My mind is racing. I’ve always been better with numbers and statistics. I get this from my dad. Everything makes more sense if you can attach a figure to it.
“What? What do you mean?” The confusion in his voice is clear, but I don’t care.
“Grandpa, listen. I need the numbers. What are the chances he is going to be okay?”
“I’m, I’m really not sure how to answer that.”
“Well, then put on someone who fucking does.”
I wince at the disgust in my language; I didn’t mean to curse at him. My mom will definitely lecture me for saying a curse word to him, much less the infamous f-bomb.
“Hello, this is Donna. Is this Natalie?”
Who the hell is Donna?! Why are there so many people at the hospital who apparently know more than I do? Why is everyone there but not me?
“What are the chances he is going to be okay? I need a percentage.”
“Natalie…”
Her voice is calm and steady. How are you calm during a situation like this? Her voice bothers me from the start.
“That’s an impossible question to answer. Every situation in a hospital is different. Miracles happen.”
This is the most unhelpful Donna in the world. I need to make a mental note to personally find Donna when I get there and tell her she needs to work on her calculations.
There’s only silence on the line.
“Natalie, I really think you should come home.”
“Donna, I really think I need a figure.”
“Please” I repeat. I plead.
She sighs before answering, “I would say a 50% chance.”
I can take a 50% chance.
Dawn
I can hear my dad arguing on the phone with Natalie. He turns to face me and covers the mouthpiece.
“She wants to drive. She says it’ll be faster.” He looks exhausted from their conversation. His eyes have lost their sheen and are a tint of red. Even his shoulders stoop lower and his hair is out of place from rubbing his fingers through it so much.
“No way. Tell her no. It’s too far.”
He turns away and returns to bickering.
Natalie is so stubborn; she always has been. Corey and I always say her stubbornness is why she will be successful. When she wants something, she will get it no matter what anyone else says or thinks. She graduated early from her undergraduate program, despite not coming in with any AP credits, and was going to finish her master’s degree soon. She’s following her brother’s footsteps into the accounting industry. Natalie has watched her brother launch a prosperous career, and I knew she wanted to indulge in the perks of success, too. Somehow, we raised three wonderful kids. All three were on their own pathway to a promising life.
My dad rushes towards me as I drift away in my thoughts.
“Dawn, she isn’t listening.”
“Ugh. Fine. But tell her she has to drive with someone. She cannot come down alone. No if, ands, or buts.”
I don’t even need to think about whom she will call. I know exactly who will take this ten-hour journey with her. I have to call him before she does.
“Hi, Mrs. Owen. How are you doing?”
Despite me telling him numerous times to call me Dawn, he’s always too polite to do so.
“Brandon. Corey is in the hospital.”
“Natalie told me this afternoon, I am so sorry. How is he doing?”
I don’t have time to catch up.
“Natalie needs to come home. She wants to drive, but it’s a long trip to do alone. Can you drive with her?”
My sentences feel short and harsh.
“Right now?”
I don’t answer; I want to give his brain time to work through the logistics.
“Of course I can. Let me, um, drive to her hotel, I was on my way home but I can turn around.”
I hear him pull his car somewhere, switch gears to reverse and eventually back to drive, completely changing his direction.
“Brandon, don’t let anything happen to her.”
I should’ve told him to forget it and enjoy his weekend at home, but Natalie needs him. I need him. We all need him.
“She’s calling me now.”
“Take it. Keep me updated with your ETA.”
The phone call ends abruptly and I close my eyes. “God, please get my kids here safely.”
This is the first time I find myself praying today. I’m a devoted Christian and right now is the first time I am praying; and it’s for my kids. What is wrong with me?
- FOUR -
|7:45 PM|
Thomas
As we walk into the hospital, it dawns on me I never received the room number from my grandpa. I shoot him and my mom a text “room number??”
