Five Years to Live

by Frank Zaccari

  As Ellen prepared to flip Michael back over, Donna started to get up, and as she got on her knees to grab the chair to pull herself up, she heard Michael whisper, “You do have a great ass.”

  “So I’ve been told,” she answered with a smile as she moved out of his line of vision.

  He was repositioned on his back without any light-headedness. Donna sat by the bed, holding his hand. He tried to interlock his fingers with hers but couldn’t get his fingers to cooperate. She could see the fear and frustration in his face, so she put her other hand over his and cradled it gently between her hands. They sat alone, talking, until the family returned to say good-night. After all the hugs and goodbye kisses, Michael was alone—but again, not for very long.

  Ellen returned with a new respiratory therapist for his first breathing treatment. The therapist put a long tube with a mouth piece end into Michael’s mouth and told him to take deep breaths. He connected the other end of the tube with yet another tube, which in turn connected to a machine. Once the connections were done, he turned on the machine. Michael could see what looked like steam moving through the tubes. He looked up at the therapist with that same puzzled look he had most of the day. The therapist explained that there was medicine in that second tube, and the machine was pushing it into his lungs. Michael was just so thankful that the tube was not going back down his throat that he tried to smile to show his satisfaction with what he was just told.

  It was almost 11:00 p.m. by the time the breathing treatment was done and Ellen had flipped him one more time. A new nurse named Nancy appeared in his room. She was in her late forties but had a regal presence about her. Michael guessed she was over six feet tall. She had short, auburn hair and blue eyes that seemed to reassure him that all was well .

  Michael finally spoke and asked, “How often will you be coming in here? It’s been like a train station in here today.”

  “I will be in here often, but there shouldn’t be many other people tonight,” she answered in the kind of calming voice that you usually associate with kindergarten teachers.

  “You sound like a kindergarten teacher, but I’m guessing your height might have frightened the little ones,” Michael said with a half smile.

  “I considered teaching until I passed the six-foot mark and then decided nursing would be a better choice,” she said as she returned the half smile. “Looks like I have a funny guy to take care of tonight.”

  “I couldn’t resist. But sometimes my attempts at humor fail miserably.”

  “It has been said that humor is the best medicine. Are you ready to flip over, Mr. Funny Man?”

  Nancy was right, and Michael finally had some time without any interruptions. He was still trying to piece the day together. He finally started praying out loud in a frustrated voice, “Oh God, I have no idea what is going on here. I can’t move or feel my legs. My hands don’t work, and I have a constant headache from the screws in my head. I can’t get any answers to my questions. Donna and my family look like they have been crying all day.

  “Everything will go back to normal after the surgery, right? Please, please be saying, ‘RIGHT!’ I am so scared right now that I don’t know what to say or do.” He paused to take some deep breaths because he could feel his anxiety going through the roof. After a few breaths, he started to relax, or maybe it was just exhaustion kicking in. In the back of his head, he could hear his mother’s voice saying, “When things are tough, you need to put your trust in God. He will take care of you.” Michael just kept repeating the phase, “Please, God, watch over all of us,” to himself until he finally fell asleep.

  The next morning Michael did his best to cast away his fears and allow himself to accept and ask for help from his nurses, therapists, and doctors. The love of his family and friends gave him the strength to face the uncertainty of the day. He realized this was the only alternative to drowning in the moat of despair and despondency.

  Tuesday was an almost duplicate of Monday, with the parade of people coming and going. This pattern would repeat over and over. The only person who would address Michael’s questions was Judy, the physical therapist, so he started saving his questions for her visits. After dinner Donna’s mother and Frank Mancuso went back home.

  On Thursday, August 15, Donna reminded Michael that he needed to call Marshalls about accepting their job offer. After a few deep, frustrating breaths, he finally said, “Call Vince Turso, the number is in my calendar. Let him know what’s happened and tell him I’m sorry.” Donna made the call. The next day, flowers and cards arrived from Marshalls with a note that said, “Your job will be here as soon as you are ready.” The note made Michael happy, knowing how much Marshalls wanted him, and sad because he realized his dream of moving to Buffalo with Donna was now in limbo.

