“He’s got as much oxygen as we can give him. The color will come back soon. He’s adjusting to being on bypass.”
Brayden sobbed. He couldn’t help himself. He’d been avoiding the one thought that stayed at the forefront of his mind, but now he couldn’t.
This was his fault.
He’d pissed Chenille off in the same way he always had, by taking her contribution to their household for granted, by acting like who she was and her passion didn’t matter as much as football. By trying to force her into being his football wife.
If he had apologized—no, if he had considered her before he made his decisions and made deals—none of this would have happened. His son would be breathing on his own. His son’s heart would be beating on its own.
The surgeon touched Brayden’s arm. “Do you need a minute? You can leave and come back. Take a few moments to collect your thoughts.”
“I . . . Can you just have someone tell me when my wife is out of surgery? I need to be with her.”
Brayden collapsed into the chair next to Quincy’s bed and did exactly what the doctor had suggested in the first place. He prayed. For everything. A heart for his son, total healing for his wife, and that they would walk out of the hospital intact and whole.
And Brayden told God that if He was going to take Quincy and Chenille to go ahead and take him, too, because Brayden didn’t want to live in a world without his wife or his son.
Chapter 46
I wake up screaming.
Two nurses run into the room and it hits me. I’m in the hospital. I’ve been in an accident. My whole body hurts, and I can’t move.
“Her morphine drip is disconnected!” one of the nurses yells at the other.
I’m still screaming. It feels like someone shoved a broken bottle into my midsection.
“Where’s my baby?” I wail as they reconnect my IV.
“Just try to relax, Mrs. Carpenter,” the yelling nurse says. “Take deep breaths. The morphine will take effect soon.”
“My baby!”
“He’s in the cardiac intensive care unit,” the other nurse says.
Finally, I breathe for real. He’s alive. Cardiac intensive care is nothing new for my baby.
“He needs my breast milk. He needs to nurse. That will help him get better.”
“Mrs. Carpenter, even if he could nurse, you have too many drugs in your system.”
Brayden can go and get the milk from the freezer at home. There’s plenty of milk in the freezer.
“My husband?”
This comes out shaky and whispery. I’m starting to feel drowsy.
“He’s here. With the baby.”
Then I remember I’m furious with him. This pain I’m in is his fault. My baby is back in intensive care because he . . .
Because I didn’t strap him in his car seat all the way.
Tears pour from my eyes. Then the medicine kicks in. Dosage must be high, because I can’t hold on to consciousness. My eyes droop as I struggle to stay awake.
“Get some rest,” the first nurse says. “You need it.”
Sleep is coming, but not rest. Rest won’t come until my baby is back in my arms.
Chapter 47
Brayden’s eyes flickered open. He’d fallen asleep next to Quincy’s bed. What roused him from sleep was the sound of beeping on one of the monitors.
Brayden stood to go find a nurse, but he didn’t even take two steps before the room was flooded with doctors and nurses. They pushed him out of the way.
“Mr. Carpenter, please step outside,” Dr. Torres said.
“What’s happening?”
“Please! Outside!” one of the nurses yelled. Brayden ignored her and stayed put.
“Looks like your son is having a stroke,” Dr. Torres explained. “If it’s a brain bleed, we need to find it, and I can’t do that and hold a conversation with you.”
Brayden backed out of the room and into the hallway. He watched the door swing closed as the doctors worked on Quincy’s lifeless body.
“Mr. Carpenter?”
Brayden whipped his head toward the nurses’ station. “Huh?”
“Your wife is out of surgery. Would you like to go and sit with her, while they work on your son?”
“Is she okay?”
“Yes, it appears so. She’s sedated.”
“Then no. I want to stay here until they tell me my son is okay.”
The nurse nodded and went back to working on her papers and charts.
Brayden stared at the closed door that separated him from Quincy. He heard the chaos and noise happening behind the door, but hoped that meant they were saving his life.
Then, the door burst open, and the whole surgical team was pushing the bed and all of the equipment to the elevator.
“What’s going on?” Brayden asked.
“I’ve got to get him to an operating room. He’s had two strokes. We’ve got a brain bleed on our hands, and I have to stop it,” Dr. Torres said.
Brayden watched helplessly as the hospital staff rushed his son into an elevator. The doors closed, and Brayden tried to swallow back his fear, but the sobs came anyway. One of the nurses, Brayden didn’t know which, led him to a group of chairs where he could sit and do nothing.
“We’re praying for your baby, Mr. Carpenter,” the nurse said. “It’s in God’s hands.”
Even though he was a praying man, Brayden found no comfort in the words. They’d prayed so many times over Quincy, starting from birth. What if they’d finally run out of answered prayers? What if it was Quincy’s time?
Brayden slumped in the chair and sobbed some more. He looked down at his wedding band sparkling on his finger. He remembered his vows. In sickness and in health. They’d had sickness. More than enough for any union to withstand. For better or for worse. When was better coming?
Hours passed before the surgeon reappeared in the waiting room. The dejected look on his face communicated his message before he even opened his mouth.
“Just tell me,” Brayden said.
