I swear my mom hasn’t moved a millimeter in the past half-hour. She is as still as possible. It’s almost as if she thinks any movement will screw something up. I turn to face my sister. She hasn’t stopped crying since she got here. I tried comforting her earlier, but it didn’t seem to help so I brought her tissues and moved my seat. Sometimes you have to let them cry it out.
We all seem so distant right now. We haven’t spoken a word since the nurse last came out.
The opening of the door is such a faint, but distinctive noise. Everyone still in the waiting room turns their neck so fast to see if it’s their turn to get an update. I wonder how many of us will have a crick when it’s all done and over with. My mom stands up. She must recognize the nurse who signals us over.
“The surgeon and ICU doctor will be out shortly.”
Not quite the update we’re looking for, but at least we know we are close. Shortly after, the doors open to reveal a man in a white coat. His age shows under his eyes, but the blackness of his hair hides any evidence of being older than forty.
“The Owen family?”
No one says a word, but I assume someone shook his or her head because he continues.
“We found the source of the bleeding. It appears he had a rupture in his gastric artery. I have to be honest…”
His pause lingers throughout the room.
“This is one of the biggest ruptures I’ve seen. Are you sure he wasn’t on any abnormal medication? Blood thinners?”
“No” my mom blurts out. “He had foot surgery a little bit ago, that’s why he has the cast on his foot. He was on pain medication, and aspirin, for that surgery. But that’s it.”
The doctor’s eyes turn to the ceiling, trying to connect the dots.
“Full-strength aspirin, I guess.” She adds slowly.
Why did she correct herself? The doctor writes down the additional information and looks back up at us.
“We stopped the bleeding for now. It’s definitely looking better than before the surgery. And, truthfully, if all remains good, this procedure may have just saved your husband’s life.”
The air feels lighter; the energy feels stronger. The hope is slowly rising in the room. My grandpa smiles directly at my mom, who finally seems present again. He grabs his phone and heads for the hallway. I assume he is going to update the family on the news of stopping the bleeding.
“Corey will be allowed to have visitors shortly. But I must warn you, you must be calm. We want to ensure he stays calm, but I think hearing from you all might help him. Give him strength.”
The excitement in the room pushes us all to stand up and pass along hugs. It finally feels like we are in this together now; we can do this together. We can see the light at the end of the tunnel again.
Dawn
The embrace of Kristen and Thomas gives me strength. I can feel my body regaining energy with each hug. The door opens again, but this time it’s a face I don’t recognize. I assume it’s a doctor for another family, but then he comes over and slams into the chair next to us. Can’t he see that we're in the middle of celebrating the first good news of the night?
“Dawn Owen?” he grunts.
I answer, confused, while glancing over to my kids; “Yes?”
“I am the ICU doctor. I have been monitoring your husband.”
“Oh, hello! Did you hear the good news? The surgeon came out and told us they stopped the bleeding!”
My voice is giddy with excitement. We needed this.
“Look. I was supposed to leave at 7 PM tonight. I should be with my family right now, but I’m here and it’s almost midnight.”
Squinting my eyes, I try to figure out if he’s being serious, if he’s really saying this to us right now. Look doctor, we also have had a shitty night so I’m going to need you to take your pity party somewhere else. I can’t help the amount of distaste on my facial expression to this new doctor.
“We aren’t out of the woods, Mrs. Owen. Your husband still has a long way to go.”
Even as he pauses, he refuses to look up to meet my eyes.
“We aren’t sure of any organ damage as a result of the prolonged bleeding.”
If he’s going to be in a bad mood about getting home late, that’s fine, but don’t bring us down. Not after we received good news-- very good news, for the first time today. He reaches for his breast pocket to grab a business card and, suddenly, it turns into 52-card pick up.
“Damn it!”
All wide-eyed, we watch him lunge towards the floor. Kristen leans down to help him pick up some of the fallen cards while the rest of our eyes go back and forth between each other’s faces trying to make sense of what exactly is going on.
“I’m sorry. Here’s a business card.”
He hands one over as he continues to pick up the rest.
“Call me if you need anything. I will be back in the morning to check on him and our staff will be closely monitoring him tonight.”
Ha! As if I would call you! You’re already bothered enough having to stay late. I can’t imagine adding on to your inconvenience. Blood is boiling and I can’t help but think, this is your job, isn’t it?
“He’s not out of the woods, Mrs. Owen. I want to be clear on that.”
His eyes look so fatigued. The redness of his eyes brings attention to the dryness and intensity of the day. He must be sleep deprived, or delusional, at the least. Once he finally leaves, we all look at each other confused on what just happened. The energy is rocked, but it isn’t gone.
Natalie
The car ride has been pretty quiet so far. No music playing, and, between the two of us, I’d guess less than seven words have been exchanged. I wish I could talk to Brandon, see what he is thinking, but I know I need to remain silent. The moment I open my mouth, there is a chance I won’t be able to stop. The fear of what may be unleashed overcomes me and I remain hush. Plus, the silence helps me feel numb. The quietness allows me to take a step further away from reality, and I prefer this feeling over opening up.
