An August Harvest

by Ben Marney

  After fourteen days without her showing any signs of regaining consciousness, she was moved from ICU to the rehabilitation floor.

  Without telling me, Jake decided to take Charley off the feeding tube and try an experiment. After several hours of no food, Jake laid on the floor next to him, forced his mouth open and placed a spoonful of baby food on his tongue. He instantly swallowed the food. After two more days of baby food, Jake tried canned dog food and he swallowed that as well. Although Charley couldn’t move his body, his tongue and digestive track apparently was still working.

  Every time Jake laid on the floor next to him with his food, Charley’s tail wagged and his eyelids would flicker, so Jake no longer believed that his movements were involuntary. He was convinced Charley was still in there, conscious, but paralyzed for some reason he hadn’t discovered yet.

  He took him to a Jacksonville hospital and convinced one of his doctor friends there to do another MRI on Charley using their human MRI machine. It was a much more sophisticated device than the one he had used to do the other two. Finally, this machine revealed the problem. One of the bullets had glanced off Charley’s spine and had moved two of his vertebrae just enough to press against his spinal cord, causing the paralysis. Unfortunately, the MRI was inconclusive on the amount of damage done to the spinal cord and couldn’t make out if it was completely severed or not. All it showed for sure was that the disks were severely out of place.

  With a grim look on his face, Jake stared in my eyes and told me the news. “Grant, I think it’s time to put him down. To repair this damage, it would cost thousands and thousands of dollars, with no guarantees Charley would even live through the surgery…or improve at all if he survived.”

  I found a chair, sat down and rubbed my temples. After a few moments of pressing against the throbbing veins, I looked up at him. “So...you’re saying this can be repaired?”

  He nodded. “Yes, but it would be tricky. But Grant, it’s also possible that when they get in there, they could discover that his cord is severed.”

  “But what if it isn’t?” I said.

  He shrugged. “The best case is by removing the pressure against the spinal cord, he could recover and maybe even walk. But I’m confident he’ll never be able to run again.”

  I shook my head. “This is the third time in my life I’ve been asked to kill someone I love with all my heart. Why me, Jake? Why does this keep happening to me?”

  He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Grant, I wish I knew what to say to help you. Life has dealt you some terrible cards.”

  “No shit!” I snorted “And I am sick of playing this game!” I could feel the anger building up inside of me. I wanted to smash something, but I didn’t. I just rubbed my temples again, trying to stop the pain in my aching head. “Jake, I don’t care if it cost a million dollars,” I whispered, “I can’t put him down if there’s even the slightest chance.”

  I stood up and looked at him. “And who cares if he can run? Go do it, Jake. Go find the best of the best to do this surgery. I don’t give a shit about the money. Go do it, Jake. Go fix Charley.”

  After thirty more days with no change in Melissa’s condition, I was given one more impossible task. Because Melissa had given me medical power of attorney in her new will, I was faced with...what now?

  I had been avoiding Rob, but he finally cornered me and forced me to make some decisions about Melissa. The first decision was to answer his legal question. In her signed DNR, she had been very specific about not being kept alive by any medical machines. The question was, did that include a feeding tube?

  She had good brain wave activity, was breathing on her own, her blood pressure was good, her heart rate was perfect, her liver had regenerated to an almost normal size and was functioning perfectly. She was alive and according to her doctors, surprisingly healthy. The only thing wrong was...she was unconscious. She was in a deep coma and no one had any idea why.

  Technically, a feeding tube was considered mechanical life support and without it, she would certainly die, but her death wouldn’t be because she was sick or one of her vital organs failed...she would die from starvation. And that was something I couldn’t accept. No matter what her signed DNR said, I couldn’t believe that it would be her intent for me to allow her to starve to death.

  I couldn’t do it. I could not make a life or death decision again – not by myself, so I called Marshall to get his advice. “If I don’t do anything, how long could this last?” I asked him, the second he answered the phone.

  “There’s no way to know that, it could be years.” I could hear him shuffling papers. “I was hoping you’d call me. I’ve done some research on coma patients and I know this isn’t going to help you much, but last year, a man in Michigan woke up after nineteen years.”

  “Really? He was in a coma for nineteen years and then…just woke up?”

  “Yes, but that’s a very rare case. Most coma patients don’t do that. Most eventually die, never regaining consciousness.”

  I sighed and took a sip of my wine. “If their bodies are healthy, I don’t get it. Why do they die?”

  “There’s a myriad of reasons, but simply, the human body is not designed for inactivity. Walking helps pump the blood and assists the heart. Inactivity slows the entire digestive system. Without physical movement, blood clots can form and cause a stroke. The list goes on and on. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but the end result with most coma patients…is usually death.”

  I didn’t respond. He was right, that was something I didn’t want to hear.

  “Grant, Brenda thinks it’s really important for you to accept the fact that most coma patients, especially after this much time, never wake up. She believes that you shouldn’t base your decision on a fantasy that someday, Melissa might wake up.”

