Someone Dies, Someone Lives

by Lurlene McDaniel

  Katie opened her eyes. She saw the anesthesiologist’s face. She tried to speak, but a tube down her throat prevented her.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Max said. “I’m only giving you your wake-up call. You came through with flying colors, Katie. Your new heart’s in place and working fine.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, afraid she was having another dream. Her chest felt heavy, as if lead weights were pressing against it. She heard a constant blip-blip sound from a nearby machine.

  Max continued talking. “You’ll have lots of nurses watching over you—little guardian angels. We’ll move you down to ICU in a few hours. Meanwhile, I’ve got two very anxious parents on my hands. Think you’re up to seeing them for a few minutes?”

  Katie opened her eyes. She wanted to nod, but wasn’t positive she could pull off the movement.

  “I’ll bring them in,” Max said. He straightened up, then paused. “First, let me show you something.” He picked up her hand, the one not attached to an IV, and held it in front of her face. “What do you see?” he asked.

  Katie blinked, attempting to focus. The light from over her bed shone clearly on her hand. With wonder, she saw that her fingertips were a healthy, rosy shade of glowing pink.

  Josh felt as if the whole world had turned upside down. The entire University of Michigan football team, the coaches, staff members, and some faculty were standing outside in the grayness of the September afternoon around his brother’s coffin. The players should have been on a football field, not here in a cemetery. Some of the boys were crying openly, which jarred Josh. Here were these big, strapping mountains of muscle and sinew, weeping like babies. He thought it strange.

  He himself was red-eyed from unshed tears. He stood beside his grandfather, holding the old man’s arm, shoring him up. Josh stared helplessly at the bronze-color coffin, at the mantel of maize and blue mums and carnations draped across it. Aaron was dead. Gone forever. Josh’s mind could scarcely grasp the enormousness of such a time span. Forever.

  Before the funeral, Coach Muller had told Josh and Gramps, “Don’t worry about the cost of this. The university will pay the tab. Aaron was on athletic scholarship, and he was insured. We’ll see to it that he has a fine funeral.”

  Josh had wanted to shout, Who cares? He’d wanted to hit something with his fists. He’d wanted to throw a chair through the plate-glass window of the funeral home. But he’d done nothing, because the funeral ritual was important to his grandfather.

  “Flowers are nice,” he heard Gramps mutter. “Gran had real nice flowers at her funeral, too. Aaron’s with her now—do you know that, Josh? The two of them are together.”

  Josh had to bite back an angry retort. Gran was in the ground, and Aaron was in a coffin soon to go in the ground. They were both dead. “Sure, Gramps. Whatever you say.”

  After the ceremony, they all went to his grandfather’s small house, where neighbors had brought in food. Josh moved like a zombie through the clusters of mourners. As he passed by, one of the players reached out and took his arm. “Remember me?” he asked.

  “You’re Dion. One of Aaron’s roommates.”

  “I’m really sorry, man. Your brother was a good guy.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Did your folks come?”

  For a moment, Josh didn’t know how to respond.

  “Aaron leveled with me about them,” Dion said. “ ’Cause my old man’s a drunk, too.”

  Josh clenched his fists, trying not to feel bitter as he said, “No. They couldn’t make it. Pop’s in jail for driving under the influence of his usual booze, and Mom’s in the hospital. He beat her up pretty bad before the cops picked him up.”

  “That stinks, man.”

  “Life stinks,” Josh said, then left the room.

  It seemed like hours before everybody left. Josh stayed in his room, lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling until it was dark. From below, he heard the woman from next door directing others about cleaning up. He heard Gramps climb the creaking stairs and rap softly on the bedroom door. He wished the old man would go away. He didn’t want to talk to anyone.

  Gramps came inside, uninvited, and lowered himself slowly to the side of Josh’s bed. “You all right?” he asked.

  “Sure. Just fine.”

  Gramps placed his wrinkled hand on Josh’s shoulder. “I know how you’re hurting, boy. I’ve been down this road before.”