The lady at the front desk seems tired as she looks up from her computer. She’s hunched over and if it wasn’t for her hand nestled under her ear, I’m not sure her head would stay upright. Our eyes meet as I get closer. Taking in a long sigh beforehand, she asks, “Can I help you?”
“Um, I’m not sure. I’m here to visit my dad but I don’t know his room number”
“Do you know what unit?”
Jeez-- I really have no information. My face gets warm from embarrassment in front of this complete stranger and Chris.
“No, but I just sent them a text. I’m sorry.”
“What’s his name? I can try looking him up in the system.”
“Corey Owen.”
My voice cracks when I tell her his name. My dad has been in the hospital before, but he never let us visit him. It feels weird and out of place for me to be here now.
“Oh, yes. I see him. Eleventh floor. ICU Unit. Room 1B.”
I remember when Kristen had her first clinical rotation in ICU. She told us so many creepy stories at dinner that night; many of them I still am trying to forget. But what stood out the most was when she told us the ordering of the rooms. “Did you know the room numbers actually signify the urgency of the patient? The first rooms are for those in the most serious conditions.” I remember thinking it made logical sense and couldn’t figure out why it surprised her so much.
I swear I can hear her telling us about it right now. Fuck. He’s in room 1.
Kristen
This elevator is going so slow. I’m astounded at how full it is when I first enter the elevator on the ground floor. By the time I reach the eleventh floor, it has made 6 different stops. Why is the ICU unit always so high in hospitals? Doesn’t it make sense to make it the second floor so families can see their critical loved ones right away?
The doors creep open, and I’m surprised at the number of faces that turn to look at me when I step off the elevator. I assume many families are waiting for others to join them in the dark waiting room. It’s almost as if I can hear someone saying, “closer, almost there, a few more steps” as I walk around the corner trying to find my mom. My body knows where to go without thinking.
I see my brother first. His eyes look puffy. Is he crying? I can’t remember the last time I ever saw him cry- or really if I ever have. Who are all of these people sitting with them? It takes my brain a second to recognize Marianne. What is she doing here? Then I try to make out who is next to my brother, but my brain can’t make sense of his face.
My brother shoots up from his chair to come give me a hug. He isn’t saying a word. On top of the shock of his welled-up eyes, I can’t believe he is hugging me right now. He only hugs me when I ask for a hug.
“Who is that next to you” I whisper in his ear.
“Oh, it’s Chris, my neighbor. He drove me here.”
I wish someone drove me here. I could barely see the road, my eyes were so foggy from tears.
“I better be heading out,” I hear the now-known Chris announce. Thomas heads over to walk him out and thank him for coming. I look back at the others in the room. Marianne seems so put together. I don’t know her very well, but there is something about her right now that brings comfort to the room. Her eyes
seem light and she cracks a soft smile when her eyes meet mine. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. I know she is there to support us, with whatever we need. Which reminds me, I never made it inside to let Oakley out. He has surely had an accident in the house by now.
I make my way over to Marianne to tell her but my feet stop in front of my mother. She doesn’t seem phased by my presence. I lean in, “Mom?” I ask. No response. I sit down next to her and grab her hand. She feels cold, but then again she is always cold. She appears surprised by my touch and jolts back a little. “Hi sweetie.” Her eyes seem tender and the circles under them seem darker. I can tell she is being strong for us, or at least trying to be strong for us.
“I’m going to let you all be together. I’ll take care of the house and Oakley. Nothing to worry about back home.”
We all look up at Marianne. She has always been such a good neighbor to my parents. Despite the fifteen-year age gap between her and my mom, Marianne was always there for her, for us.
“Call me if you need anything.” She’s looking firmly at my mom when she says it. We all know it will take a lot for my mom to ask for help. Before anyone can respond, a nurse appears in the hallway. I wonder if this is the nurse I heard during my phone call with my grandpa.
“They are starting the procedure. The doctor will come out with an update once the procedure is finished.”
I didn’t know about a procedure. I have questions and I need answers, but my mom looks too tired to talk.