“Your son had two brain bleeds. We got one before it did too much damage. The second one was more difficult to find, and by the time we did find it, Quincy’s brain had swollen considerably, cutting off oxygen to his vital organs.”
“Is he going to make it?”
Dr. Torres sighed. “It looks like the time without oxygen was too long, and it appears that he is brain dead. We are running tests for brain activity to be sure, but you should begin to consider donating the few viable organs that he has left.”
Brayden broke down. He didn’t hear anything else Dr. Torres said. He felt arms and hands on his shoulders and rubbing his back—he didn’t know whose—and tissue being placed in his hands. These things were no comfort.
Then he remembered. Chenille.
“I . . . I have to tell my wife.”
Chapter 48
This time when I wake up, I’m not in pain. They have the meds right, thank God. But Brayden is sitting next to my bed. His eyes are puffy and red, and a different kind of pain hits me.
“Quincy,” I say.
Brayden nods. “He’s not going to make it.”
I struggle to sit up in the bed; pain forces me to lie still. I grip the bed rails and glare at Brayden.
“What do you mean, he’s not going to make it?”
“Babe . . .”
“No. What the fuck happened?”
My chest hurts when I speak, but I push the words out anyway.
“Broken ribs punctured his heart. He had two brain bleeds. Surgeon said that it was a complication from him being on bypass. They couldn’t find the second bleed fast enough.”
All I feel is disbelief. I need more details. All of them.
“He’s just gone?”
“He’s on life support, but they can’t find brain activity. Wanted to wait for you before we take him off life support.”
I shake my head. “We’re not taking him off.”
“Babe . . .”
“Stop fucking calling me that! We’re not taking him off life support.”
“If we wait, his organs will fail, and maybe they can use some of his organs to . . . help someone.”
In spite of the pain, I lunge at Brayden. He easily evades my swipe. If he were any closer, I would’ve clawed his face.
“How the fuck are you so calm about this? You’re telling me my child is brain dead, and you want to take his organs? He never did get anyone to give him a healthy heart, but you want me to parcel up his body for someone else? Get the fuck out of my room.”
“Chenille.”
“No! This is your fault! Everything is all about you! I bet you have cameras in the hospital lobby. They gonna document you flipping the switch on your son?”
Those words were meant to break Brayden, but I just broke my damn self. The sounds coming from my body don’t even seem like they belong to me. I sound like a wild animal. I feel like one.
Brayden jumps up and stumbles away from my bedside. His expression is a mix of shock and horror. And sadness. He looks as broken as I feel, but I don’t give a damn.
The nurses run into my room, probably in response to my growls and screams. One of them pushes Brayden out into the hallway. The other one goes straight to my intravenous drip.
“No! I don’t want to be put under. Last time I was out, my son had a brain bleed. Let me stay awake!”
“Mrs. Carpenter, you just came out of major surgery yourself. You have to rest.”
“I cannot. I cannot rest while my baby is on life support. I gotta get up. I gotta see him.”
I try to sit up again, and the entire room starts spinning. This heifer gave me the medicine anyway. I struggle against it, but my eyes are heavy again. I swear I’m gonna beat her ass if I never see my child alive again.
* * *
I open my eyes again. This time my vision is blurry, but there’s nothing cloudy happening in my brain. I am fully aware of what’s happening. My son’s life is over.
And Brayden’s ass is sitting in my room again, this time out of arm’s reach. He sits up, noticing that I am awake.
“Chenille.”
“Is my son still alive?”
“He is still on life support.”
“Good.”
“Nille . . .”
“Why aren’t you praying like you prayed when I was pregnant? When he was having all of those surgeries? Where are your prayers, Brayden?”
“I’ve been praying since we got here.”
“Do my parents know?”
“Not yet.”
“Does your mama know?”
Brayden doesn’t reply. Of course, he told his hateful-ass mama, and not mine.
“Call my parents. Fly them here. They should already be here, praying over their grandson.”
“Babe . . .”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Chenille.” Brayden’s voice cracks when he says my name like his throat is tired. “My parents are here, but I can send them home. It’s just me and you. I think we need to do this alone.”
“If you don’t get my mama on a plane here, I swear to God, when I get up from this bed, I’m gonna claw your eyes out.”
“I just thought we’d be there for one another and say goodbye to our son together.”
“You’ve given up. Why you praying if you’ve given up?”
“If you saw him, Chenille, you’d let him go, too.”
I close my eyes and let out a low moan. My breasts are heavy with milk. Quincy’s milk. The let-down reflex makes my nipples start to tingle when I think of my son. It’s long past time for him to nurse. He’s never going to nurse again.
“Get my mama here, Brayden.”
I close my eyes, because I can’t stand to look at him. I feel the hospital gown moisten with a combination of my tears and Quincy’s milk.
“Chenille, I’m sorry this accident happened. I’m sorry this happened to us.”
“It didn’t just happen, Brayden. You did what you always do. You made a decision without caring about how it would impact us.”
“I made you angry. I apologize for that, but you didn’t have to leave like you did.”
“You made me angry. You are the cause. This is the effect.”
“You didn’t strap my son in the car seat.”