My phone rings and I hit accept before even looking at who it is. The call automatically connects through Bluetooth.
“How’s the drive?” It’s Thomas.
“Any update?”
The irritation builds up inside of me and my voice sounds snarky. I have sent everyone individual text messages asking for updates six times and no one has answered. I understand it was my decision to move to Erie, but at least answer me!
“The doctors found the source of the bleeding and fixed it.”
I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath in, but suddenly it’s releasing from my lungs as I hear the good news.
“It’s looking super hopeful here!”
Did we make a big deal out of nothing? Are we driving down here for nothing?
The irritation inside of me redirects from my family to myself.
What am I thinking? It isn’t going to be for nothing. I will be able to talk to my dad and tell him to never scare me like this again. Tell my mom she needs to call me next time shit hits the fan, and not pass the job off to my grandpa. Plus, if nothing else, it’s a free trip home.
“But I guess we aren’t out of the woods,” Thomas adds.
With my eyebrows furrowed, I look over to Brandon. What does that saying even mean right now? Does he get what Thomas is saying? Before I can even make sense of it, Thomas continues to talk.
“The nurses will be out shortly to guide us to his room to say goodnight. We wanted you to be on the phone so he could hear your voice. The doctor thinks hearing us will help him stay strong.”
What-- I’m so not ready to do this! The thought of having to speak starts all of my fear to slowly rise inside of me, taking over each limb, and my eyes begin to get fuzzy again. Brandon reaches for my hand. I swear he always knows what I’m thinking before I say it out loud.
“Let me talk to Mom,” I mutter.
I can hear the phone shuffling between hands.
“Yes?” H
er voice sounds raspy. I imagine she’s worn out, but not admitting that to anyone.
“How are you?”
“The doctors seem hopeful.”
She didn’t answer my question.
“How are you?” I repeat.
“Hanging in there, sweetie. What is your ETA?”
She’s trying to change the subject, but I won’t keep pushing at it.
“Between 6 and 6:30 AM.”
There’s a pause in our conversation; I vaguely listen to, who I assume to be the nurses, come out and signal it’s time to my family.
“The nurses are coming out. Stay on the phone.”
There is a lot of mumbling on the other line. All I can make out is Kristen sniffle. Pull it together, Kristen. We need to sound hopeful; let him know we’re right here waiting for him to push through. Then I hear a door open; the creak so subtle but in a quiet hospital it’s easy to make out. More mumbling. What is going on? I look over to Brandon to see if he can make sense of it. His face puzzled, trying to focus on making out their words. Are they talking to Dad? Am I supposed to be talking? I can’t help but wonder if I missed my signal, and I’m missing my opportunity to tell my Dad how I’m rushing home, how I’m so hopeful, how he can’t give up, how I’m so sorry.
“I can’t hear anything!” I blurt out.
My tears feel harder, more dense. Each one slides down my face faster than the tears before.
“I can’t hear anything!” I scream again.
Why are they doing this to me? I feel so isolated in this car. I want my family. I want to be in that room with my dad. Fuck Erie. Fuck my master’s degree. I am never leaving home again.
“Natalie, did you want to say anything? I’m putting the phone up to Dad’s ear now.”
Yes; I have been trying to freaking talk, I think to myself. Calm down, he needs you to calm down.
I clear my throat and wipe away the evidence of tears on my cheeks and lips. “Oh, Dad…” I don’t know what I’m saying, it’s all spilling out without me even thinking through my words, but at this moment I don’t care. I just want him to hear me, hear my voice. I want him to know I’m on my way home, and I’ll never leave again. I promise.
Kristen
No one has a clue what she is saying over the phone, but all of the sudden a small amount of blood starts dripping out of his mouth, his stomach rises, and his eyelids slowly try to flutter. Is he trying to cough? Is he trying to answer her?
My dad has always been so close to Natalie. She always had to show us up with some new job or another 4.0 GPA. They comment every week about some Wall Street Journal article. Of course he is trying to answer her.
The nurses ask us to leave the room for a moment while they make sure he is okay. Thomas is telling Natalie goodbye, but leaves out the part about what happened when she began talking to Dad. I’m guessing to try to protect her. She would be devastated if she thought she caused him any more pain. He obviously can hear us. But why did her voice cause such a change in his demeanor?
I look over at my mom watching every move of the nurses inside his room. As Thomas heads down the hallway to take a moment for himself, I walk towards my mom. She must feel my presence because she turns to face me.
“I think you and Thomas should go home. Drop Grandpa off and go sleep at Thomas’ house. We have a long day ahead of us and I need you all well-rested so I can lean on you when I need a break tomorrow.”
I know she isn’t going to leave his side, but I can’t deny how tired I’m getting. I had completely forgotten Grandpa was still sitting outside the waiting room. I wonder why he didn’t want to see Dad.
Through a head nod and a squeeze of my eyes, I signal my agreement to my mom and hug her goodnight. Thomas reappears from the hallway, joining us again. My mom informs him of the plan and he kisses her cheek goodbye.
