by Starr, Faith
“When he arrived his breathing was labored, so they had to intubate. That means the emergency room physician inserted a tube into his trachea to help him breathe.”
My mother paled. She inched backward toward a chair and collapsed into it.
“Are you okay?” the doctor asked.
She nodded while cupping her forehead.
“Let me get you some juice, Mom. You could use a sugar boost. There’s a vending machine over there. I’ll be right back.”
I dashed for the machine and pulled some singles out of my wallet.
A fucking breathing tube? What the hell had happened in that center?
Maybe I could use some juice too. I purchased two bottles and returned with them in hand. My father was sitting next to my mom, comforting her by holding her and rubbing her arm.
The doctor took a breather, allowing me and my mother to get some sugar into our systems. When we both finished drinking, we motioned for him to continue. I plopped down next to the folks. I had a feeling the news the doc was about to deliver wasn’t going to be positive.
“The CT scan showed a large, expanding subdural hematoma.”
“What’s that?” I asked. The guy was speaking in a foreign language.
“Simply put, a subdural hematoma is caused by head trauma. The paramedics informed us that Mr. Allen suffered a fall at the center where he is currently residing. What happens is that when the head is jolted or shaken, a vein beneath the skull can rupture. Blood then pools between the skull and the brain, which causes increased pressure. It is acute, and I have to inform you that the risk of death from such a head trauma is more than fifty percent. It is one of the most lethal of all head injuries. We have called in a neurosurgeon because Mr. Allen will require emergency surgery to help decompress the brain. Since he’s on blood thinners, it makes the procedure more of a risk. Therefore, he’ll need to be given blood products to try and reverse the bleeding. At his age and condition, I’m sorry to say the prognosis isn’t good.”
My mother sobbed in her hands. My father tightened his grip on her.
“What type of surgery are we talking about?” he asked.
“I’m not a neurosurgeon. He will describe the procedure in more detail. But basically, a craniotomy is a surgical procedure where the skull is opened to remove a blood clot.”
“This is serious.”
No shit, Dad. Had he not been listening to what the doctor was saying?
“As soon as the neurosurgeon arrives, I’ll let you know. He will then take over Mr. Allen’s care. Due to the urgency of the procedure, I am not sure if you will be able to speak with him beforehand.”
Jesus Christ. All I could think about was what the doctor had said about my grandfather having more than a fifty percent chance of dying. How could this be?
Wanting to keep the guys in the loop, I shot them a quick text but told them not to reach out, that I’d be in touch as soon as I had more information to share. Besides, I didn’t want to speak to anybody, especially since I had no news to give.
Being my mom was my grandfather’s power of attorney, she busily signed all the surgical consent forms, tears wetting them as she scribbled her name on each page.
Once all the administrative bullshit was finished, we were advised the neurosurgeon had arrived and that my grandfather was being taken back for surgery.
We sat in a surgical waiting room. Sadly, we still hadn’t seen my grandfather, nor had we met the neurosurgeon.
I didn’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t say goodbye. My heart was broken in a million pieces.
Other than my mother crying, the three of us sat in silence. My father played on his phone. I stared at the television, not paying attention to it, just watching the news reporters share stories. My mind was in a haze.
A doctor dressed in scrubs with a beanie on his head entered the room. Since there were no other visitors, he spoke openly. “I’m Dr. Evans. Are you the Josephs family?”
My father rose. “Yes. We are the Josephs.”
“I’m Dr. Burns, the neurosurgeon who performed surgery on Morris Allen. I managed to decompress his brain, but he bled a lot during the procedure and continues to bleed. He has a drain in his head to help control the pressure—”
“Will he be okay?” My mother interrupted from her seated position.
“Let him finish, dear,” my father said calmly, rubbing her back. “Please continue, Dr. Burns.”
“I’m sorry to say that unfortunately, the anesthesiologist who assisted me feels Mr. Allen may have suffered a heart attack during surgery. We’re doing the best we can for him, but sadly, the odds are against him right now.”
Why the hell hadn’t he started with that tidbit of information instead of waiting ‘til the end to drop the bomb? Why tell us about drains and shit if the situation was futile?
My mother trembled and sobbed inconsolably.
“I’ll leave you to write my orders. Once he is recovered, he will be placed in the ICU.”
“When can we see him?” My eyes needed confirmation to get a clearer picture of this disaster.
“The ICU has strict visiting hours. They are posted at the entrance to the unit.”
The man left us alone to deal with the horrific news he had given us.
“My gosh. I better call my sister. She’ll want to fly in,” my mom spat out between sobs.
“Don’t jump the gun, dear.”
My mother glared at my father. “You heard what the doctor said. It doesn’t look good. My sister has a right to know.”
My father leaned back in his chair, quieting. Smart move on his part. My mother retrieved her cell from her purse and reached out to my aunt. If things were as bad as the doctor said they were, she’d never make it to the hospital to say goodbye in person. I, for one, wasn’t leaving until I got to see my grandfather.
My mom spoke to her sister for an eternity, crying throughout the entire phone call. I played on my phone, anything to distract myself. I thought about texting Lizzie, but it was the middle of the night. It wasn’t fair to wake her with bad news.