  Josh wanted to say, No one knows how bad I hurt, but he didn’t. Gramps said, “When Gran died, I wanted to crawl into that casket with her. I didn’t figure that I could make it without her. We’d been married forty-five years, you know.”

  Go away, Josh pleaded silently.

  “But I have made it for about seven years now. They haven’t been easy years … especially the first one, but I’ve made it. And you will, too. The hurt goes away—the raw hurt, the angry hurt.”

  Josh felt his throat constrict.

  “You know, there was a spell when I was downright mad at her for dying on me.” Josh’s gaze darted to Gramps’s face. “That’s right,” Gramps affirmed, seeing the look. “Just plain mad. She had no right to go off and leave me to muddle through the rest of my life alone. No right at all.”

  “What am I going to do?” Josh’s voice was barely a whisper. “He was my only brother.”

  “Same thing I did. You’re going to go on living.” Gramps spoke slowly, as if hunting for the words. “You’ve got a lot of living ahead of you, son. A lot that Aaron would have wanted you to do. You don’t have to start back to school right away if you don’t want, but you can’t stop going altogether, either.”

  “I don’t care about school.”

  “And track?”

  “I don’t care about that anymore.”

  “You care,” Gramps said. “Maybe not right this moment, but you care. Just the way Aaron cared about football. Nothing’s going to bring him back, nothing’s going to stop the aching you feel—except time. One day, the ache will be duller. Don’t stay mad at the world, or at God, for the rest of your life. You’ll only eat yourself away from the inside out.”

  Gramps’s words fell on Josh like cold rainwater. The wound was too new, too fresh. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t hate heaven and earth. What kind of a universe was it when someone like Aaron got leveled in the prime of his life? What had Aaron ever done to deserve an artery’s going haywire in his brain? “Aaron was only twenty years old,” Josh said. “Nothing about what’s happened makes any sense.”

  “It never will,” Gramps said. “You’ll make yourself crazy trying to figure it out. Life happens—good and bad. Folks don’t always get what they deserve, either way. I can tell you this, though—a person never grows deep unless he’s been through suffering. Seems strange that pain and suffering become the soil of strength and courage, but that’s the way it works.”

  Josh wanted to shout that he and Aaron both had seen their share of suffering, and that what was happening now seemed punitive and cruel.

  “The ones who are left behind have to pick up the pieces and go on, because that’s just what the living do. We go on living,” Gramps continued. “I know you won’t believe me, but one day, you’ll be happy again. That’s one of the hardest things to catch hold of when you’re hurting real bad. Just the way bad things happen, good things happen, too. Make a life for yourself … Aaron would have wanted you to.”

  Josh turned toward the wall, saying nothing.

  The old man patted Josh’s shoulder. “I’m going to turn in. I wish I could help you more, son. I wish I could stop your hurting.”

  Gramps shuffled out of the room, and Josh stared at the blank wall. He felt as if his insides were on fire. He clutched his arms to himself, trying to hold back the storm of emotions building within him. He’d given away Aaron’s heart, and now he felt as if there were a void inside his own chest. “Please … please, Aaron, don’t leave me. Please.” The words poured out of Josh like a litany. Reason told him that Aaron was g
one and no amount of chanting would change it. Still, he couldn’t stem the flow of words that began to mingle with large, racking sobs as he lay in the dark.

  Seven

  WHEN THEY PULLED out the breathing tube after surgery and Katie could talk again, she felt euphoric. Her voice sounded hoarse, and her throat ached, but the sense of relief she felt was overwhelming. “I made it, Mom, Dad,” she told her parents after she’d been moved from recovery into isolation.

  “I told you, you’re a winner,” her dad said. All she could see of his face were his eyes and eyebrows above his mask.

  Her mother couldn’t stop touching her. “You’re beautiful, Katie, beautiful. You look so healthy.”

