by Lund, S. E.
"That was awfully Bruce Willis of you," I said, my knees still shaking from the adrenaline that coursed through me.
Drake started the engine. "Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!" he said, grinning widely as he and squealed the tires and sped off.
I glanced back to see Sefton standing at the entry to the Institute, watching us, his fists clenched.
The next day, I arrived home in the afternoon after a trip to the mall for groceries to find that our answering machine was blinking to indicate we had a message. I frowned and checked my cell, but the battery had died sometime during the morning. I plugged it in to charge it and listened to the message on the answering machine.
"Kate, it's Elaine," she said, her voice sounding near tears. "Your father's in the hospital. It's bad, sweetheart. He's had a stroke, an intercerebral hemorrhagic I think they called it. They have to do surgery to remove a clot. He's paralyzed on one side, and he's in a coma. I guess the stress of all these months with the election coming… I'm sorry to break this news to you in a message, and I hate to interrupt your time there, but you should come back as soon as you can, just in case."
I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. Just in case… I knew what that meant.
I called Drake at the hospital immediately. The phone rang twice and then a female answered.
"Dr. Morgan's office."
It was a woman and I recognized the voice. Sam.
"This is Kate. Please put Drake on the phone. Tell him it's important."
There was a pause. "He's busy with a patient right now. I'll tell him to call you back."
I was about to hang up when something stopped me. "What are you doing in his office?"
"I don't think that's any of your business," she said, her voice full of affront. "But, since I work with Drake, I was working on a patient file."
"Tell him my father had a stroke and I need him to call me right away."
I hung up, my hands shaking, angry that Sam was in his office answering his phone, scared that my father was going to die before I got back to Manhattan to see him and say goodbye.
I checked my watch. It was seven hours behind in Manhattan so it was early morning. I called Elaine but her phone went right to voicemail so I went online and searched for the first international flight out of Nairobi to New York City. I could leave that night with a stop in Amsterdam and then New York. Then, I ran to my bedroom and started to pack a small bag with my toiletries and some underwear and a change of clothes. Manhattan was cold, so I'd have to borrow something warm from Elaine.
I called Elaine's cell and got her voicemail again but this time I left a message saying that I had a flight out and would be there late Friday night. I'd take a taxi right from the airport to the hospital.
Finally, I sat on the couch, a tissue in my hands, fighting panic while I waited for Drake to call. I pulled out my laptop and researched strokes while I waited for Drake to call or come home. In about an hour, my cell rang. I checked the call display and saw Drake's name. I took in a deep breath and answered.
"Drake…" I said but couldn’t continue because of the choke in my throat.
"Kate, I'm so sorry… Tell me what happened."
I took in a deep breath and tried to get hold of my emotions. "I haven't spoken to Elaine yet but she said he had an intercerebral hemorrhagic stroke. I left her a message but she hasn't called back. I have a flight out tonight and will be in Manhattan tomorrow before midnight."
"Did you book two tickets? I'm coming with you."
"You have class tomorrow and surgery and I could only get one ticket on the earliest flight out. You can come later. I have to leave right away."
"I want to come with you," he said. "Let me find a flight we can take together."
I exhaled. "Not if it means I have to wait another day, Drake. I have to go right away. Elaine said I should get back as soon as possible. Just in case." I stopped and covered my mouth, my emotions overcoming me once more, a sob bursting forth despite my best efforts.
"Oh, Katie…" Drake said, his voice soft. "Let me check to see if I can find us seats together. I'll cancel class and see if MacMillan can scrub in on my cases tonight. Give me a bit of time to work things out and I'll be home."
"You don’t have to come with me," I said. "I know your patients have been waiting so long for their surgeries. I can go by myself."
"No," he said firmly. "You forget that Ethan is like a father to me. I want to be there to see how he is. I want to be there with you."
