Five Years to Live

by Frank Zaccari

  She told Frank Mancuso, “I called my brother Tony in California, but I was crying so hard all I could say was Michael was in an accident. You all know how Tony just takes charge in a crisis.” Frank just nodded. “Tony asked, ‘Is he all right?’ All I could say was no. Then Tony asked, ‘Is he dead?’ I gave Tony the doctor’s name and phone number. He said, ‘I will call the doctor right now.” Tony had been a medic in the military and could be very forceful when something involved his family.

  Tony called back in a few minutes and said, “The doctor cannot see the sixth and seventh cervical vertebrates. While that is not good, it is too soon to tell the extent of the damage, but at the moment he has no feeling or movement from the chest down. It could just be from the trauma and swelling at the moment. The doctor will stabilize Michael and transfer him to Thomas Jefferson Hospital in Philadelphia.”

  Mary said, “I will make arrangements to take Mom and Dad to Philadelphia in the morning. Tony, someone needs to call Donna. ”

  “Give me her number; I’ll call her right now.” Tony cursed as he dialed the number. When Donna answered, he said, “Donna, this is Tony Battaglia, Michael’s brother. Michael has been in a car accident and is being transferred to a spinal cord hospital in Philadelphia.”

  “Oh my God,” Donna cried. “I knew something had happened when he didn’t call me. Is he okay?”

  “It’s too soon to tell.” Tony was going to say, “Prepare for the worst and hope for the best,” but he stopped himself. He continued, saying, “We will know more once he gets to Thomas Jefferson Hospital. My sister Mary is making arrangements to get my parents to Philadelphia. She will call you when we know more.”

  Donna kept saying, “Oh my God, Oh my God!” over and over. She was crying uncontrollably.

  “Donna, is there someone I can call and have them come and be with you?” Tony asked, but it was more of a suggestion that she should not be alone.

  “No, Tony, I’ll call my mom. She lives a couple miles away. She will come right over. Has anyone been able to talk to Michael?”

  “Not yet. They are getting him ready to transfer to Jefferson. Are you sure you don’t want me to call your mother?” Tony wanted to make sure she was going to call her mother.

  “I’m sure, Tony. Thanks for letting me know. Please let me know when they are going to Philly so I can meet them.”

  “I will, Donna. I promise.”

  As Donna hung up the phone, she was shaking and crying uncontrollably. “I have to stay calm and call my mom.” Her hands were shaking as she dialed the number. All she could say was, “Mom,” and then she started to sob loudly .

  “I’ll be right there,” was all her mother said. She grabbed her purse and ran out the door, knowing only that her daughter needed her and not knowing what had happened.

  After talking to the doctors at Jefferson, Dr. Johnson went back to talk to Michael. “I’ve called your family and updated them on what is going to happen. The doctors at Jefferson will call your family with an up-to-date status once you arrive.”

  “How is my family?”

  “They are concerned and are making plans with your sister to meet you in Philly tomorrow.”

  “Did you call my girlfriend?”

  “Your sister said they would call her.” Dr. Johnson continued, “The Jefferson doctors want us to make sure your breathing is stable before we put you in the ambulance. There is the danger with your injury that you might stop breathing, so we are going to check your lung capacity.”

  Michael heard another male voice say, “Hold this tube in your mouth, breathe in, and then blow out as hard as you can.”

  Michael asked the other male, “Who are you and what is your role in all this?”

  “I’m a respiratory therapist. We have to check your lung capacity. ”

  The therapist put what looked like a mouthpiece on the tube. It was a round piece of plastic that fit on the end of the tube. There was a round gauge with numbers on the other end, but Michael couldn’t see the numbers. He blew into it three times, and then the therapist left. Michael had been alone for twenty minutes when Jackie, the paramedic, appeared. He and his partner started preparing Michael for the transfer to Jefferson Hospital. Michael was in the ambulance when Dr. Johnson came running out yelling, “What are you doing? He’s not ready to go.”

  “They said he was ready to go,” Jackie responded.

  “I didn’t give anyone an order to release him yet!”