Natalie
“Hello?”
“It’s gotten worse, Brandon. I have to go home” My mind is still running rapidly.
“I know, your mom called me.”
You have got to be kidding me. She could call him and not me? She made my grandpa call me-- so much for being her confidant.
“What’s the plan? I can meet you at your hotel.” Brandon knows I already would have a plan in motion.
“No, no. My hotel is out of the way and I don’t want to sit here waiting for you. I want to meet right off exit 23. It’s in between us both and it won’t delay us.”
“I think there’s a Wal-Mart right there. I can park in the parking lot.”
Brandon never thinks things through. This tends to be one of my biggest pet peeves about him. He lives too much in the spur of the moment; he doesn’t think five steps ahead like I tend to do. But maybe that is why we work so well together-- he flies by the seat of his pants and I overplan; almost to the point of sucking the fun out of everything.
“Who knows how long we’ll be there. Do you really want to come back to your car being towed from a Wal-Mart parking lot?” I am being snooty and I know it. I don’t know why I do this. He’s only trying to help, but I can’t help it as the sarcasm rolls off my tongue.
“Okay, I’m sorry. What do you think?” He’s so timid now. Did I make him feel like this? Am I always this rude when I panic?
“I’m going to call Casey. Her parents live two miles off the exit and I’m sure she is home for the weekend already.”
I hang up and give her a call as I frantically pack my suitcase back up. I’m running between the bathroom and the closet trying to gather everything as I listen to the unanswered rings.
“Hey Nat!” she finally yells.
There’s a ton of background noise. I can barely hear her over the loud music and countless people yelling around her. Where is she?
“Casey, are you home?”
That’s a dumb question. Obviously she isn’t. Unless her parents were suddenly into throwing ragers.
“No, I’m at a friend’s apartment. Why? What’s up!”
“Um, It’s a long story…”
I let my voice trail off so I have time to take a deep breath before going on.
“But I have to drive home.”
I can almost hear my heart beat now.
“My dad’s in the hospital.”
I hate saying the truth out loud, no longer able to avoid the reality of it all. My vision begins to blur as the tears fill my eyes. You can’t lose it Natalie, not yet.
“What! Is everything okay?”
Her voice gets sharper and I can tell her buzz is starting to wear off with the sobering news.
“Look, I was wondering if I could park Brandon’s car at your parents. He’s making the drive home with me.”
“Of course--I can come with too. Tell me what I can do. I’m only 20 minutes from my parents; let me know when you’re close.”
She’s such a good friend. She always wants to help, but truthfully I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to see anyone. Not even Brandon. I know I will lose it, and I hate that side of me.
“No, there is nothing you can do.”
“Let me know when you’re close. I want to give you a hug.”
A hug isn’t going to solve anything, or even make me feel better. It will simply waste time.
“I will. Talk soon.”
As I hang up the phone, I already have decided I will tell her when I’m five minutes away, knowing it won’t give her enough time to race home. I’ll tell her I completely forgot and I got tied up with the drive. I can’t see her. I won’t know what to say to avoid breaking down.
Flashbacks of recent phone calls with my dad come to mind during my drive to meet Brandon. It’s been almost three months since I was last home. My friends and I went to Punta Cana for our last college spring break. Our last get away before the real world would hit. I saved up enough money to pay for the trip for myself and Brandon. A few years ago I promised myself I would stop asking my parents for money. I worked three jobs in college, but it was worth it.
I remember sitting in my friend’s kitchen talking to his parents before we left for the Pittsburgh airport.
“I feel guilty for not going home this spring break.”
My mom didn’t seem thrilled when I told her my plans in February. I knew she missed me and really just wanted me to come home for the week.
“Why, sweetie? Your parents understand you have been working so hard. You’ll be home soon enough. Go enjoy yourself!”
