Top Down Day

by Nicole Overby

  “Sit right here. I will be right back.”

  I watch her race into the room. At least she’s trying. When she exits the room, a doctor accompanies her. I cross my arms; this doctor better have some answers. No more backing down.

  She begins to introduce herself, “Hello, Mrs. Owen, I’m Dr. Findley.”

  Her white teeth shine as she greets me with a smile. Her long dark hair nearly completely hidden under her scrub cap.

  “I have been pulled to assist in your husband’s case.”

  I don’t care what your name is or where you did your rotations. I care about my husband, and why the hell no one came to wake me up when the surgery began.

  “How long has he been in surgery?”

  Third time’s the charm.

  “He has been in surgery for about twenty minutes.”

  She calmly checks her watch to confirm her estimation.

  “We were planning on getting you when we had an update.

  I wish I believed you, but I don’t.

  We weren’t sure what we were dealing with, and truthfully, we needed time to assess the situation.”

  Her mouth still upward and her eyes light, not showing any glimpse of remorse.

  “I would’ve liked to have been woken up when the surgery began. I would’ve liked to have been awake when my husband gets cut open once again.”

  Her eyes fall and her mouth clinches finally showing a sign of regret.“I completely understand, Mrs. Owen.” She begins nodding her head and adding, “I apologize and it won’t happen again.” Her response finally seems to be genuine.

  “Well, what is going on? What does the main doctor think?”

  I can’t remember his name, and I’m embarrassed I have to resort to calling him the ‘main doctor.’

  “Unfortunately, the bleeding is worse than we expected.”

  Her pause feels intentional. She’s letting the information settle in before continuing.

  “The prolonged bleeding has caused the kidneys and liver to fail. Dialysis treatment will continue as soon as we finish.”

  The news breaks whatever is left of my heart. Lifetime dialysis treatment was the reason Corey and his family let his mother pass away. They knew it wasn’t a life his mom would have wanted to live. The constant treatments put such a strain on her mental health. Did we ever talk about if he would mind being on dialysis? If he could handle the frequent follow ups and restrictions?

  She goes on, “It is apparent his stomach has also suffered greatly from the bleed. When we unpacked his wound, the stomach was already turning black. It was too late to save the organ, so we had to remove it.”

  The room starts to spin, their faces aren’t staying still, and I can’t hear her voice over the ringing. They removed his stomach! I knew this was a possibility but shouldn’t they have consulted me before going ahead with it?

  I can hear her saying something about the intestines turning gray and removing some of the length in both the small and large intestine. She talks about the next step in the surgery-- Abdominoperineal Resection.

  Is it legal to make these decisions without consulting his wife?!

  When she starts talking about his brain activity, I can’t listen to it anymore. “Stop it! What the hell are you thinking!”

  Her eyes widen and she takes a step back. I can only imagine what she’s thinking of me right now, but I don’t give a damn. She looks just as confused as she does shocked. Welcome to the club, I am just as confused, doctor.

  I continue to scream, “Don’t you think you should have woken me up before deciding which of his organs you should keep and which should be removed?!”

  She isn’t answering; my fist clenches harder as I wait for her reaction. All of the anger I have been holding in is coming out.

  “What about his quality of life?! Would you want to live without a stomach, without intestines, without a colon?”

  My hands are making sweeping movements as I describe each organ, emphasizing the importance of these decisions they’ve been making without my consent.

  She still looks stunned; her mouth has slightly opened now but she still doesn’t utter a word. I can keep going all night.

  “Why did I have to bring his living will if no one is going to even look at it! He signed that he didn’t want extraordinary measures taken! He doesn’t want any heroic acts or to be forced to live on this Earth because some doctor, who let me remind you, doesn’t even know him or his love for wings which he obviously can’t eat anymore without a God damn stomach, decides they know best!”

  I’m crying now and spit is flying out of my mouth with every sentence. Every word is physically hurting my body. My throat is raspy from yelling and my chest feels like it might explode. Can you actually die from heartbreak?

  “I’m so sorry Mrs. Owen.”

  She takes a breath before continuing,

  “You’re right. You are absolutely right.”

  I watch her shake her head with every word.

  “I’m going to get Dr. Thompson.”

  That’s his name. Now I remember it.

  “We will stop the procedure. Take the time to think about what is best for you and your family.”

  What about what is best for Corey? Shouldn’t his opinion matter too?

  Dr. Findley begins to head back to the room, but she turns around one last time and says, “I really am sorry. Sometimes we get so wrapped up in the trauma and doing anything and everything to save the life of the person lying on the table that sometimes we forget about their life once the surgery is over.” She almost looks disappointed in herself.

  I know that look too well.

  |3:06 AM|

  Dawn

  I’m alone now; only me and my thoughts. In the dark hallway, I’m trying to take Dr. Findley’s advice and think about what is best for Corey and us.

  Living without a stomach doesn’t seem like a life Corey would want to be a part of. He would have to retire, and his daily living tasks would consume both of our lives. Would he ever wake up from this coma? If he does, would he be the same person? If Corey is ready to see his mom and sister, I don’t want to be the driving force keeping him in this world--and away from them--any longer.