  “Marshall, I’m not asking Brenda. I know she’s worried about how all this may psychologically effect Molly as well as me.” I paused and took another sip of my wine, “I called you. I need you to tell me what to do. There’s nothing left inside of me. I’ve cried all the tears I can cry, and I’ve prayed all of the prayers I know. God, Marshall, how many more times in my life am I going to have to do something like this? Please, Marshall, I just can’t do it this time. I have to know. What would you do? Please...tell me what to do.”

  Marshall was silent for a long time. I could hear him breathing, contemplating. Then he said, “Grant, I honestly believe that one day, without any warning, she will quietly die. That’s what all the statistics point to. The odds of her ever waking up after all this time are impossible. But...” he laughed softly, “we are talking about Melissa. The fact that she’s still alive...well, statistics and odds don’t seem to apply to her.” He paused and took a deep breath. “If I was in your shoes and this was Brenda, I’d make sure that she received aggressive physical therapy that included electrical muscle stimulation every day. That will strengthen her bones and keep her muscles toned. But at the same time…I would prepay for her funeral.”

  The next day, I had Melissa moved from the rehabilitation unit…to my house.

  It cost me over a hundred thousand dollars to find out that Charley’s spinal cord wasn’t severed, but I didn’t care about the money. The doctors couldn’t tell how severe the damage to his spinal cord had been and had no idea if it was permanent or not. But three weeks after the surgery, Charley still hadn’t opened his eyes or moved his body. He only moved his tongue when he was eating, and his tail and eyelids when someone laid down next to him.

  Every day, I stopped by to see him at Jake’s house on my way to work each morning. Although Jake told me I could have, I didn’t bring him home.

  Brenda absolutely insisted that I didn’t. “Oh sure, that’s exactly what Molly needs,” she snapped at me. “Her mother in a coma in one room and Charley paralyzed in another. How much more psychological damage do you think she can take?”

  Brenda had made her point well, and Jake didn’t seem to min
d, so I made arrangements for one of his assistants to come to his house and spoon feed Charley three times a day. It wasn’t the greatest situation, but it was all I could think to do, and I knew Charley would understand.

  I thank God that I have a one-track mind, especially when it comes to my work. Most architects farm out the boring, mundane, detailed drawings like plumbing, HVAC and electrical to draftsmen, and only concentrate on the more creative parts of the design. It’s a much more efficient use of time and in the past on some projects I had done that, but time was something I had too much of these days, so for the past few months, when I wasn’t sitting next to Melissa praying she would wake up, I had spent eighteen to twenty hours a day buried deep into drawing plumbing, HVAC plans and electrical schematics...anything to keep my mind occupied.

  I would draw non-stop until my eyes grew too blurred to see, or when Donna would bark for me to take her outside. I rarely went home, usually sleeping on the couch in my office. I knew it was wrong. I needed to be home spending time with Molly, but there were nurses there for Melissa and I had hired a nanny to look after Molly and she seemed to be doing okay. Truthfully, she was doing much better than me…I had grown to hate that house.

  When the urge hit me, I stood up behind my work station, stretched and walked to the bathroom. When I had finished and washed my hands, I glanced at my watch, it was almost 1:00 a.m. It had been several hours since I had heard a peep out of Donna. I looked around the room, but she wasn’t laying in any of her usual spots, so I walked downstairs searching for her.

  “Donna? Where are you, girl?”

  I heard a faint whine coming from the kitchen. When I rounded the corner, I saw her lying in the floor, curled up into a ball. She was panting and her body was trembling. I fell to my knees and petted her head, “What’s wrong, girl? Are you sick?”

  She opened her eyes, looked at me and whined softly. “NO, NO, NO!” I screamed, lifting her off the floor. “You can’t be sick!”

  I ran out my door to the parking lot and carefully loaded her in my truck. Driving like a maniac, flying through red lights and stop signs, I made it to Jake’s house in fifteen minutes, sliding to a stop in his driveway.

  Holding Donna in my arms, I yelled at the top of my lungs and kicked on his door. I wasn’t sure what time it was, one or two a.m., and the house was dark. “Jake! Wake up!” I yelled. “I need you, it’s an emergency!”

  The porch light came on and the door cracked open. “Jake, Donna’s sick and I think she’s dying. I found her like this on the floor.”

  “I’ll take her,” he yelled, pulling her out of my arms, running toward the back of the house. “There’s a Keurig coffee maker in the kitchen. I’ll check on Donna, you make the coffee,” he said, running away.

  I found the Keurig, dropped in the pod and hit the button. When that one was done, I made one more. I picked up the cups and headed toward the back, searching for him. “Where are you?” I yelled.

  A door opened and Jake stepped out. He was smiling, “Ahhh, coffee,” he said, reaching for the cup.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Calm down, she’s not sick.” He took a sip of the coffee and motioned toward the door. “Have a look.”

  I looked in the door and saw Donna lying on an exam table. She was panting harder, trying to breathe. “If she’s not sick, then what’s wrong with her?”

  He gave me a wide grin. “She’s in labor.”

  “What?”

  “She’s gonna have puppies. And it’s going to be pretty soon.”

  “She’s pregnant? That’s impossible!” I said. “She hasn’t been around any other dogs. She’s been with me every second since...” I stopped and looked at him. “How long are dogs pregnant?”