Another hour or two later, a different doctor entered the waiting room. “Excuse me, are you the Josephs family?”
My mother, father, and I jumped up from our seats.
“Yes, I’m his daughter. How is he doing?”
“I’m Dr. Cohen, one of the ICU doctors. Things aren’t going as well as we’d hoped. We’ve put Mr. Allen on multiple medications to help his heart, but they’re not working. Since the patient has a DNR, a do not resuscitate order, if his heart stops, we will not do CPR. I think it would be best if you want to see him, no more than two visitors at once, now would be the time to do so. He’s currently unresponsive. I don’t think he’ll be able to hold out much longer.”
What. The. Honest. Fuck?
My parents and I stood there, stunned, none of us speaking.
“I’m going first, and by myself.”
My mother sniffled and dried her eyes with the same tissue she had been using for the last hour.
“I will show you to his room,” the doctor advised.
My mother brushed past me and my father, and left with the doctor.
“How are you holding up, son?”
What a dumb question.
“How do you think I’m holding up?”
“I understand you’re hurting, but your mother will need extra support right now.”
She needed extra support? What about me? Not to be a selfish bastard, but my mother had barely any relationship with the man. Sure, he was her father. But in a sense, my grandfather had been that to me as well. My dad had done a shit job of stepping up to the plate. My grandpa had been the only family member I had in my corner who believed in my talent and encouraged me to follow my dream.
My mother returned about a half hour later with puffier eyes. This royally sucked.
“It’s my turn. I’ll be back.” I spoke before my father had a chance to. I didn’t want him accompanying me ei
ther.
“He’s in the ICU which is down the hall and to the right. Room 24,” my mom advised.
“Thanks.” I rubbed her arm and left for the ICU.
After getting buzzed into the unit, I located room 24. My grandpa was resting peacefully. Seeing a drain sticking out of his head with blood emptying into a bag left me feeling queasy. As a result, I fell into the chair next to his bed. He was so much worse than I’d imagined, and I’d had low expectations. He was on oxygen, had an IV, and was pale as a ghost—his coloring faded to almost nothing.
“Hey, Gramps.”
Don’t let him hear your pain. Be strong.
“You’ve seen better days. That’s for damn sure. I don’t know if you can hear me. Doesn’t matter. I’ll speak anyway. I want you to know you have been and will continue to be the man I admire the most, whether you’re with me in person or in spirit. You’ve been there for me during the good, the bad, and the ugly. All of it. And you’ve supported me through everything. I can’t say the same for my parents. No offense to your daughter but she had her own shit to deal with. That fucked-up situation affected all of us. The love I received from you made me the man I am today. Your faith in me encouraged me to believe in myself even when I didn’t. I wish I could have done something to prevent this. I’m blaming myself because I have the means and could have easily provided you with round-the-clock care. I guess I was ignorant and thought you were being cared for better than you were. That’s what happens when you make assumptions. I’m praying for you, Gramps. Hang in there. I love you.”
I reached forward and touched his frail hand. Tears slid down my cheeks. I knew this would be the last time I’d see and speak to him alive.
With a heavy heart, I left him to rest. I shuffled along the linoleum flooring to the waiting room.
“I’m next,” my dad said upon seeing me. He rose from his chair.
“Go down the hall and—”
My father cut my mom off. “I know. Make a right. He’s in room 24.”
Nerves were getting rattled. We were all on edge.
She nodded and wiped her nose, thankfully using a fresh tissue.
My father left for the ICU.
“Aunt Becky’s flying out in a few hours. That was the soonest flight she could get.”
Words wouldn’t form in my mouth. I felt heartbroken and sick to my stomach. I wanted to go home. I wasn’t stupid. The next conversation my parents would have with a doctor would be over the death of my grandfather. But I couldn’t abandon my mother. Damn guilt.
How strange that when I sat next to her and wrapped my arm around her, anger filled me. I didn’t understand why. She was suffering as much as I was, if not more.
“At least you didn’t have to leave the tour to come home and deal with this.”
I retreated and sat upright. Fuck the comforting.
“I would’ve left the tour in a heartbeat. Why are you even saying that right now?”
“Because my new reality is that my father will be gone, you’ll be gone…” She cried.
“Jesus, Mom. I’m not dying or dead. You make it seem as if you’ll never see me again. And Grandpa is still breathing.”
“For how long?”
She had me there.
“I want my children nearby. Is that so terrible?”
Children?
“I’m going outside to get some fresh air.” I needed my grandfather’s oxygen mask about now. It was no wonder my head was such a mess inside. Half of my genetic stock came from my mother.
The breeze felt divine blowing against my face. With closed eyes, I took slow, deep breaths and allowed the freshness of it to enter my lungs.
I strolled back and forth in front of the hospital, hands balled into fists, teeth clenched, muscles stiff, for what seemed like eons—not in the right frame of mind to go back inside or deal with my overbearing and overprotective mother. The best thing I had ever done was take off with the band. Being on tour helped me gain independence. It taught me how to be an adult and make grown-up decisions. And fast. Music was a tough gig. A business easy to get lost in. You had to keep your head screwed on straight to remain in it. Which was something I had to do right now. I couldn’t let my mother take me down with her. She had done a superb job of doing so in the past. Misery loved company. She was the expert on that saying.