  By the end of that day, the clot was thinning as they had expected, and the surgery was finally scheduled for Monday, August 19. Mary called her brother and sister. They all planned to come in over the weekend and be there for the surgery. Anthony, Carm, Mary, Joe, and Donna spent the week between the dorm and Michael’s room.

  For Carm this was the worst nightmare of her life. Seeing her youngest child in such a helpless state was worse than undergoing her cancer surgery, losing a baby during pregnancy, and all her treatments for diabetes. She felt helpless and at times hopeless, but she always put up a strong and happy face in front of Michael. One night when she thought Michael was asleep, Carm found herself crying softly when a nurse walked into the room. The nurse put her hand on Carm’s shoulder and whispered, “Mrs. Battaglia, I know how terrible this is for you and your family, but you have to be strong when you are with Michael.”

  Carm tried to dry her eyes and started to say, “I know,” when Michael responded to the nurse, “You be quiet. She’s my mom, and if she wants to cry she can cry.”

  Mary, however, was in her element. She was coordinating meetings with every department in the hospital. She made sure everything that could be done would be done after the surgery.

  Tony Battaglia was very busy too. He wrote letters to Congressman Jack Kemp, to Lee Iacocca (then chairman of Chrysler), and New York Governor Mario Cuomo. He told them the story and asked if they could find time in their busy schedules to please write to Michael. Despite the other demands on their time, each one sent a very personal letter. Governor Cuomo called, and Jack Kemp visited Michael in the hospital. Cards and letters from family, friends, former teachers/professors, classmates, coworkers, and casual acquaintances were pouring into Jefferson. Many made the trip to Philly to see Michael before the surgery.

  Tony then called Mary and told her to go to where the car had been towed and get pictures of Michael’s car and the other cars that were involved. He told her to take several pictures from all sides and angles. She also picked up all of Michael’s personal property from the car. Then Tony called a law firm in Philly and made an appointment to meet with the lawyer. Tony told the family, “We are going to make sure Michael is protected and compensated.”

  Saturday started just like the rest of the week. About noon, the last therapist to arrive was Judy. They went through the usual routine, but today Michael was irritated. He finally said, “I need an answer to this question. All you people talk about are my arms. Am I going to be able to walk again?”

  Sensing his growing frustration, she tried to avoid the standard answer, “Michael, this is something you really need to ask your doctors.”

  “Well, I asked all week and got nothing from them. So I’m asking you. Will I be able to ever walk again, yes or no? It’s not a hard question. Just tell me,” he said pleadingly.

  Still hoping to dance around this question, Judy answered, “It is really their department to answer those questions. The surgery is Monday, and then we will know more.”

  “Come on, Judy. We have a connection here. We’re Italians; we can talk to each other about anything. I really need to know what’s going on here.”

  Finally giving in to his pleadings, she answer
ed, “Every spinal cord injury is different. No one heals the same way. Some people get full or partial recovery, and some don’t. It’s kind of a crap shoot, and no one knows for sure.”

  “Is the number higher for people who recover versus the number who don’t?” he asked, grasping for straws.

  “No.”

  “What percentage recover?” he asked, again grasping for straws .

  “It is a very small percentage, Michael,” she said, trying to find a way to say something positive. “But there are cases of people fully recovering.”

  With terror in his voice, he said, “I’m not going to walk again, am I?”

  “We don’t really know yet, like I said...”

  Michael angrily cut her off. “Answer the god-damn question. I’m not going to walk again, am I?”

  “I don’t know, Michael,” she said apologetically. Tears began to well up in his eyes, and he looked at her, begging for an answer.

  “I’m not the one who should be telling you these things,” she said as a tear escaped her left eye. “We should get your doctor in here.”