  Jackie snapped back, “You people better get your shit together. One of the nurses said he was ready to go.”

  As Jackie returned Michael to the emergency room, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Michael, this was the closest hospital. We’ll try to get you the hell out of here as soon as possible. Jefferson is where you need to be.”

  “We almost made it out,” Michael laughed.

  After Michael was settled in the emergency room for the second time, Dr. Johnson returned with a long, plastic tube in his hands. “I’m going to put this tube down your throat to help you breathe. Your lung capacity is too low, and this will keep your lungs from failing during the trip.”

  Michael thought, You can shove that tube up your ass. I don’t need it. But he said, “I’m not having any trouble breathing. Do I really need it?”

  “The doctors at Jefferson want you to have it for the ride over.” Dr. Johnson’s first attempt with the tube failed, and so did the next ten. He blamed Michael for not cooperating. “You have to swallow when I tell you. ”

  “Tell those doctors I don’t need it and I don’t want it,” Michael said angrily.

  “Just do what I tell you and we won’t have any trouble.”

  He tried again, but Michael fought it. He bit down on the tube as soon as it got in his mouth. “You’re not making this any easier. Let go, let go!” Dr. Johnson yelled.

  As Michael released the tube, he said angrily, “Get someone who knows what the hell they’re doing. You aren’t touching me again.” Dr. Johnson angrily walked away. The nurse standing by didn’t say a word as Michael mumbled some more obscenities.

  “What time is it?” Michael asked.

  “It’s twelve,” the nurse said. Michael thought he would never get out of there. After another long delay, a heavyset nurse appeared with the breathing tube. All Michael could see was her chubby face, and it looked like she never smiled.

  She walked up to Michael and said in a calm, reassuring voice, “Give me one chance to put this in, and if I fail, I’ll get someone else. I’ve put in a lot of these over the years, so do as I tell you and I guarantee I’ll get it in.” Michael thought that this lady might hurt him if he said no, so he reluctantly agreed.

  “Swallow when I tell you.” She put the tube in his mouth and gently pushed in and continually told Michael to swallow. After the eighth swallow she let go and said, “That wasn’t too bad was it.”

  Michael thought to himself, Where the hell were you an hour ago? Michael was trying to adjust to the foreign object. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. The tube wouldn’t allow him to speak. His mind started racing. How am I going to communicate with the people at Jefferson? How can I let them know I need something? What if I start choking? The “what ifs” continued, and then suddenly his thoughts changed. What if they hook me up to a ventilator like Karen Quinlan and then I become a vegetable? Then they won’t let my family disconnect the machine. How can I tell them not to connect me to a ventilator?

  He tried to grab the tube, but his hands didn’t work properly. He pointed to the tube the best he could, and the nurse said, “Don’t pull on it; you have to have it to help you breathe.”

  Michael became more and more frustrated. That’s not what I want; I don’t want to be connected to a ventilator. If I’m going to die, let me go naturally, was what he wanted to yell. He couldn’t think of any way to communicate with them and shut his eyes in frustration. He started praying. God, please don’t let them put me on a ventilator. If you want me now, I’m ready. I
know I haven’t talked to you since the accident, but I’ve been a little busy. Please, no ventilator.

  Dr. Johnson’s voice chimed in, “He’s ready to go now.” Michael finished his prayer, telling God he would get back to him in a little while.

  Jackie came in and prepared Michael to leave. “Are you sure he’s ready this time?” he asked sarcastically.

  With a look of contempt, Dr. Johnson said, “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Chapter 5

  This Can’t Be Happening

  Michael couldn’t talk to Jackie, so the ride to Jefferson Hospital seemed to last forever. The tube was really bothering him, and he knew he couldn’t do anything to make himself comfortable. He could feel himself getting nervous, and tears were filling up his eyes. He didn’t cry very often and fought the tears back because “real men” don’t cry. He hadn’t cried since the day he left for college. Saying good-bye to his parents and sisters brought tears to his eyes. The tears didn’t last long because Canisius College was only an hour away, and he knew he could get home easily whenever he felt homesick. He loved his college days and eagerly anticipated getting a job in the real world. He had always been independent and welcomed new challenges, but this challenge scared the hell out of him. This was the first time in his young adult life that he couldn’t control his own destiny and would be at the mercy of the people at Jefferson Hospital.

