears.
“I love you, honey. See you shortly.” Mom’s voice sounds so shaken.
Turning to look directly at the ICU doctor before meeting Thomas and my mom in the hallway, I ask him one final question. “I need you to be honest. Is he going to make this transfer?”
I need to know so I can prepare myself.
“Yes, he will make the transfer,” he turns his head to avoid eye contact as he finishes his sentence, “but making it through the night is a different story.”
- SEVEN -
|8:47 PM|
Dawn
Leaving the hospital parking lot, we hear ambulance sirens exiting the area too. Corey’s in that ambulance, I can feel it.
We’re stuck in Charlotte traffic, and I can see the ambulance three cars ahead of us, also stuck in traffic. Move the hell out of the w
ay! The medians on the road make it impossible for the ambulance to get around the cars ahead. Our car hushed silence, I only hear occasional breathing. All watching the same scene, no one knows if we should cry or get out of the car to direct traffic ourselves. Please God, get him there safely. The traffic begins to clear and we lose sight of the ambulance. I actually begin rejoicing when I can’t hear the sirens anymore. He’s getting closer. He’s going to make the transfer.
Once we arrive at the main hospital, Thomas drops me and the girls at the main entrance while he and Brandon go park the car. Natalie sets the pace as we run to the front desk to check if the ambulance has arrived yet. Before Kristen catches up to us, I hear Natalie whisper, “You still think Dad will make it out of this right?”
“I do,” I answer without giving my response much thought.
It’s after this question that I begin to realize I haven’t really thought about the other option if he didn’t make it through this. I’ve been running through the motions, listening to the updates, waiting during the surgeries, but I wasn’t really focusing on the other option of only two possible endings. He can’t die. What would we do without him? I shake the thoughts out of my head and continue towards the front desk.
We are directed to the twelfth floor: the trauma ICU unit. We take our seats and begin to wait like we’ve been doing all day long.
|9:41 PM|
Dawn
It’s been almost an hour and no one has updated us or even come out to tell me he’s made it into his room safely. The waiting room is dimly lit. There are three families besides us waiting; I don’t have the energy to make up their stories in my head to pass the time. Thomas turned on Impractical Jokers when we got here. The television seems to help numb his pain, but I can’t stand listening to them laugh. I can’t imagine ever laughing again if Corey doesn’t make it out of this. My dad has fallen asleep in the chair next to my mom. I doubt either of them have gotten much sleep over the weekend. My mom keeps peeking at me; I know she’s worried about me but she doesn’t realize how much her looks are actually stressing me out. Natalie is sleeping on Brandon’s shoulder. She’s wrapped up in the flannel he gave her when we first got here. I laugh when my eyes set on Brandon, his head completely fallen back, not resting on anything. His neck is really going to hurt when he wakes up. I look over to my youngest, the illumination of Kristen’s phone is so bright. She has been playing the same game on her phone since Friday. I wish I could play Candy Crush, but I’m haunted by the memory of it. Did I miss something on Friday when I was too busy playing it? What kind of terrible wife sits and plays a game on her phone while her husband is in pain? I delete the app off of my phone and go to check if I can enter his room yet.
The new hospital means new nurses who don’t yet realize how often I will bug them to get into his room.
|10:17 PM|
Natalie
“Natalie, wake up!”
Thomas is nudging my shoulder so aggressively I nearly fall out of my chair. Disoriented, I almost pass out from standing up from my chair so quickly.
“Shit!” I hit my hip hard when I bang it on the stand next to me. Why the hell is it so dark in here?!
As I’m racing to Thomas, he calls out, “Wake everyone up. They have a room waiting for us.”
I’m blinking hard now to regain focus in my eyes. I need to get new contacts tomorrow.
We all walk through the ICU doors together. Yesterday, only four people were allowed into the unit at a time. Now my grandparents, Kristen, Thomas, Brandon, and I are all allowed in together. I’m thankful for the exception to the rule, but I feel an uneasiness come over me when I think about the purpose behind it.
As the nurse leads us to the private rooms, I see a disheveled teenager sitting outside one of the doors. She sounds like she is hyperventilating from crying so hard. I can only imagine the news she’s just been given. I want to go sit by her, not necessarily hold her; just sit next to her.
When the nurse opens the door to our private room, my mom is waiting for us. I didn’t realize while I was asleep in the waiting room, she came back here before any of us. She is crying. No, she is sobbing. Why? I haven’t seen her cry this hard the whole weekend. What does she know that we don’t? She won’t even look up at us. I have to look away; it hurts too much to watch her like this. If she isn’t containing herself anymore, how are any of us supposed to? Before we fully walk in, I feel Brandon tug me back.
“Are you sure I should come in? I don’t mind waiting outside.”