  Katie didn’t have the courage to look in a mirror, but she knew that she was better. Every beat of the heart now lying in her chest sent fresh, oxygenated blood pouring through her. Also, without being tethered to an oxygen tank, she felt an incredible sense of freedom, even though all Dr. Jacoby would let her do was sit up on the edge of the bed.

  “So soon?” her mother asked anxiously when Dr. Jacoby announced his intentions on Katie’s second day out of surgery.

  “We’ve found that getting patients up as quickly as possible is to their benefit,” the doctor said. “We don’t want pneumonia to develop.”

  He and the nurses helped Katie sit upright amid the tangle of tubes and wires. She was woozy, and her chest felt as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer.

  “We’ll take the tubes out tomorrow, and you can take a stroll around the room,” he promised. “By the end of the week, you should be out of isolation and in a private room.”

  True to his word, four days later, Dr. Jacoby gave orders for Katie’s chest tubes to be pulled. She was completely unhooked from all the machines, the IVs, and the monitors, and moved into a spacious, sunny room.

  “When can I go home? When can I go back to school?” she asked when Dr. Jacoby entered her room for rounds.

  “You do feel good, don’t you?” The doctor laughed, then glanced at her parents. “We won’t be able to keep this one down, will we?”

  Her father shrugged. “I never could.”

  Dr. Jacoby’s expression grew serious. “Katie, I don’t want you to think you’re completely out of the woods yet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “First of all, you’ve had major surgery. That in itself is reason enough to take things slowly. Second, you’ve got a new heart. Now, as much as your body needs it to function, as far as your immune system’s concerned, this heart is a foreign object.”

  “I thought that’s why I’m taking pills and shots—to turn off my immune system.”

  “That’s right, but expect to go through an episode of rejection. We’ve done enough of these transplants to know that most recipients do. We’ll keep doing tests and giving you the suppressant drugs, but it’ll take awhile for your body to adjust.”

  The thought that her own body might force a shutdown of her new heart made Katie panic. Another heart might not come along if this one was rejected. “I’ll do exactly what you tell me,” Katie declared. “I want this heart to work.”

  Dr. Jacoby patted her shoulder. “You and the heart are both young and healthy. We have every reason to believe that you’ll do just fine. I only want to alert you that it may not all be smooth sailing.”

  When he had gone, Katie asked her parents, “You think I’ll be all right, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely,” her dad replied. Her mother didn’t look as confident, yet she nodded in agreement.

  “I had a dream during the operation,” Katie said, to change the subject. The notion of rejection was too frightening to dwell on right then. “I dreamed I met JWC. She told me she’d helped the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz find a new heart and that the Wish money had bought my new one.”

  “So, your dream revealed that JWC is a girl,” her father teased. “That’s more than I could find out. But as for the money’s buying the heart, you know that could never happen. Donors and organs have to be specifically matched.”

  “I know,” Katie said. “It was just such a crazy dream, that’s all.”

  “It was only a dream,” her mother said.

  “I’ve wondered about the donor. Do you know anything about who it was?”

  “They’ve told us very little. Why, we don’t even know where he was from,” her dad answered.

  “I was thinking about the donor’s family …”

  “Don’t,” her mother said quickly. “Just think about getting well.”

  Katie wanted to talk about it with someone. She wanted to try to deal with an overwhelming tide of emotions that kept sneaking up on her. Who was her donor? How was his or her family dealing with their loss? Their loss was her gain. Someone had died in order to give her life. If only she could tell them “Thank you.” The phrase sounded inadequate. Maybe she could do something wonderful for them with her Wish money if she ever discovered their identity.

  “You look as if you’re a million miles away,” her mother said, interrupting Katie’s jumbled thoughts.

  She looked so anxious that Katie decided not to say anything about what she’d been thinking. “Have you heard from Melody?” she asked.

  “I talk to her once a day,” her mom said. “She’s very eager to talk to you.”

  “Now that I’m in a room, don’t you think she could come see me?”

  “Oh, no. It’s too soon,” her mother blurted out.

  “Too soon?”

