A Love Story with a Little Heartbreak
Page 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Two hours later, Dr. von Hoerner entered the hallway outside the operating rooms once again, wanting to see Ruby and Henry, who were waiting and praying—mostly praying. They knew Connie was not out of the woods yet. As with anyone unfortunate enough to have to wait helplessly in the sterile environment of a hospital while a loved one is being operated on and hanging onto life by a thread, the ordeal was both mind-numbing and heartbreaking. In these instances, the worry and concern can be so great that no other thoughts are able to penetrate the dark and all-consuming mesh of fear and sorrow-filled soulful awareness of the misfortune. The thought that a positive outcome cannot be guaranteed pounces on one with the power of a raging grizzly in defense of her cubs.
Sleep can provide some relief, a respite, escape perhaps, but it is often so fitful that it may magnify the discomfort rather than providing solace. Sleep deprivation is a means of torture, and Ruby and Henry and their loyal friends could attest to the suffering they were experiencing as they waited for Connie’s life to be secured. It was a suffering that was layered with the suffering that they knew Connie would experience once she was out of surgery and into a new world, a world that would present her with such overwhelming sadness that she might regret her life.
Dr. von Hoerner spied Ruby and Henry and their three friends on the bench, seated side by side, silent and resting, exactly where he had left them a couple of hours ago. With their sudden awareness of his arrival, he put his palms up, suggesting that they stay seated. All obliged, almost delirious with the exhaustion caused by the worry that sapped them of their strength and spirit, yet all looked up hopefully, searching the doctor’s face for a sign that the news would be good. He gave them that right away.
“We think Connie will pull through,” von Hoerner said, opening with a tone of optimism, despite his evident fatigue. “As I said, she continues to respond. Stable, she is. The worst is behind her as far as life threatening injuries go.”
Henry interrupted, “Can we see her, Doc?”
“Oh no. Not now, not for several hours. Too much to do still. Even with the critical injuries behind her, there’s still several hours, at least,” von Hoerner replied. “She’ll be in post op care sometime later today, maybe late afternoon,” he sighed, unsure of what he would say, and then continued, “for, well, quite some time, and she’ll be heavily sedated till tomorrow anyway.” He looked at them and read their expressions: all of them were wanting to know what they should do next. He had seen that look countless times in his vast experience.
Ruby and Henry didn’t move; they just looked imploringly into Dr. von Hoerner’s eyes, waiting for his next words.
“Now,” von Hoerner said, “I think you all oughta go home, get some rest, collect yourselves. Come back tomorrow morning. That’s what I’d do. Maybe call Carl’s family.” He looked at the floor, shaking his head and beginning to feel the exhaustion setting in, before continuing, “Sorry for the Koehlers too, so sorry.”
He rose to his full height and then looked at everyone with the confidence that gives birth to hope returning to his voice. “We’ve still got Connie with us, but there’s nothing any of you can do here, at least not now. She’ll be heavily sedated for a long time, maybe even a couple of days before we let her come to. I’ll call you later today when I know more. Now go.” His final two words, stated with such finality, was a command that had to be obeyed. They all stood up, and the five of them, united in grief, slowly walked out the emergency entrance and into air that was so cold and brutal that a breath of it stung their lungs, reminding them of how harsh life can be—not that they needed reminding.
How could each of them not ask themselves how Connie could possibly deal with her life now, which had been so upended as to be nearly unimaginable. Carl was gone, and with his eternal absence, there would be only memories of the perfect union he and Connie had had, only memories of times with Carl and Connie, only memories of the light they brought with them whenever they entered a room, only memories of the beautiful harmony of their spontaneously shared laughter. And now, the end of all their shared dreams was known. And who could not feel the loss of that special couple without feeling another arrow to the heart upon learning of the loss of the promise of a life that their unborn baby held? How infinite and immeasurable that joy would have been, and what joy would have been shared by anyone in contact with them. Who could not feel that loss and have the strength and daring to search for the right words to express it?
There would be no words, as no one would want the pain that would be invoked by saying anything more than that Carl was gone, Connie lost the baby, and her life would never, never be the same. Surely, she would not even appear to be the same person because of the scars. But a deeper humanity knows that the scars in the depths of her being would be the greatest, and they would never go away. At best, they could be lived with, but at that particular moment, no one would have thought that possible. Not even Connie.
Life is nothing without hope. No force is stronger than the life force within us. Evolution has assured us of that. Those born with the double helix that lacks “the will to live” gene don’t get to pass their genes on and on through the march of time. Hope is what motivates the human spirit to go beyond its own limits, to do what some think cannot be done, to survive what people call the unsurvivable. Sometimes hope appears within us as a raging forest fire, inextinguishable and scorching in its passion, commanding us to live. And sometimes it is the smallest of flames, like a flicker of a candle that is so distant that we are beyond its heat.
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