  The ambulance arrived at Jefferson at 1:00 a.m. The hospital covered three or four city blocks. The buildings were gray and seemed to reach the stars. Several sky walkways connected the buildings. Michael was transported under one of them on the way to the Emergency Room where a team of doctors was waiting for him. Again, he was placed under a bright white light. It was unusually quiet for an Emergency Room. Michael didn’t sense any activity around him. As he looked at the ceiling, he thought, Someone made a fortune designing these rooms. Every one looked and smelled the same: the false ceiling with the same pattern on the foam tile, the off-white paint on the walls, and the stale smell of medicine.

  One of the doctors leaned over Michael and introduced himself. “Michael, I’m Dr. Henler.” He introduced the rest of the group, but Michael only remembered his name. “I’m an orthopedic resident.” His upper chest was at the same height as the table Michael was lying on. He had to get on his tiptoes to lean over Michael. He looked like he just woke up. His light-brown, curly hair had a flat spot on the left side, and he had sleep in his eyes. Michael didn’t feel very confident in Henler and was studying his face. He was looking in Henler’s eyes for some sign of concern or compassion but found neither. He wanted to question Henler to make sure he was awake and knew what he was supposed to be doing, but that damn tube prevented it.

  “I’m going to ask you some yes and no questions. Blink once for yes and twice for no. Do you understand?”

  Michael blinked once to answer the question.

  “Do you know what happened to you?” Again, Michael blinked once.

  “Do you know where you are?” Michael blinked again.

  “Do you have any pain?” Michael wanted him to explain what’s going to happen next instead of asking these questions. He became frustrated as the questions continued. He couldn’t communicate what he wanted to say by blinking. This frustration caused him to forget Henler’s instructions. Was it two for yes and one for no or the other way? He didn’t know what to do, so he closed his eyes and refused to answer any more questions. Henler sensed his frustration and stopped the questions .

  “We’ll let you rest for a while. You’ll have surgery in the morning for your broken neck. We’re going to put you in neck traction until we’re ready to operate.”

  Henler had untied Michael’s arms, which had been restrained during the trip. Michael immediately tried pointing to the tube. Henler informed him that it was necessary to keep his lungs from failing. Michael rolled his eyes in frustration. He wanted to know when the tube would be coming out. He grabbed the tube the best he could and tried to pull it out. Henler grabbed his arm and began explaining the importance of the tube when another doctor figured out what Michael wanted.

  “We’ll monitor your breathing for a few hours. We’ll take the tube out when we feel you don’t need it anymore,” explained the anonymous voice. Michael put his arm down and tried to smile to let them know he was satisfied with that explanation. Finally, he thought to himself, someone who doesn’t have their head up their ass.

  A few minutes later, Michael was in the Intensive Care Unit with two very pretty nurses. Beth was twenty-four years old and had a smile that would melt your heart. Her wavy brown hair was tied in a ponytail, which accentuated a beautiful face with the greatest dimples Michael had ever seen. She had an athletic, petite body. Linda was very classy-looking, even in those ugly hospital greens. Her sharp appearance forced you to look at her, but it was a look you had to admire. She had jet-black hair that hung to her shoulders and baby blue eyes that mesmerized you.

  Michael wanted to ask if he had died and gone to heaven. Even though he was incapacitated, he was happy to see that he still had his sense of humor. He tried to communicate with them, but they didn’t understand. He pointed to the tube and got the same response .

  “That tube is helping you breathe,” Beth said. He finally thought of a way to communicate with them. He remembered a guy named Richard who went to his church. Richard had cerebral palsy. He couldn’t speak but always carried an alphabet board. This board resembled a typewriter keyboard. Richard would point to the keys and spell words.