  “What your mom means is that we don’t want you exposed unnecessarily to any germs,” her father said smoothly.

  Katie glanced at their faces. “That’s why I’m taking the cyclosporine, isn’t it? And the steroids.” A thought made her pause. “Do you think that my being on steroids will keep me from running in high school track? I mean, steroids are illegal, but it’s not my fault I have to take them.”

  “Running?” her mother gasped, looking horrified. “Katie, you can’t think about running.”

  Katie blinked. “Why not? My new heart is fine, and so am I. I told you before the operation that I planned to run again.”

  “We don’t need to discuss this now,” her father interrupted. “You’re barely out of surgery. Do as your doctor says, honey. Rest, take it easy for a while.”

  Katie wanted to tell them that she’d spent the last four months of her life resting. She felt like a million dollars, compared with how she’d felt before the operation, when every breath had hurt, every movement had left her gasping. “I’ll talk to Dr. Jacoby about it,” Katie said, attempting to erase the panicked expression on her mother’s face. “Will that be okay?”

  “Of course.” Her mom nodded vigorously, yet Katie could tell she was only humoring her.

  That night, she called Melody on the phone. The moment she said hello, Melody burst into tears. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

  “I got a new heart, not a new personality,” Katie joked, but she did wonder if the new heart might make her different somehow.

  “I couldn’t believe it,” Melody said. “The other day, I came by your house after school, the way I always do, and nobody was there. Turned out you’d gone to the hospital at four o’clock that morning to get a heart transplant! I freaked out. I mean, it was all over, and I hadn’t even known you’d gone! Of course, I’ve been calling your mom daily, and your dad did one of his famous columns about your operation and all, but I felt so cut off from you.”

  “Dad did another story about me?”

  “Don’t sound so annoyed. It was really good. I cry every time I read it.”

  “I wish he wouldn’t do that,” Katie said.

  “But he should,” Melody countered. “You’re a medical marvel, and your story is so inspiring. I wish everybody could read it.” Melody sniffed. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Katie replied, not truly sure how she was. “As soon as I can get my doctor and my parents to agree, please come see me.”
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br />   “I will. I can’t wait. I’ve missed you so much, Katie.” Melody was still crying when they hung up.

  Katie chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. She hadn’t realized how profoundly her transplant was going to affect everyone. Her parents, her friends— everybody seemed to be struggling to come to terms with it. Didn’t they realize that she was the one who’d gone through it?

  She wished her father hadn’t written about it. It was her private life. She didn’t want people to go around talking about her as though she were some kind of wonder. She just wanted to get well, go home, and start living a normal life. She hadn’t asked to become a medical marvel. Without warning, Katie started to cry. Why had this happened to her? Why?

  Josh’s hands were trembling, and his heart pounded against his rib cage. He felt as if he’d run a marathon. He wet his lips and stared down again at the newspaper spread out on the kitchen table. Quickly, he reread the sports column by Daniel O’Roark.

  How does a man go about thanking science for the miracle of giving Katie life? This was not a simple surgery to correct a flawed heart. Rather, a surgeon’s skilled hands gave our Katie a brand-new heart.

  Yet, there’s more than one player in the drama of my daughter’s rebirth. Yes, her surgeon was helpful. Yes, the hospital where she’s staying is sustaining her. However, they are but bit players in this drama.

  The story went on to outline the dramatic details of the call that had come in the night to announce that a donor—lost in his youth to a hemorrhage in his brain—had been found. It told of the rush to the hospital, the wait for the completion of the operation, days in recovery and ICU. Josh devoured every detail.

  The real hero is the nameless donor, his family, his gift of life … his very heart. To help a loved one, someone you know and care about, is one thing. But to help a stranger, a girl you’ve never met, who may have had only days to live, is the ultimate in human compassion. My regular readers have followed Katie’s story over the years, from the time she was born (yes, in typical fatherly pride, I devoted a column to that miracle, too), to now, when she’s been reborn.