The elevator ride down to the first floor is silent. No one saying a word. I send Lindsey a quick text, “Can I call you in thirty minutes?” I know she is probably already home, and I need someone to talk to about all of this; someone besides my family.
As we climb into the car, a text comes through from Natalie. “Keep me updated tomorrow. Please.” I know I need to be better with the updates, but she doesn’t realize I know just as little as she does. I text back “Okay. See you tomorrow. Dad will be excited to see you.”
Thomas
As we exit Dad’s room, something isn’t sitting right in my stomach. Why did that happen when he heard Natalie’s voice? I think back to hearing people say that those suffering wait until everyone they love has had a chance to say goodbye. Is this that moment, did I just unknowingly say goodbye to my dad one final time? Why didn’t I say more? Do more? Give one last hug, tell one last joke? He isn’t going to make it, is he?
My head begins to spin and I can’t see clearly anymore. Is this what it feels like to have your world come crashing down? I watch the fear come over Kristen’s face and I instantly realize I need to pull it together; I need to be strong for my sisters, my mom, and the rest of our family. They need to feed off of my energy, my strength.
I decide to take a minute for myself; I need to let out this deep feeling of rage or sadness or whatever is messing up my head.
I make my way down a long white hallway, no end in sight. I think about calling someone to talk to, but who do you call on a Friday night? How can I deliver this news? Will I ruin their night? Without letting my mind wander anymore, I decide to call a college buddy. The next five unanswered rings drag on for an eternity. Seriously? How can Andrew not answer in the moment I need him most? Pissed off, I end the call and scan through my contacts. I land on another college friend and try again.
“Hey man how’s it going?” Matt asks with such ease.
Little does he know.
My words are all over the place in my brain and I don’t know if I’m making any sense. “Um, I don’t know man.”
The energy shifts and I can tell he picks up on the severity of the call.
“What’s going on, man? Talk to me!” His voice sounds anxiously fearful.
“It’s my dad; he’s in the hospital and it’s not looking good.”
As I finish the sentence, it’s as if someone opened up the Hoover Dam and let the Colorado River flow. I have officially lost it. Strategically taking each breath in order to avoid anyone from hearing me, I cry. I let it all out. I hold each breath in as long as possible while the tears pour out. In this dark corner, I realize the doctor was hopeful, wasn’t he? What am I doing? Have I given up hope on my dad? My stomach flips into a knot and the rising guilt makes me feel like I’m about to vomit.
“What is going on?!” Matt keeps repeating over the phone.
Shit, I’m still on the phone! How long has he been listening to me whimper and lose my shit? What else has he been saying? I gather my thoughts, wipe away the tears, and tell him I have to go. Get yourself together!
I take one last deep breath, and remind myself that Dad is going to be fine, he is going to pull through this. Be strong for your sisters and mom! Stop giving up hope!
Part II
SATURDAY
MARCH 23RD
- FIVE -
|3:53 AM|
Dawn
His monitor starts to beep again; the noise is ear-piercing. I wake up immediately. I hadn’t realized how tired I was, and I certainly hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but this recliner in his room is quite an upgrade from the chairs in the waiting room.
Nurses and doctors start piling in and reading off his vitals. The noise of the charts flipping is all I can focus on. Pages swishing drowns out the frenzy in their voices as they call out numbers on his monitors.
“Give him two more bags of blood” one calls out.
Why are they still giving him blood? I thought the bleeding stopped last night? I don’t want to ask any questions because I don’t want to be kicked out of the room again. I look down at my phone. Natalie texted me nearly twenty minutes ago letting me know she hit V
irginia. I’m not sure I’m ready to see her; face another one of my child’s uneasy hearts. Plus, she never did well seeing people sick in the hospital. My mind drifts back to last spring.
Kristen had gotten terribly sick on the tail end of our Alaskan cruise. The doctor on board was convinced it was strep and kept telling her to get tons of sleep, so she did. Once we made it home, she still was feeling ill. She couldn’t hold down any food, not even her dad’s famous barbeque chicken. I knew something wasn’t right, I suppose the mother instinct setting in. We went to our local doctor. She ran multiple tests, speculated several causes, and had a strong inclination Kristen had Rocky Mountain spotted fever. This didn’t make much sense to me, but what did I know; I’m not a doctor. When Kristen started to develop a rash, I knew the medication prescribed wasn’t working. I was fed up with not getting an answer, so I took her to the emergency room, praying someone would finally take us seriously. Upon arrival, it was confirmed that Kristen had, in fact, turned septic and was severely dehydrated. The doctors finally confirmed she had Cytomegalovirus (CMV), basically mono, with a compromised immune system. She spent 13 days in the hospital, and eight of those days in ICU. The fear in Corey and I as we watched our grown daughter barely have enough strength to chew food was eye-opening. Natalie visited a few times, but struggled every time. She hated seeing her twin sister that way and often times her eyes remained glued to the floor during her visits. It was hard on all of us to see our healthy 22-year-old daughter so sick.
How is Natalie going to be when she finally makes it here? I can feel my heavy eyes begin to fall shut. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
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