  But if we let him pass peacefully, what would happen to us? Would I need to get a job after twenty-one years of being a stay-at-home mom? Would I need to sell the house where we’ve been creating family memories?

  I can go back and get a job. I can find a realtor. That doesn’t scare me. What really scares me is if Corey will hate me if I make the wrong decision.

  I can’t form tears anymore. I feel so anxious about this decision, and I can’t stop agonizing over which option has the least shitty outcome. I can’t make this decision alone; I need help from someone who knows us, really knows us.

  I hear the other line ruffle before Savannah picks up the call, “Dawn? Are you there?”

  Her voice calms my stomach immediately. Savannah is the type of friend who you don’t need to talk to every day but when you finally have the chance to sit down and catch up, it doesn’t feel like a day has ever passed by. I hated almost everything about Pennsylvania when we moved. The weather was always grey, the temperature stayed cold for too long. On the day we found out we were moving to Charlotte, I was over-the-moon excited. I was ready to live in a warmer climate and wake up to the Carolina blue skies every morning. I called to tell Savannah the good news before anyone else. After the first ring, I realized what this move meant. It meant I was moving away from my neighbor of eighteen years, the woman who I raised my children alongside. The neighbor who co-planned every holiday party we ever hosted. Savannah was there for me when I lost my grandmother and I was there for her when she had a stillbirth. We were bonded together through the terrible, terrible middle school days with our daughters. I sobbed when I told her I was leaving, but she promised we would stay in touch, and so we have.

  “Yeah, I’m here. I’m so sorry for waking you.”

  “Is eve
rything okay?” I can tell she’s woken up from a deep sleep. She sounds disoriented.

  I keep forgetting that no one outside of family knows the hell we have been living in the past few days. It’s so nice to hear a fresh voice. I need Savannah to be a voice of reason; a voice removed from the family who hasn’t been tainted by the weekend’s rollercoaster of emotions.

  “No, Savannah.”

  I begin to let go.

  “Nothing is okay anymore.”

  Nothing is ever going to be okay.

  She listens to me cry before probing me with questions. “What happened, Dawn?” Her voice sounds so calm.

  “Corey is in the hospital.”

  My voice sounds exhausted.

  “He’s been bleeding... “

  The sobs take voice and I have to take a break before continuing.

  “...internally since Friday.”

  It sounds surreal when I finally say it out loud. My husband has been bleeding from his gastric artery, a main artery outlining his stomach, for three straight days. How the hell is this happening?

  “Oh my God, Dawn!”

  She doesn’t sound calm anymore.

  “I can’t believe it.”

  Savannah is crying into the phone now.

  “I just can’t believe it.”

  Does she already have an idea of how bad it’s gotten? I guess a call at nearly four in the morning isn’t necessarily a good sign.

  “The doctors have removed his spleen, stomach, and part of his large and small intestines.”

  My words fly out of my mouth as fast as possible. I want to give her all of the details but I want to get it over with quickly. Speaking about his organs make me want to vomit.

  “His kidney and liver are failing. He will have to be on dialysis for the rest of his life. The rest of his life. And his brain activity doesn’t look good.”

  I have to stop and take a breath. I’ve been focusing on telling her everything, I’ve forgotten to breathe.

  “It doesn’t look good, Savannah.”

  I let out a whimper before I continue.

  “On Saturday, he scored a 4 on a neurological scale that, I guess, reads the state of a person's consciousness. Now he’s at a 3, meaning he’s completely unresponsive, Savannah, completely unresponsive.”

  There is a ruffle over the phone and I swear I can hear her heartbeat. Did she drop the phone to her chest?

  “Oh, Dawn.” I listen as she whimpers out.

  My heart is aching as I think back on it all. “Corey has been sedated since Friday and as of right now, he has received just over 40 units of blood.”

  Savannah doesn’t answer as she tries to digest everything I have thrown at her.

  “Oh, and I just freaked out on the doctors trying to save his life. So, I’m really succeeding as a wife right now.”

  “Dawn, don’t say that! You are a great wife and Corey knows that.”

  Does he though?

  “So, what is next?”

  That’s a great question. That’s why I called you.

  “I’m not sure. The doctors are giving me time to think about what’s the best decision for our family. I’m torn between the options; neither seem like the right answer.”

  What I really should be asking is if she can make the decision for me, because either way I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself and the what-ifs that are sure to follow.

  “Oh, Dawn. I can’t believe you have to make this decision right now. I really don’t know what to say.”

  “Savannah, you know Corey better than most people. I need you to tell me if you think he would want to live without his stomach. It would be a life with a feeding tube and a colostomy bag if the surgery continues.”

  I try to imagine it, but I can’t.

  “It would be a lifetime of battling infections without his spleen to fight off any bacteria. He may never even wake up from this coma.”

  I know my answer before she responds.

  “No, Dawn. There is no way Corey, or anyone for that sake, would want to live a life like that.”

  I take a long, deep breath before responding. I know she is right, but it feels so raw to finally hear someone else say it out loud. Corey wouldn’t want this. We have to do what is best for him. We have to let go.