"OK," I said, when I realized he wasn't going to change his mind. I was glad he'd be going with me. All I could think of was leaving right then and there, going right to the airport and waiting for the flight, even though it was hours away. Having Drake with me would make me feel less panicky.
After I hung up, I went to the kitchen and made myself a cup of hot tea and waited for Drake to come home. As I was sitting down in the living room with my tea in hand, the landline rang. I got up and saw that it was Elaine.
"Elaine!" I said, my voice breaking immediately. "How is he? Is he still alive?"
"He's going in for surgery," Elaine said, her voice shaky, tired. "His neurologist said they have to go in and fix the bleed. Only time will tell if he has any permanent damage."
"Oh, God," I said, tears finally breaking through, slipping down my cheeks.
"They have to remove the clot and do surgery. If he wakes up, he probably will recover. Maybe not fully, but he should recover some of his abilities."
"What happened?"
"He went to bed complaining about a really bad headache. In the night, he got up to go to the bathroom as he usually does and when he came back to bed, he had trouble speaking, and his face was drooping, one side looked like it had melted. Then, he fell to the floor and had a seizure. I just knew he was having a stroke and called 9-1-1 immediately. Thank God he had to get up to use the bathroom because the doctors said if he hadn't, he might not be alive. He might have slept right through it. They did a CT and say he had a hemorrhage deep in his brain due to an AVM – an arteriovenous malformation. Probably had it from birth but it only ruptured yesterday. I've been here since the middle of the night. Sorry I didn't answer your phone calls but I fell asleep in the waiting room and got your message when I woke up just now."
"No, don't worry about me. Is Heath there?"
"No," Elaine said, her voice falling. "He's in Haiti, doing some reconstruction work. I called him, and he'll come as soon as he can, but he might not get here for a few days."
"Drake and I will be there as soon as we can," I said.
"OK, sweetie. I'll text you with any news. Let me know when you're scheduled to land. I can have the limo meet you at the airport and bring you straight to the hospital."
I reluctantly said goodbye and hung up. Then I sat and fought my tears.
Drake arrived about an hour later and came directly to where I was sitting, in the living room, my laptop on my lap as I scanned research articles about AVMs. He sat beside me and put my laptop on the coffee table before pulling me onto his lap, my legs across his thighs the way he did that first night in November. My arms slipped around his neck and he kissed me warmly before pressing his forehead against mine.
"Have you spoken to Elaine?"
"Yes," I said, my voice breaking. "She said he had an AVM."
"I know," Drake said, nodding. "I called the hospital and spoke with Aaron Clark, Ethan's neurosurgeon. He's still critical, but Aaron's hopeful they will be able to take the pressure off and minimize any damage."
I buried my face in Drake's neck and couldn't hold back my tears, not caring any more to be strong now that Drake was with me. I wiped my eyes, and looked in his. "Did you get tickets?"
He nodded. "Two. First Class on Swissair with a layover in Zurich. We leave here at 12:20 a.m. and get to La Guardia at about 8:30 tomorrow night. It was that or wait until morning and take a flight to Amsterdam with a shorter layover, but I thought you'd rather get going as soon as possi
ble."
I nodded and wiped my cheeks, trying to get a hold of myself. "I can't bear to sit around, waiting. I couldn't sleep anyway."
"I'll give you a sleeping pill," he said, his face serious. "You can sleep on the plane. I got us a hotel room for the layover so you can rest if you want."
"Thank you," I said and kissed him tenderly, so thankful that he'd gone out of his way to adjust his schedule so he could go with me and he'd made all the arrangements. My mind felt like it was going a thousand miles an hour as I thought about my father, worried about him, and wondered if he'd make it through the next 24-hours, the time it would take to get to Manhattan.
"Most patients with a first AVM stroke survive," Drake said, his voice soft. I nodded, my body relaxing a little bit as he stroked my cheek. "Are you hungry?" he said and ran his hand over my hair. "Can I fix you something to eat?"
I shook my head. "I couldn't eat anything right now." I forced a smile. "Go ahead and fix something for yourself. I'll have another cup of tea."