Taking a deep breath before answering, “I need you.”
The walls around my heart slowly begin crumbling. It’s the first time I’m finally admitting it. I need Brandon more than he knows; more than I have been showing, that’s for sure. Brandon has to be there when all of the walls decide to finally fall. I can’t do this alone.
We all pick a chair and sit down. The doctor places his hand on my Mom’s shoulder. “I’m going to leave you alone with your family.”
How long has my mom been in here alone?
“We’ll begin the surgery in about two hours. We need to sterilize the room first. If you need me, the nurses know how to reach me.”
He takes a long, deep breath before finishing his thoughts, “I’m sorry.”
Why is he sorry? He doesn’t leave time to go over any questions we have like the previous doctor. Why isn’t he explaining what is going on? He simply walks out of the room with all of my burning questions unanswered.
“I don’t…”
Her downcast eyes finally rise up, not turning away anymore, I see not only her sadness but her heartbreak.
“I’m not sure…” Mom tries to speak, but nothing is coming out. She buries her head into her hands.
My grandma tries to stop her pain by reassuring her, “Dawn, it’s okay. We’re here when you’re ready.”
Looking up again, she takes a breath to gather her strength. “The doctors need to go back into the wound to try to stop the bleeding again. The gel hasn’t…”
She keeps stumbling over her words every time her voice cracks. It’s hard to listen to her try to speak; she’s trying desperately to remain calm.
“The gel hasn’t worked.”
She takes a moment to wipe away the mascara that’s running under her eyes.
“Dad’s gone into hypovolemic shock and he isn’t stable enough to move to the operating room. The surgeon has agreed to perform emergency surgery in his room. It’s apparent his kidneys and liver are failing.”
Her eyes dart to the floor as she ends her sentence. Every word tugging at her heart.
“The surgery will allow the doctors to get a better assessment of his organs and make the decision about putting him back on dialysis.”
I can’t move; my fingers tucked into a tightly gripped fist, my entire body is tense. My throat burning dry, I am at a complete loss for words. I can’t stop the tears from completely flowing out of my eyes, but it doesn’t stop the stinging. Snot is building up on my upper lip when I realize there aren't any tissue boxes in the room. Whose brilliant idea was it to not place tissues in the private rooms where apparently shitty news is delivered. Brandon goes to search for tissues when I rub my nose on his flannel.
Kristen brings her knees up to her chest. She is rocking back and forth with every sob she lets out. I think back to when we were younger; she has always been more sensitive than me. Thomas and I would always poke fun at how easily she would cry. I can’t imagine how shattered her world is right now. My grandma doesn’t try to hold her tears in anymore. She is crying into my grandpa’s shoulder, who still looks completely shocked. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Your son-in-law should be in the private room listening to news about your state; not the other way around. Thomas is pacing the room.
My mom grabs Thomas’ hand with tears welling in her eyes, and whispers, “It is okay to cry.”
This is all he needs to hear. Slowly finding his seat, he puts his face into his hands and lets
it all out.
There is a knock on the door. Who now? How can it get any worse?
A man in a black outfit slowly shuffles into the room. His clerical collar gives him away before I notice the bible in his hand. Has my mom given up hope? Why else would she ask a priest to join us?
Dawn
What is a priest doing here? This has to be a mistake. Who called him?
Thomas
Looking so obviously out of place, the unknown priest asks, “The Owen family?”
“Yes! God Bless you for coming,” my grandmother responds.
Searching for a chair, he continues to ask, “I hear you’re having a tough weekend.”
I nearly laugh out loud at his comment. Good guess! What gave it away-- the fact that we’re spending our weekend in a hospital or the loud sobs coming from my sisters? You are quite observant. As I sit trying to manage a balancing act of composure between rage and sadness, he comes in with this comment. What, is this his first night on the job?
“I have come to help guide you to peace in the days going forward and answer any questions you may have.”
No one answers. I’m waiting for the crickets. I wonder if everyone is feeling as uneasy as I am right now. His voice sounds too upbeat and I don’t think talking to a stranger about my emotions will solve anything right now. I’m getting ready to ask him to leave when I hear my mom say, “Father, what do you recommend we do right now?”
|10:51 PM|
Kristen
Why does this priest seem so nervous? His voice makes him seem almost excited; honestly, it’s creeping me out. Turning away, my attention falls onto the slightly different colored paint covering a fresh drywall patch. I wonder if someone punched a hole in the wall.
I listen to him answer my mom, “I think you need to walk into your husband’s room and tell him everything you have ever wanted to tell him. Tell him what you wish you’d said in last year’s Christmas card or thank him for the vacation you took for granted. Don’t leave anything left unsaid. Once you’ve done this, I think you need to pray to let God’s will be done.”
Top Down Day Page 9