  “Okay, I’m going to go make the hardest decision of my life.”

  The phone call ends.

  - TEN -

  |3:25 AM|

  Dawn

  The hallway seems to get darker. Lonelier. The cold walls are supporting me from falling. My phone screen blinding my eyes as they try to adjust to the lighting. Why isn’t there dim lighting in here?

  Every muscle in my body is holding me back from dialing the next few phone numbers, but I need to do this for Corey. It’s my obligation as his wife to try to stop his suffering-- right? But I know I have a list of people who need to confirm that this is the right decision; we need to be on the same page. It’s the only way any of us will be able to wake up the next morning, and the morning after that.

  The first phone call is going to be the hardest of them all.

  I’m glad they decided to leave last night. Corey wouldn’t want them to be here when it’s time to make the decision. They would never be able to let go if they were still here, especially if they started to think about what exactly they would be losing. Am I even thinking about what we would be losing? Thomas will lose the one who taught him to love every sport out there, the one who encouraged him to learn to play the guitar. Natalie will lose her life coach, the one who understands her wittiness and pushes her grit. Kristen will lose her binge-watching best friend, the one who plays the guitar while she sings to the rest of us. How will I ever fill his role for each of my kids? I can’t play the guitar, I don’t have his humor, and I hate murder mystery series.

  And me? What will I be losing? I will be losing my best friend, my confidant, my person, my everything.

  It feels like something is lodged in the back of my throat, but I’m too distracted by the loud ringing in my ears to pay much attention to it. My heart’s beating out of my chest when I feel a vibration on my wrist. My apple watch is notifying me of my high heart rate. At least I’m in a hospital if my body decides to have a heart attack.

  Natalie

  The ringing is loud; ear-piercing loud. I look around anxiously trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.

  The hands aren’t moving, not even the long one. This clock has to be broken. The talking in the room has gone silent. I can’t even catch the shouting of his vitals anymore.

  My sister isn’t gasping for air in between each tear and I can’t hear my brother trying to console her. What is going on?

  I turn vigorously, searching for my Mom, searching for the sound, searching for answers.

  Brandon is all I can see-- he is so close to my face, trying to comfort me, when really I just need him to get the fuck out of my way. Where is my mom? Where is the sound? Where is the rewind button? Everything goes black.

  I wake up from my nightmare in a cold sweat with tears running down my face and fear shaking throughout my body. Thank God it was just a dream.

  I must be crying pretty loudly because Brandon flips over and asks, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

  I have to take a breath in between each cry.

  “Go back to bed.”

  “Another nightmare?”

  I’m one of those anomalies who never grew out of the nightmare phase. Instead, mine have gotten worse; they have transformed from my dog dying to vivid dreams of being murdered or watching my sister get kidnapped. I’m well aware of how fucked up they are and it’s why I don’t tell many people about it. But when you’re waking up paralyzed in fear with either drenched sheets or uncontrollable tears, it can be pretty hard to keep the secret from your boyfriend.

  I whisper back, “Yeah.” Why am I so embarrassed?

  Brandon takes me into his arms and repeats, “It’s okay,
it was only a dream,” over and over, like he normally does.

  When I finally begin to catch my breath enough to calm down, my ears hear a distant ringing in another room. I almost confuse it for the ringing I’ve been hearing all weekend, until I hear Thomas answer, “Hello?”

  Thomas

  “Hello?”

  I was sleeping so hard, I can barely distinguish if this is a dream or if I’m actually awake.

  “Thomas, are the girls right there?”

  I instantly recognize the voice, and I can feel the adrenaline flowing through my body as I shoot out of my bed.

  “No; I’m getting them now.”

  I’m running to Kristen’s room before I finish the sentence.

  “Girls, get up!” I scream, “It’s Mom.”

  I bang on Kristen’s door and I hear her pop out of bed. Before I knock on Natalie’s door, she and Brandon appear from behind it. Had they never fallen asleep?

  We gather into the media room across from Kristen’s bedroom, and I put the call on speakerphone. My thumbs are shaking so violently that I nearly end the call instead of hitting speaker.

  “Okay, we’re all together.”

  She isn’t talking, just softly crying. We all look at each other; not knowing if we should ask her what’s going on or wait for her to tell us when she’s ready. The pit in my stomach is growing bigger as the silence drags on. How much longer can this go on for?

  “Mom?” Kristen murmurs.

  Mom blurts out, “I don’t think he’s going to make it, guys.”

  I don’t know if I didn’t hear her correctly or if my brain is fighting to convince myself it isn’t real, but I’m about to ask her to repeat herself. Then I see my sisters. Kristen is gasping for air in between each tear. I want to console her, but I can’t move. I feel stuck on the sofa, engulfed in the pain. I watch Brandon go to her and start rubbing her back. I turn my attention to Natalie. She looks paralyzed and cold, almost as if she’s just seen a ghost. She never wanted to give up hope, but now she is forced to. I wondered if she heard Mom until I notice the tears silently running down her cheek. She’s heartbroken. They both are; we all are.