  All he could get out was, “Please, Judy.”

  After she wiped the tear from her eye she said, “The odds are not in your favor.”

  Michael began to cry even more. She held his hand and said, “I believe if someone worked really hard and had some luck, they could beat this. That person could be you, Michael.”

  He cried with her for a while as he saw his hopes, dreams, and life melt away in his mind. Sensing he needed more comforting, Judy asked if he wanted someone to come in and be with him. “Get my sister Mary,” was all he could say between his gut-wrenching sobs. Judy went out to the waiting room to look for Mary but saw only Donna.

  When Donna saw the look on Judy’s face, she ran into the room before Judy could tell her he was asking for Mary. Donna ran over to hug her crying boyfriend, and with tears pouring down her face cried, “They are wrong, Michael. They are wrong. You’re going to be okay, you are going to come home, and we are going to get married and have two kids. This is our dream, Michael! This is our dream! They can’t take that away from us.”

  Michael saw his life rapidly slipping away and had already come to the conclusion that their dream was not going to happen. He did not want her to see him like this. All he could get out was, “Go get Mary.” Those words cut Donna like a knife. Now sobbing hysterically, she left the room to find Mary. Several minutes later Mary came running into the room. Michael was still crying but was able to get out full sentences. “What am I going to do now?” he cried. “How can I live like this?”

  Mary went from social worker mode to sister mode. “If anyone can beat this, Michael, it’s you. You have to keep fighting. You can’t give up. You have to keep fighting.”

  “What if I can’t do my job? How will I support myself? What will I do then?” he cried.

  Mary responded, “I don’t have any answers at the moment, Michael. We will cross those bridges when the time comes.” She put her forehead right up against his, fought back her own tears, and said, “This family doesn’t give up, and we aren’t going to let you give up. Do you hear me? We NEVER give up!”

  Donna and Carm stood in the doorway, crying and hugging each other. Anthony and Joe just stood behind them, lost in their own grief.

  Michael’s frustration and fears were taking him over, and he kept pounding both fists into the bed and crying, “I don’t want to live like this. I don’t want to be in a wheelchair the rest of my life.”

  “You can beat this, Michael. We will do this together, but you can’t give up. You can do this, Michael.”

  As Michael was punching the bed, he loosened the IV and was starting to bleed. Mary noticed the blood as the IV machine started beeping. She turned toward the door and told Donna to go get the nurse. Donna found his nurse, Karen, and told her what was going on as they headed into the room. Karen tried to get Michael to stop punching the bed so she could replace the IV.

  “Michael, if you let me replace this IV, I can give you something to help you relax,” Karen said in a calming voice.

  Mary held his arm down and marveled at how really great nurses can handle any situation. Michael calmed down enough for her to replace the IV. She ran to the nurse’s station and returned immediately with a syringe that she injected into the IV. It wasn’t long before Michael started to calm down and finally fell asleep.

  As Mary got up and headed towards the door, she moved back into social worker mode. She issued the following mandate to her family: “We all have to be strong for him now. We have to carry him when he’s down. No one cries in front of him. We do that here in the waiting room. We have to be a united front. Does everyone understand what I am saying?”

  Donna and Carm both nodded in agreement as they hugged each other. After watching his youngest son in so much pain, Anthony finally found his voice and asked Mary, “Do you really think he can beat this?”

  “The odds are against him, but it doesn’t matter what we think. What matters is that Michael has to believe he can beat it or he won’t fight to get better.” She paused as she looked at the four saddened faces staring at her. She thought to herself, They have to know what will happen if he gives up, but how do I say this without scaring the hell out of them? She finally said, “Most people with this injury who give up will be dead in a year or... ”

  Carm cut her off and said in a renewed and determined voice, “He will not give up. My children don’t give up. He will beat this. I know he will. I will stay here as long as I have to and I won’t let him give up.”