His son. Not our son. His son. And he’s trying to lay the blame for this at my feet. I already know what I didn’t do. I will never forget or forgive myself for that. But this fool thinks he’s blameless.
He isn’t. If he’d put me first and his son first—before fucking football—my son would be just fine. Laughing. Playing. Living.
I’ll never let him get away with this.
Chapter 49
Brayden met Chenille’s parents in the waiting area outside Chenille’s room. He’d given them details before they’d gotten on the plane, so Charlene’s eyes were red and puffy. Kent’s jaw was locked and his mouth turned down. Both of them looked like they’d already started the grieving process.
Charlene ran up to Brayden and hugged him tightly. Her wails broke the floodgates of his own tears.
“How could this happen?” Charlene cried. “How could the Lord take my grandbaby?”
Brayden didn’t answer her questions, because he didn’t have any answers. He was asking himself the same questions.
“I want to see my daughter,” Kent said.
Brayden led them to Chenille’s room, where she was mildly sedated. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t screaming like she’d been doing for the past three hours.
“Daddy,” Chenille croaked.
Her voice sounded scratchy and raw, and Chenille didn’t look at Brayden. Only her father.
“Aw, baby,” Kent said. “We’re here now. We’ve got you.”
His father-in-law’s words stung Brayden. He was here for his wife. He loved Chenille and Quincy more than his own life. He wished he was the one lying on the table without brain activity and that his in-laws were supporting Chenille in turning off his life support.
“Are your parents here?” Charlene asked.
“They’re in with Quincy. Praying over him.”
“I want to see him,” Charlene said.
“Mama,” Chenille asked. “Can you go to the nurses’ station and ask if I can go, too?”
“You haven’t seen the baby yet?” Kent asked, glaring at Brayden.
“She just had major surgery,” Brayden explained. “They wanted to make sure she was stable.”
“She should see her son,” Kent said. “A mother’s touch is healing.”
“Exactly, Daddy. Please ask the nurses to take me to him.”
Brayden followed Kent out of the room as he stormed over to the nurses. Then he stopped and turned to Brayden with a snarl on his lips.
“How did you let this happen? You’re supposed to protect them,” Kent said.
“Sir, it was an accident. You don’t think I blame myself? You don’t think I’d trade places with my son? With Chenille?”
Kent’s face softened, but not much. He turned to the nurse.
“My daughter would like to see her baby. Is that possible?”
“She was frantic earlier,” the nurse replied. “Her heart rate and blood pressure were too high. Seeing her son is going to be traumatic.”
“Not seeing him is worse,” Brayden said. “Just for a little while, and if she can’t take it, we can sedate her again.”
The nurse nodded. “Okay. I’ll have her transported down to the pediatric intensive care unit.”
Kent pushed past Brayden and went back into Chenille’s room. Brayden felt unwelcome and unloved. Instead of waiting for the transport, he went ahead and walked to where his son was being kept alive.
Inside Quincy’s room, Marilyn stood at the foot of the bed. Joseph sat in the corner of the room, dabbing his eyes with a tissue every few moments.
“Mama.”
“I’m waiting to hear from God, son. But I don’t
think Quincy is going to live here with us anymore. I think his spirit has already gone home.”
Brayden didn’t know why his mother’s words gave him comfort, but they did. It made the decision to turn off the life support easier to swallow, although it wasn’t easy at all. It was the hardest thing he would ever do.
An orderly pushed Chenille into the room in a wheelchair, with an IV unit attached to the side. Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t scream or yell. Brayden walked over to her and took her hand. She didn’t snatch it away, but she didn’t squeeze back.
“My baby,” Chenille whispered. “Push me closer. I want to see him.”
The orderly pushed the wheelchair to the head of the bed, where wires crowded Quincy’s nose and throat. Chenille stroked Quincy’s unmoving hand. Brayden touched her shoulder and squeezed. It wasn’t just for Chenille’s benefit. Brayden needed to feel connected to his wife. She wasn’t the only one broken.
“We can take him off life support now,” Chenille said. “My baby is gone.”
Brayden exhaled, but it wasn’t relief that he felt. It was resignation. Soon they’d be burying their son. After the miracle that had been Quincy’s healing, now he was gone.
Charlene’s quiet sobs were the only sounds in the room, outside of the buzzing of the machines keeping Quincy’s body alive. Kent turned to leave, but Brayden couldn’t move. His feet felt glued to the floor, his eyes trained on what was left of his son.
A few moments later, two doctors entered the room. Dr. Torres, the one who hadn’t saved Quincy’s life, held a clipboard in his hand.
“Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter, I’m very sorry for your loss,” Dr. Torres said. “But your son’s life can still have meaning. His corneas will give sight to a toddler who has been blind since birth.”
“Sign the paper, Brayden,” Chenille said.
Brayden took the clipboard from Dr. Torres and signed without reading anything. Dr. Torres nodded and gave silent directions to the staff who had suddenly appeared in the room. Nurses and doctors quickly moved to turn off monitors that showed Quincy’s heart rate.
Brayden cried uncontrollably, but Chenille’s tears had stopped. She watched, with dry eyes, as the hospital staff disconnected Quincy from the machines.
The Outside Child Page 20