Drake fixed himself some leftover lasagna from the previous week that I had frozen and together we sat and discussed my father's case and prognosis. He'd spoken with my father's neurologist, having previously been on a first-name basis with him. The neurologist was hopeful that the bleeding had stopped and that once the pressure was relieved, my father's symptoms would fade and he would recover.
For the rest of the evening, until it was time for us to leave for the airport, we sat on the couch together, me with my laptop and him with his arms around me, explaining things to me as I searched. I was glad that Drake had chosen to take the first flight that left Nairobi on a carrier we preferred for I didn’t want to stay in the city any longer than necessary. As we left for the airport to catch our flight, I looked back at the house and wondered when I would return.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Drake gave me some Valium and I slept most of the way from Nairobi to Zurich and then a few hours at our hotel, which was located close to the airport. I was more awake on the trip from Zurich to New York, my stomach in knots as I thought about my father and how he was doing. I'd received an update from Elaine that my father had emerged successfully from surgery, and that he had regained a brief period of consciousness before lapsing back into a coma.
Only time would show how much permanent damage my father's brain had received and whether he would regain consciousness and be able to function normally.
When we finally touched down at La Guardia, I could barely stand to wait for our luggage and get to the hospital so I could see him for myself. Drake grabbed a sandwich at one of the airport restaurants as we passed by and in the limo, he handed me one half, demanding that I eat at least that much. I hadn't been able to eat the meals provided on the planes, my stomach nauseated.
I complied, barely tasting the egg salad but suddenly, my stomach woke up and growled. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. I washed the sandwich down with some bottled water and wiped my mouth, glancing out the limo window as we drove towards NYP, where my father was being treated.
Drake knew his way around, of course, so he led me down hallways to the ICU. We went straight to the waiting room and Drake spoke to the duty nurse, who went and told Elaine that we had arrived. Only one person was allowed to visit my father at a time, so after Elaine came out to greet us, after we hugged and spoke for a while, I headed for his room.
"Prepare yourself, Kate," Elaine said, taking my hand and squeezing it. "He looks pretty bad. Very pale, and his face is paralyzed on the left side. He's still drifting in and out of consciousness but talk to him. Tell him you're here and that you're praying for him. It will comfort him if he can hear you. Be positive. He needs to be encouraged to choose to live."
She nodded to me and I hugged Drake once more before I went in.
The room was dim despite the bank of telemetry that was monitoring my father's condition, the glow of the lights from the equipment the only light beside that filtering in from the hallway. Elaine was right – my father looked extremely frail lying on the bed with the head raised, electrodes leading from spots on his chest to a machine, a blood pressure cuff on his arm, an IV in his hand. An oxygen cannula led from an outlet on the wall and threaded around his head and beneath his nose. His faded green hospital gown was pulled down a few inches below his collarbone. His hands were on either side of his body, but one was bent in an odd way, almost curled in on itself.
His face was a study in contrasts – one side was the father I loved and was beginning to know as an adult – bristly greying hair cut in whitewalls Marine-style, thick greying eyebrows, strong beaked nose, a deep crevice on the side leading down to jowls on a once-strong jaw. He looked, at least on that side, like the father I knew, only pale, sleeping, a bit of salt and pepper stubble poking through because he hadn't shaved. His head had been shaved on one side and was bandaged.
The other side of his face was a whole different story and I was amazed to realize how important the facial muscles were to how we appeared. My father's face actually looked as if it had melted, like warm wax drooping down the side of a candle. His eyelid drooped over the bottom of his eye, his cheek was flat, his mouth turned down, drool collecting in the fold beside the corner and down to his jaw. He looked as if he were in pain.
I covered my mouth with a hand and tried not to cry.
After I moved to the side of his bed, the good side, I took his hand in mine and leaned over him, planting a kiss on his forehead.