My phone signaled a text.
Dad:The doctor informed us that your grandfather has left us and is at peace. His body couldn’t handle all it had been through. Your mother and I are waiting to speak with a social worker. Why don’t you go home? We’ll touch base tomorrow. Funeral arrangements will have to be made. It will probably be in the next few days.
Thanks for the text, Dad.
Un-fucking-believable for him to share that news with me in such a cold manner.
The important thing was that my grandfather had heard me out. He had given me the opportunity to share my feelings with him in person before saying goodbye. This time for good.
24
Lizzie
“Sorry, Lizzie. We haven’t heard anything.”
The center had no clue as to the status of Ryan’s grandpa, and Ryan hadn’t answered my texts. I’d simply have to wait until he reached out to me. Until then, I called Hailey to let her know we could meet for our ritual Saturday morning coffee. I was more than past due for an AA meeting. My emotions were all over the place. Ryan and I had spent a wonderful day at the resort. Then he flipped out for whatever reason after receiving my gift. To top it off, his grandfather got injured at the center. That’s not how I had envisioned the weekend to turn out.
Hailey all but jumped on me when I entered the coffee shop.
“We need to talk.” She curled her finger to signal me to follow her to our usual chairs in the corner. “Spill it.”
“Don’t you want to order tea first?”
“We have more important things to discuss, Lizzie.”
Uh-oh. She only used my name at the end of a sentence when something was wrong. Perhaps she and Doug were fighting.
“What going on?”
She scooted her chair closer to mine, then opened her phone screen and stuck it in front of me. “This is what’s going on.”
There were pictures of Ryan and me in the swimming pool at the resort. A few were of him teaching me how to swim, but to anyone who didn’t know that, the angle of the pictures made it appear as though he was groping me. Then there were pictures of the two of us kissing, which added to the believability that something sexual was taking place between us. Crap! My muscles instantly tensed.
“Where did you find these?”
“I follow On The Fence. Since you met Ryan, I’ve become a more devoted fan. These were on one of their fan pages.”
What? “Oh my gosh, Hailey!”
“Keep it down.”
Others glanced in our direction.
I made sure to keep my voice low. “Those pictures are deceiving. Ryan was teaching me how to swim. Nothing more.”
“Outsiders might see something different.” She pointed to the pictures of us kissing.
“I remember a photographer taking pictures. I didn’t realize he had taken so many. Ryan asked him to show us some respect. Are there any descriptions? Does it say who I am?”
She scrolled down the screen. “‘Ryan Josephs, lead singer of On The Fence, has a weekend rendezvous with a mystery woman,’ ‘Ryan Josephs’s secret lover isn’t so secret if their public displays in a public pool have anything to say about it,’ ‘The new woman in Ryan Josephs’s life. Who is she?’”
“What nonsense. They’re trying to create a beefy story when there is none.”
“Wait, there’s more. Are you sure you’re in the right frame of mind to hear it?”
How bad could it be?
“Yes. A guy took pictures of us in a pool. No biggie.”
“You’ll think differently after I read this to you.”
I rolled my hand to make her move
it along. “Get to it then.”
She took a deep breath. “Alright. Here goes, ‘Ryan Josephs hires an escort to attend a charity function.’”
“What charity function? What are they talking about?”
“Then there’s this one. ‘Ryan Josephs’s new woman: band playmate?’”
My mouth fell open. “What?”
“You might want to speak to Ryan about this.”
“I wish I could. He’s been MIA and hasn’t responded to any of my texts.”
“You told me what happened with his grandfather. He hasn’t given you any updates yet?”
“I know as much as you do. I’m hoping no news is good news.”
“Me too. Maybe he doesn’t know about all this media garbage because he’s too busy with his family.”
“Still, I’m not going to take those stupid stories to heart. They’re lies.”
“Keep that attitude, and you’ll be fine.”
“Ryan told me he’s learned to develop a thick skin because of all the nonsense reporters say about him and his bandmates.”
“The difference is you’re not a celebrity. It could affect you a lot differently. For him and his band, it’s free publicity.”
She was right. Dammit. This was bad. Looking at the bright side, I figured it could be worse. The pictures weren’t risqué. If that was the worst the paparazzi could do, I could deal with it.
“Can we have our tea now?” I asked.
“I’ll take mine leaded. How ‘bout you?”
“Unleaded.” Caffeine was off-limits. I was jittery enough thanks to Hailey and her news update.
She got our beverages while I scrolled through the pictures on her phone. At least the reporter didn’t say anything negative about my appearance or physique. That would have totally done me in.
We drank our tea.
My nerves heightened again because the conversation me and Ryan had about me telling my friends the truth about the club had remained in the forefront of my mind. No more delays.
“What’s going on inside that brain of yours?” she asked, scratching a mosquito bite on her ankle.
“Don’t do that. It’ll scar.”