  Michael knew this was his only chance to communicate with them, but how would he tell them about the board? He moved his right arm up to his chest and tried drawing letters with his thumb. He started with an “A,” but they didn’t understand. He tried again, this time using his whole chest. Beth recognized the “A” and told Linda he was trying to spell something.

  “Is that an ‘A’?” she asked. Michael pointed toward his nose like in charades. He smiled with satisfaction. He continued drawing letters until he spelled “ALPHABET.” Again, Beth figured out that he wanted them to write the alphabet on some paper so he could talk to them. He pointed to his nose again, and then dropped his arm back to his side. Linda left to get some paper to make the alphabet board. She returned with a big smile and put the paper in front of Michael. He tried pointing to the letters, but he couldn’t get his thumb to stay still long enough on a letter. They couldn’t distinguish which letters he was pointing to. After a few futile attempts, Linda told him to forget the board and spell the words on his chest.

  Next, Michael concentrated on telling them about the ventilator. He spelled “NO” first. After twenty minutes, he was able to get them to say “VENTILATOR.”

  “That’s not up to us to decide,” Beth said. “The doctors make that decision. They’ll be here soon to put you in traction.”

  Michael kept drawing “NO” on his chest, hoping they would understand his anxiety. He started spelling “TELL THEM” when Linda said, “You’re breathing pretty well. You shouldn’t need the ventilator. ”

  When Michael finished spelling “TELL THEM,” Beth smiled, put her hand on the side of his face, and said, “Okay, don’t get upset.”

  The next word Michael spelled was “SPIT.” The tube was causing him to salivate, but he couldn’t spit. Beth left to get a suction tube for Michael. It’s a thin piece of plastic with openings on both ends. One end is connected to a tube that comes out of a plastic container connected to the wall. This provides the sucking action. Beth put the other end in Michael’s mouth and sucked out the saliva. Again, Michael smiled with satisfaction.

  Michael’s eyes were closed for about five minutes when he was taken to X-ray for a venogram. A dye travels through your circulatory system, and if the dye pools up anywhere that means you have a blood clot.

  “You have a blood clot in your left ankle,” Henler explained. “Your surgery will be postponed until the clot is thinned out. There’s too great a risk of doing surgery. The clot co
uld dislodge from the leg and go to your lungs. We’re putting you on blood thinning medicine. All the medication will be put through your IV.”

  Michael wanted to ask how long it would take to thin out the clot but was too tired to try to spell all that.

  He wanted to sleep after he returned to ICU, but of course they wouldn’t let him. Two doctors were waiting for him when he returned. A female doctor introduced herself. “I’m Dr. Reed and this is Dr. John Friedman.” She continued, “We’re going to put you in traction. We have to stabilize your neck until you can have surgery. We can remove the tape from your forehead when we finish.”

  “It’s not a complicated process, but it will be uncomfortable for you,” Dr. Friedman explained. “We have to put two screws in the side of your head to anchor the weights. ”

  Michael’s eyes widened with fear after hearing that. Friedman noticed the anxiety and continued explaining the procedure. “The screws only go in a quarter of an inch, but it’ll feel a lot worse. It won’t do any damage to your brain.”

  Michael wanted to tell them what they could do with those screws, but again he had to lie there like a helpless victim, waiting for his attackers to finish him off. He could hear the scissors cutting by his ears as Reed began cutting his hair so they could put the screws in. She marked a spot for the first one. Friedman started putting in the screw, and Michael felt like his head was in a vise and ready to explode. He wanted to scream, but all he could do was violently rattle the bed rails. Michael tried to punch Friedman as he walked to the other side of the bed, but he missed. The second one hurt just as much as the first. Reed tied a cable to the screws and pulled slightly to see if they would stay in. Michael thought his head was going to detach from his neck. The pain was so intense that he began crying. Now he understood why people cried when they had pain. The doctors let him finish his cry. Reed tried to comfort him by saying she knew it hurt, but it was necessary. Michael wanted to ask her if she had ever stuck her head in a vise and tightened it. You have no clue how painful this is, Michael said to himself.