  He nodded, “Only a few months. Usually about 60 or 70 days.”

  “Oh my God!” My knees buckled and I dropped to the floor, leaning against the wall. Wiping the tears from my face, I looked up at him. “Do you think they are Charley’s?”

  He raised his shoulders and lifted his brow. “I don’t know, but we’ll find out pretty soon.”

  An hour later, I was petting Charley in the other room when Jake walked in, grinning, “It’s over,” he said. “Come see.”

  When I walked back into the room to see Donna, she was sound asleep, lying in a large dog bed. In between her legs, she was cuddling four tiny puppies. Their eyes were still closed tightly. Three of them were female, almost white in color, but the other one, the male...was a redhead.

  When I looked back at Jake, he raised his brow and tilted his head. “I have an idea.” He picked up two of the puppies and handed them to me. Then he picked up the other two and said, “Follow me.”

  We walked down the hall to where he was keeping Charley. Jake kicked open the door with his foot and walked in the room. Charley was lying on the bed motionless, but his tail began to move slightly when we walked in.

  Jake laid the two puppies down in between Charley’s legs and motioned for me to do the same. The puppies instinctively began searching for something Charley didn’t have – nipples full of milk. When they couldn’t find them, they began to whine loudly.

  Charley’s tail started to move rapidly, wagging further and further with each swing and his eyelids began to twitch.

  I dropped to my knees beside him and petted his head. “Open your eyes, Charley,” I said, fighting back my emotions, “Come on, you can do it. Open those eyes, buddy and see what you have done!” After a few moments...he slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to focus.

  Jake’s jaw dropped and I burst out crying. “I knew you could do it!” I screamed. “It’s me, buddy! Can you see me?”

  He slowly lifted his head and looked me in the eyes. When he did, I laid down and pulled him and the puppies into my arms. “Thank you, God! Thank you,” I whispered over and over as I wept, squeezing them hard.

  After I calmed down, I sat up. “Charley, look down. Can you see them?”

  He slowly raised his head and looked at the puppies between his legs. “They’re yours, Charley, yours and Donna’s. Three girls and a boy.”

  He looked up at me, opened his mouth and tried to speak, but only made a slight sound. He looked back at the puppies squirming between his legs, then back at me. He tried to speak again, then dropped his head back on the bed, exhausted. But his eyes remained open.

  Jake ran out of the room and came back a few minutes later dragging Donna’s bed, with her still sound asleep, into Charley’s room. When I saw what he was doing, I helped him slide her next to Charley.

  Only moving his eyes, Charley watched the puppies feeding in between Donna’s legs. When I squatted down to pet him, he lifted his head up and looked at me. “Woof,” he barked softly.

  I’m pretty sure he gave me that silly smile, but I couldn’t see his face from all the tears flooding my eyes.

  Over the next six months, Molly and I grew accustomed to having round the clock nurses coming and going on their shifts, and had accepted them as part of our daily lives. I insisted that Melissa be bathed every day and that she received her physical therapy every afternoon. Marshall had found a nutritionist and because of it, Melissa had actually gained some weight.

  I had converted my home office to a makeshift hospital room, with an adjustable bed and a hydraulic lift to help move her when needed. I even installed medical machines with video displays to monitor her vitals. I had equipped the room with everything, but Brenda went absolutely ballistic when she saw the monitors.

  She hated the entire idea, and was totally against me having Melissa there in my house anyway. “It’s not a normal thing for a little girl to have to deal with,” she ranted. “Why can’t you understand that? Having her comatose mother lying in a bed in a room next to hers, listening to her heartbeat echoing off the walls, waiting for it to stop? Don’t you see how something like that could damage her? Melissa needs to be in a long-term care facility, not in your damn house, but if you have to have her here,
at least take out those friggin’ machines!”

  Before I agreed, Brenda had unplugged them, pulled them out of the room and spent almost two hours rearranging and decorating her room. When she had finished, it resembled a suite in an upscale bed and breakfast. Only the side rails on the bed gave it away.

  Each day after school, Molly would go sit in her mother’s room and talk to her, telling her all about her day, and would often read to her from one of her favorite books. I wasn’t sure it was healthy for her to do it, but she seemed to love it, so I let it go on.

  I usually spent my evenings sitting next to Melissa’s bed, sipping my wine and talking to her as well. I had no idea if she could hear me and was listening, but every night when I left her, I prayed that she would either wake up and let me know that she had heard every word…or would pass quietly and peacefully in the night.

  At that point of my life, I would have been happy either way, but there was no way in hell I was going to make the decision to take her off the feeding tube and let her starve to death. I was tired of making God’s decisions.

  33

  The Vision

  One year later…

  With the waves crashing at our feet, holding Molly’s hands between us, Annabelle and I lifted her up and swung her back and forth over the water as she giggled and laughed.

  When the three of us were walking back, holding hands on the beach toward the wooden walkway Annabelle suddenly stopped and looked at me. “Oh my God!” She gasped. “This was her vision!”

  “Whose vision?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”