  The five of them just sat in the waiting room, waiting for Michael to wake up. Karen came over and said, “You should go get some dinner, and I’ll make sure he’s awake by the time you come back.”

  Michael was barely awake when they returned. He was still in a foggy state, so the five of them just sat with him, holding his hand and talking to him. They finally kissed him good-night and headed back to the dorm, weary from the long, draining day.

  When they returned Sunday morning, they found Michael awake and alert. They entered the room apprehensively, but Michael tried to ease the tension. “I’m okay. I had a long talk with Ellen last night when I finally woke up. She was straight with me. She explained what the surgery will be like and how long I should be under. Yes, the doctors think the odds are not in my favor, but fuck them. They don’t know me. I will beat this.”

  That statement brought big smiles to their faces. Family members trickled in all day to spend time with Michael before the surgery. They stayed late into the night. As his family prepared to leave, he pulled Mary close to him and said, “I’m really scared of something going wrong, but I’m not afraid to die. So if something goes wrong, don’t let them put me on a ventilator. Do you understand?”

  Mary nodded and said, “I know.”

  After fourteen hours in surgery, a member of the surgical team told the family the procedure was as successful as possible and that Michael would be in recovery until morning. Dr. Keller told Mary privately, “It’s what we discussed,” and that he and Dr. Steele would meet with the family in the morning.

  When they got back to the dormitories, Mary grimly said to her parents, “Dr. Steele and Dr. Keller want to meet with us tomorrow to discuss Michael’s prognosis.”

  Carm put her hand over her heart and gingerly lowered herself into a chair. “What do you think they are going to tell us?” she asked, but locked away in her heart, she knew. She just could not bring herself to speak the words.

  Mary said, “I don’t know.” But she was lying.

  Anne, the nurse, said, “It is not going to be good news, Mom. We better prepare for the worst.”

  Donna, the eternal optimist, said, “Maybe it will be good news. Maybe they will tell us he can go home soon.”

  They all gave her a melancholy smile. Anne poignantly said, “Donna, the colors of the rainbows in your world must be amazing.”

  “Well,” Donna said, trying t
o stay positive, “they might…” Her voice trailed off slowly like evaporating smoke rings.

  Carm just put her head down and continued working the rosary beads that had been in her hands continually since the initial phone call. The rest of the family took a deep collective sigh before Tony said, “It is what it is, and we will deal with it.”

  Tuesday morning at the hospital, the receptionist told Michael’s family that the doctors were ready to see them. Dr. Steele’s piercing brown eyes seemed genuinely surprised when she saw Michael’s parents, all of his brothers and sisters, along with Donna, two aunts and uncles, and four cousins walk into the room. She asked one of her assistants to get more chairs.

  Dr. Steele began, “As you know, we did the operation on Michael, and while we have to let the swelling go down, we now have a better understanding of his status. Michael dislocated the C-6, C-7 vertebrae and badly damaged the spinal cord, but he did not sever the spinal cord, thus making him an incomplete quadriplegic. During the surgery we placed him in a halo to further stabilize his spinal column and allow the bones to heal. He will wear the halo for about three months.”

  Mary, Anne, and Donna started crying. Carm, seeing their reaction, said, “I don’t understand what you are saying.”

  Dr. Steele restarted, “Michael broke his neck at the sixth and seventh cervical vertebrae, the vertebrae in the neck that surrounds the spinal cord.” Then she took a piece of paper and rolled it up into a cylinder. “Imagine this is a spinal cord.” She then crumpled the paper between her two fists. “The spinal cord cannot heal or regenerate itself. Although he did not sever the spinal cord, these scars will remain on his spinal cord. He may get back a little more feeling and movement in his arms and fingers but not much more. He will be in a wheelchair the rest of his life. He will need constant care. He will not have any control over his bowels and bladder. He will have trouble regulating his body temperature. He will likely need future surgeries. He will struggle with bladder, urinary tract, and kidney infections. His skin will start to break down from poor circulation. All of these issues can be fatal.”