Mrs. DeLeo made me feel better for the moment. My parents did understand, right? She made me feel like my guilt was unnecessary, but now I’m wondering if I was on to something after all.
I have to get away from my thoughts or this drive alone will send me into an anxiety attack. I need to call someone. I look through my contacts and land on my grandmother. I haven’t heard from her yet and I’m sure she is struggling not to call us.
She picks up on the first ring. “Natalie, where are you?”
Why does everyone keep asking that!
I ignore her question. “Any update on Dad?”
“Nothing yet.”
Her voice cracks, trying to keep herself together and not fall apart to me.
“I have been praying so hard, Natalie, I really have.”
She stretches out the word really, almost trying to emphasize it in an attempt to convince me.
I know she is praying, she doesn’t need to convince me. She’s always been good about saying her rosary, especially for others. My throat and chest tighten with each prayer she says over the phone. The hole in my heart grows deeper with every additional prayer to St. Jude. We’re one of hundreds, thousands, millions praying to St. Jude for a miracle. How can prayers make me feel so empty? So small? I don’t mention any of this to her. She keeps praying while I listen in silence. It feels like hours before she stops, but at least it is numbing my emotions.
After what seems to be her hundredth ‘Glory Be,’ the silence takes over the call. She doesn’t know what to say anymore; all of the prayers have been exhausted but I still have about forty-five minutes until my exit. The eeriness of the line is starting to get to me. Images of a hospital bed, my family sitting in a waiting room, my dad being rushed to surgery start filling my mind. No longer in control of my vision, I watch as the scenes play out. Tears falling from my sister’s eyes, doctors trying to explain what is goi
ng on, I squeeze my eyes shut trying to make it all stop.
“This can’t be happening! It can’t.”
I let go.
Panic sets in and fear rises to meet my tears, patiently waiting to be released. I let out every emotion I’d been so desperately trying to hold in. Each sob makes it harder to breathe. Each breath I take feels like I’m getting the wind knocked out of me. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. We’re not the family this stuff happens to. The road isn’t as clear anymore. My grandma keeps saying, “Natalie, I need you to breathe,” and “Natalie, how much farther until you meet Brandon.” But I can’t answer her. I can’t talk, I can’t think, I can’t do anything but press my right foot down on the gas pedal. As hard as I can.
Out of nowhere, the bright green exit sign is glaring at me. I am minutes away from Brandon. I need to pull myself together, and I can’t do that talking to my grandma anymore. As I end the phone call, she promises one last time that she won’t stop praying.
Off the exit, waiting at a red light, my phone dings with a text message from Brandon. “Picked up the essentials. Red Bull, tissues, and a bottle of Equate Stay Awake caffeine pills. Get here safely. I love you.” This is going to be a long car ride; hopefully by the time I get there he’s feeling better. I’m grateful to soon get to be in the passenger seat, to focus on anything besides driving.
Before pulling into Casey’s driveway, I make one last plea. “God, please let us get there safely,” I whisper as I look down at the clock and notice that it’s almost ten o’clock at night. It physically hurts to cry now, but I manage to whisper one last thing. “Let him be okay… please let him be okay.”
|10:49 PM|
Thomas
The waiting room is starting to empty as families are deciding to get a good night’s sleep before returning in the morning. I scan the room. People have glassiness over their eyes, staring off into the distance. I wonder if the majority of us are sleeping with our eyes open. My grandpa seems so weak in the corner. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s so tired, or if he knows this scene too well. He is in charge of informing my dad and my mom’s family of the news. I can’t imagine the toll this role is taking on his body and mind. I would hate to have to retell the same story to multiple people as the devastation sets in on the other line. I think about all of the whimpering tears he must be hearing. Thank goodness he is here with us. My grandparents moved from Colorado to South Carolina about a year ago. It was difficult for them to leave the state they loved so dearly, but both agreed it was time to leave the mountains and move to warmer weather. They are about a twenty-minute drive from our house now. Funny how things tend to work out the way they do.
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