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As she’s wheeled through the doors to the surgical unit, my hand reaches for my father’s.
Chapter 4
Dana
* * *
This coffee is burning a hole in my gut.
Not surprising since it’s my fifth, or maybe sixth cup since we got here yesterday, and I haven’t been able to bring myself to eat anything. Pops is still sleeping, his large body barely able to hang on to the waiting room couch he finally curled up on around five this morning.
Debra left to take care of her family last night, but was back this morning. She walked in at seven thirty with a tray of coffee and muffins, and ordered me to try and have something to eat and a nap while she took over by Mom’s bedside in the ICU.
I’ve been sitting here, sipping one of the coffees, staring at my father’s sleeping form.
It’s been a hell of a long night with Mom rushed into surgery yesterday evening after her CT-scan confirmed a serious leak that required immediate intervention. She was far from being in ideal condition to undergo surgery, with an infection raging through her body but, as her doctor urged, she’d have no chance at all without it. It had been an agonizing moment outside the surgical ward, saying goodbye to Mom while she was putting on her usual brave face. Pops did the same, but the moment Mom disappeared through those doors, he all but crumbled to the floor.
The wait had been excruciating, four-and-a-half hours that felt like an eternity before we got the word she’d come through surgery and was in recovery. Another hour and a half later, we learned they’d not been able to wake her and were moving her from recovery to the ICU, where Pops went to sit with her. Only one person at a time.
I waited out here, pacing the floor and searching for information on my phone, which I’ve had to recharge once already. None of the stuff I pulled up on complications in anastomotic leak repair surgery was particularly helpful or encouraging, and with every moment Mom isn’t waking up, my heart becomes heavier and heavier.
Pops finally appeared a little before five, shoulders slumped and strain on his face. I got him to drink some water and lie down on the couch before I went to sit with Mom until Debra came to relieve me.
She looked pasty and frail, nothing at all like the robust, strong woman she was even a week or so ago. She appeared to have shrunk and aged decades.
Pops jerks up when the waiting room door opens and Dr. K walks in, a somber expression on his face.
“Good morning,” he greets us, as we both surge to our feet.
“Any news?” Pops jumps right in.
“Your wife is a fighter,” he shares. “As I mentioned last night, we made the right decision taking her straight to surgery, given the magnitude of the leak, but I’m afraid she’s far from out of the woods. At the moment she has still not regained consciousness after the surgery, which by itself is concerning.”
“Why isn’t she waking up?” my father questions.
“In some patients there is what we call a delayed emergence from anesthesia. There could be several reasons for that, and we have been trying to find the right treatment to reverse the effects of the anesthetic. Unfortunately, the standard reversal drugs we have tried don’t seem to have much of an effect, so we are doing a battery of tests and blood work this morning to see if there is an underlying issue that is preventing her from waking up. We are also keeping her in the ICU where we can closely monitor her.”
“Will she come through? Is there anything we can do?”
I grab my father’s hand and try not to cry at the desperation in his voice.
“As I said, your wife is a fighter,” Dr. K returns somberly. “Of course, she was already very sick and she is in grave condition, but she is hanging in there, so I’m not giving up on her, and neither should you. Talk to her when you’re with her, hold her hand and let her know you’re there. I know enough not to underestimate the importance of having a loved one by a patient’s bedside. It may not feel like much to you, but I’d like to believe she can hear you and it may help her find her way back.”
With that he gives both Pops and me a friendly nod before slipping out of the room.
My eyes are staring blindly at the door slowly closing, and my mouth is so dry, I don’t think I could swallow if I tried.
As much as he tried to give us some hope to hang on to, I heard his words as a warning. Sometimes it’s helpful to have medical knowledge, at other times I wish for blissful ignorance.
Rick
* * *
“What? You can’t possibly be letting him go. What the hell kind of department are you people running?”
I groan under my breath at the sound of Merrick’s voice. Of course, the man would pick this moment to drop by. Although, I shouldn’t be surprised, from what I hear he’s been driving Brenda nuts with the phone calls.
I do my best to keep the bite out of my response, but it’s been a frustrating day and I just spent forty-five minutes scrambling to fill out a detailed report, custody log, and transfer forms for our temporary guest, Mr. Samuel Chastain.