"Hi, Daddy," I said, forcing my voice to be calm. He didn’t need to hear me crying, in case he was awake but unable to respond. "I'm here. Drake and I came as soon as we heard you were sick." I squeezed his hand and stroked it. He didn't squeeze back.
"I'm going to talk to you even if you can't respond," I said, my voice becoming stronger. "The nurses told us that you may be awake and aware but unable to say anything or show you can hear, so I'm going to assume that you can hear me, OK?" I squeezed his hand again, and pulled up a chair so I could sit beside him.
And then I told him everything about Africa from the day I left Manhattan with Drake to the moment I arrived home from class and found Elaine's message. I told him about the hotel and how it was named after Hemingway and resembled a plantation from the British Raj era. I told him about our home in the city and my studio, and how the stars were so bright at night even in the city. I told him about the crazy drivers on the Mombasso Road, about Jomo, my favorite taxi driver, about my art class, my instructor Talia, and how I was invited to take the Master Class. I told him about Sefton, the Artist in Residence at the Institute and that he was one of the instructors who encouraged me and made me think seriously about my art and what I wanted to accomplish.
Finally, I told him about the safari and the animals I had drawn and the painting of the mother and baby elephant I was planning.
I didn’t tell him anything personal about Sam or Sefton at first, because I didn't want to upset him. Not now, when he was so frail, almost hanging between life and death. But while I was telling him all the good things about my time in Africa with Drake, those other facts haunted me. I kept seeing Sam with her hands on Drake, alone in the small windowless room at the hospital where they both worked, leaning over and saying something to him with her mouth by his ear. I remembered her cutting comment about me in the washroom that first night we were in Nairobi and how Sam hoped she and Drake would get back together again, not caring whether he was engaged.
I kept remembering the pain when Sefton grabbed my arms, the look in his face as he insisted I was meant to be with him, not Drake. I kept hearing Sefton question why Drake wasn't with me on safari, insinuating that Drake's priorities were wrong, and that Sefton would never put me second to a job. I didn't believe him, and I knew that Drake's work really was important – life and death for some of his patients – but it still forced me to think about what I needed in a relationship.
So even though I thought my father shouldn’t hear my worries and fears, I knew better.
He needed to know everything – not what I thought he wanted to know. That was my mistake with him all my life, second-guessing what he thought about me instead of paying attention to how he really felt – that he wanted me to be happy and fulfilled and would support me in anything I chose.
So instead of pretending everything was perfect, I told him the truth.
"I need you to live, Daddy," I said, my throat choking with emotion. "So if you can hear me, please fight to get better. I need to have you in my life. I want to be able to talk to you and listen to your advice. You're a judge and you have such a great mind. Please," I said, squeezing his hand once more, wishing he could squeeze it back. "Please stay alive. I want you to walk me down the aisle if—" I said and then stopped myself. "When Drake and I get married. I want you to be alive if – when I have a child so you can sit him on your knee and play with him the way you played with Heath's children."
I stopped at that and covered my mouth for a moment, fighting tears.
"I still need you, Daddy."
And then I told him the truth. I told him how both Sam and Sefton had, in their own way, made me question my relationship with Drake – not my love for him or my desire for him – those were certain. What happened with Sam and Sefton made me question whether I could be happy with the kind of life I would lead as Drake's wife. Long days when he was at the hospital, teaching or in surgery, late nights when he did evening rounds to check on his patients, weekend call when he covered the ER in case neurosurgery patients arrived and needed to be seen. Seeing him for a few minutes before bed, a few minutes in the early morning before he went to work, and three weekends out of four when he recovered from the hectic week.
Would that be enough for me or would I feel neglected, as if I was an afterthought, something of lesser importance in his very important life?
Was Sefton right? Did his patients and his practice and teaching mean more to him that I did? I wished I could talk to him and have my father counsel me because part of me thought, yes, if Drake did really love me, he would work less. He would have tried to get out of on-call duty that weekend so he could come with me on the safari.