Chapter Thirty-Two
Theo
I huddle between my parents, impatiently waiting for news—waiting to see if my little girl has lost her leg or even worse… if she has lost her life. My mother plays with my hair like she has done a thousand times before. Any time I was ever upset as a child and even as an adult, her fingers would softly comb through my hair, giving me the peace I need. My mother has always been there for me, from skinned knees to diabetes scares, and even through the rare girlfriend breakups. She always knows what to do and say, and she knows when no words are necessary, like now.
My father holds my hand, and I can feel him silently pray for everyone involved—for Stella, for me, and even for Darla. It’s hard for me to pray for Darla right now. I guess I wasn’t cut out for the ministry like Dad. He treats everyone with equal compassion like the Bible teaches. I can’t forgive her like I know I should. She has had plenty of chances to tell me about Stella, and she chose to keep my child from me.
I can’t even talk to Jennifer right now. We’ve never had a divide like this before, and it’s killing me. She rests her head on Tommy’s shoulder, and they speak in hushed tones. Her eyes plead for me to talk to her.
My voice breaks through the silence. “I’m sorry for all this.”
Mom squeezes my shoulder. “We’re family. We get through things together.”
“Yeah, but I know this is a lot to digest all at once. I promise you, I didn’t know she was mine. I wouldn’t have kept that from you.”
“We know, dear.”
“Don’t be disappointed in me.”
My mother squeezes my shoulder. “This is a blessing. You have a child, Theo. It’s nothing short of a miracle.”
“Your mother’s right,” Dad says.
“It doesn’t feel like a miracle right now.”
Jennifer wipes her face of tears. “Theo…”
I peek over at Darla on the other side of the room. She has her knees tucked under her chin, and she turns her head, resting her cheek on them. She seems so devastated, so alone.
“It will,” Dad says.
My mother squeezes my shoulder again. “I have a granddaughter, and she’s named after me.” She kisses me on the cheek.
I grin. I only now realize that. Tommy nudges my foot with his shoe. He winks at me. I think back to the one night I had with Darla. We didn’t share our real names, but somehow, I must have mentioned my mother in a conversation. It warms my cold heart. Stella is named after my mother. Knowing this, it’s wrong for me to stay mad at Darla. I shouldn’t, but I still am.
Dr. Michaels enters the waiting room. I stand. Darla stands. This is the moment of truth. I can’t read his face. Doctors learn early on the art of a poker face. We can’t let our emotions get the best of us, especially when a family is facing critical news about their child. I’ve been there many times. If the doctor isn’t calm, the parents freak out. This isn’t helping me at all today. Oh, please tell me my daughter made it through the surgery. Please.
Darla and I meet him halfway across the room.
“She’s stable.”
I exhale. I think I’ve been holding my breath ever since she was wheeled into surgery. Darla whimpers and grabs on to my arm. My parents must be saints to have managed all the childhood injuries and illnesses of four kids all these years.
“We made three incisions, one on her foot and two on her calf. We cleaned out the infection as best we could but left all three incisions open because we will probably have to go back in.”
“Why?” Darla asks before I can.
“That’s how this infection works. We think we’ve got it cleaned out, but if one microbe is left, it starts destroying again. We may have to go in multiple times.”
“What’s next?” I ask, not really wanting to know.
“Every day is a new challenge. She’ll need to stay sedated and intubated. I need to be honest with you; she is not out of the woods yet. I’d like to talk to you about an unorthodox treatment.”
Darla’s eyes are full of hope. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a theory. I don’t have scientific evidence, and no clinical trials have ever been done. But the theory is that with high-dose antibiotics, which is standard protocol for infections like this, the immune system kicks in to do its job but creates a severe inflammatory response, causing more damage to surrounding tissue. Sometimes IV steroids suppress the immune system only enough to avoid the inflammation and let the body get rid of the infection one hundred percent.”
“So, she’s still fighting?” Darla’s hope-filled words ask what I was thinking.
“Yes, but before we put her under, her vitals were already becoming unstable, and she’s started having hot and cold sweats. We don’t have the luxury to wait and see.”
Darla and I lock eyes. It’s as if we can read each other’s minds.
“Do it,” we both say without a second thought.
“I can’t guarantee that it will work, and it’s very risky.”
“Do it,” we both say again.
It’s not much, but I’m thankful Darla and I didn’t argue over the course of action for Stella. It’s nice to have some common ground, even though it’s not enough to make a difference in how I feel about her right now. At least we can come together for Stella.
The doctor nods. “I should get the culture back tomorrow. If it’s Strep A, I’ll order the steroids and continue with aggressive antibiotics.”
“Can we see her?” Darla asks, reading my mind again.
“Remember, she’s sedated and won’t be able to talk to you. And you can only stay for a few minutes. Two visitors at a time. I’ll let you know when you can go in.”
“You go first,” I say to Darla.
She shakes her head. “We see her together.”
I’m not sure if I’m ready to be on team Darla, but maybe a united front is what Stella needs right now. “Okay.”
Dr. Michaels leaves, and we are left staring at each other. I stand there like a bump on a log with my hands stuffed in my pockets. She checks her watch, glances up at me, and back down at the floor.
Darla and I tiptoe into Stella’s ICU room. The nurse waves us in. Lots of beeps pierce the otherwise quiet, sterile environment. The nurse checks Stella’s vitals and records her urinary output. She examines each toe and finger.
“Come on in,” the nurse says to us. “She’s sedated, so she won’t respond to you. Don’t let that scare you. She needs rest, so don’t stay long. Stay clear of her leg too.”
I put my hands on Darla’s shoulders and guide her closer to Stella’s face, which is covered in beads of sweat. Her sweet cheeks have a deep-red tint to them, and oh, how I wish I could kiss them and wake her up like Sleeping Beauty. I slide a sweaty curl away from her neck. God, she’s burning up.
“Stella Bella, it’s Mommy. I’m here. You rest and get better, okay?” Darla’s voice cracks.
I rub her shoulder.
“I love you, baby. Please get better. Please.” She kisses Stella’s hand and cheek. “Please be strong and get better. I’m right outside that door, so don’t be scared. I love you so much.” Darla gives me a sad expression before she focuses back on Stella. “Stella, your daddy’s here. You need to get well so you can tell him all about you. He needs to know how special you are.”
My heart melts. Even though Darla knows how hurt and mad I am at her, she knows exactly what Stella needs right now. It’s all about Stella. That’s what Darla told me once. Nothing else matters.
Darla motions for me to come closer. “Talk to her,” she whispers as she wipes the tears from her eyes. She knows as well as I do that Stella won’t respond to us, but there’s enough evidence to confirm that patients remember what people say when they’re unconscious.
I wipe the snot and tears off my face and sit on the bed next to her. Darla places Stella’s hand in mine, and I wrap my fingers around hers.
“Hey, kiddo.”
Darla smiles.
“It’s me. We’ve met a few times, and I knew you were special for a reason. I didn’t know why at the time. I’m your… I’m your…”
I look at Darla. She motions with her head for me to continue.
“I’m your daddy. And I would love nothing better than for you to get well so we can get that chocolate ice cream we talked about. Okay? So please be brave and strong. I love you, sweet girl.”
I lean down and kiss her cheek.
Darla kisses her again. “I’ll be back soon. You rest.”
We leave her room. Darla’s eyes are full of emotion. Another tear trickles down her face. As I’m about to wipe it away, she does it herself. She doesn’t need me, not even to wipe her tears off her face. She never has. I ignore Darla and continue down the hallway toward the waiting room. Her sobs don’t even make me glance back. I don’t even slow down as I storm away from her.