Lucas 56
Lucas
I hear the words, but it takes me a moment to process what I’m hearing. The voice is familiar, but I don't make it out immediately. Not until she says her name.
"Lucas, did you hear me? It's Stacy. Your father is in the hospital and it doesn't look good. I think you should come say goodbye."
I don't answer. I can't. I just hang up. I don't know what I feel in those first few moments. I feel nothing. Just an empty numbness.
I meet Olivia's eyes. They’re watching me intently. I pull her in my arms. That's all I want. From the minute I left the restaurant I wanted Olivia in my arms, close to me. Why can't life be that simple? Why did the world have to continue to move and spin around us.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
I shake my head trying to get the words out. It feels like an hour passes before I speak. I'm sure it isn't more than a minute or two, but the silence between us feels like the heavy lead apron the dentist places on your chest before he takes x-rays.
"I think he's dying. I think my father's dying."
As I say the words time disappears. I’m a little boy again, and he’s the same father that tossed the baseball with me for hours at end. He’s the man that shut down the office for all the functions and parties in my elementary school. He’s the man I went to for advice.
The man I loved and admired. The man who wanted desperately to make amends and help make my dreams come true. For these few moments, I’m hit with the overwhelming reality that I might lose him for good. Forever.
"What?" Olivia looks horrified. Her arms wrap around me, and I know in my heart there’s nowhere else she’d rather be. No one she'd rather be with. She’s my perfect match and I’m acting like an ass. "What happened?"
"I don't know. That was Stacy. She said I should get to the hospital."
"Do you know which one?"
"I'm not going."
"You have to."
"Why? After everything that happened . . ."
"Because if he does die you can never do this over. And it might eat away at you that you never got to say goodbye. You don't get second chances when it comes to death."
She’s right. And I know it. I redial Stacy's number to get the details as we head to my car.
"I'll drive, I don't think you're in any condition," she offers.
"I'm fine. Besides, I'll get us there faster."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
*
We rush up to the intensive care unit. Stacy’s in the waiting area on her phone. She hangs up when she sees me.
"Is he . . .?" I can't finish the sentence. I can't force myself to say the words. I spent so much time feeding the anger I have for him, and now it might all be over with nothing to show for it, nothing but a bunch of wasted years. And it’s all her fault.
"Not yet. He's unconscious. You should go in. I don't know if he could hear me or not, but I told him you were coming. I think he's waiting for you."
"Okay."
Olivia takes a step with me.
"Only two people are allowed in at a time." Stacy says making it clear that she intends to be one of the two people.
"Of course. No problem." For my benefit Olivia forces a smile.
Stacy slips her hand through the crook of my arm. Stunned, I hesitate only a moment before I brush her off. I can't stop her from going in with me, but she doesn't have to touch me. Olivia. I want Olivia by my side, but Stacy is his wife.
"It's okay. I'll be right here waiting." Olivia says before I turn and walk through the double doors of the ICU unit. Further proof of how well she understands what I need. It’s as if she knows what I’m thinking and knows what I need to hear.
It’s very quiet. I don't know what to expect, but for some reason I thought there’d be a lot of activity, doctors and nurses running from patient to patient.
The unit is comprised of several individual private rooms on either side of the hall, with the nurses’ station in the middle. That accounts for the lack of noise. The walls around each patient muffles it.
"Thank you for coming."
"I didn't come for you."
"I know. But if he's at all aware, I know this will make him feel better."
I glance down at Stacy. Her big blue eyes are red and swollen. Could she really love him? Or is she just afraid if he dies she'll be tossed out on her ass? If I have anything to say about it that's exactly what will happen.
"What happened?"
"I don't know for sure. He stayed late at the office. He called me a couple of hours ago. He didn't sound right. His breathing was off, and he was dizzy." She stops. "I thought he should go to the ER and get checked out. He said he wasn't up to driving, but he'd call an ambulance and I should call you and meet him here. He also mentioned something about almonds. Either he smelled almonds or he smelled of almonds. I'm not sure. Lucas, I'm afraid."
I don't look into the room, I’m not ready for that. Instead I keep my eyes on her. I have the feeling she’s looking for me to take her in my arms and comfort her. Like hell.
"This is the room?"
She nods with a sniffle.
Before I go in, I hear what sounds like someone playing a musical instrument. A range of notes ring out, almost like a mixture between a horn and a flute. And then I notice the hiss, the pulling in of air and the release, like a large balloon being deflated. I cover my face with my hands, recomposing myself. He’s on a ventilator.
Fuck!
Before I make a move to step into the room, I watch in silence as a young nurse rushes in. I follow close behind her and stay back, near the wall at the foot of the bed as she attends to my father. There’s so much I want to ask, but I don't know where to begin.
When I walked in it felt like I'd been kicked in the teeth. His eyes are closed, his body still. Wires and tubes run from him to machines on either side of him. One details his vitals. The other his breathing. His chest rises in an exaggerated way with every mechanical inhale, and sinks down again as it sucks the air out of him.
My eyes fall on the numbers displayed on the machines. I don't understand the intricacies of the respirator, but I do know that having blood pressure of eighty over forty isn't a very good sign. Still evaluating him I notice aside from the tube running from the ventilator to his mouth, a feeding tube had been placed down his nose.
A clip sits on his finger giving a display of the oxygen level in his body, a blood pressure cuff stays on his arm ready to squeeze at regular intervals. The nurse checks on the bag hanging from the pole attached to the corner of his bed, some sort of IV.
I take it all in and try to make sense of the scene in front of me. I'd just seen him a week earlier. I can't believe this is the same man.
"Are you his son?" The nurse turns to me with sympathetic eyes after making some adjustments to the breathing machine at his side.
"Yes."
"Steven," she addresses my father, speaking close to his ear in a louder voice than she used with me, "Did you hear that? Your son is here to see you."
"Come close and speak to him."
"What happened? What's wrong with him?"
"I'll send the house doctor in to see you."
House doctor. She means the resident on call. I don't want a fucking resident. I want a seasoned doctor that knows what the hell he’s doing, not some snot nose out of med school.
As the nurse walks out, Stacy comes to take her place at my father's side. I watch in a sort of detached denial. So many times over the last few years I wished him dead. I wanted him to suffer a slow and painful death. Now, I'd give just about anything for more time.
"So I met with your friends tonight."
Nothing. No response.
"C'mon wake up so I can tell you what happened."
The resident walks in. "Mr. Stillwell?" I look up.
The young doctor smiles and extends his hand. "Dr. Donavan. Nice to meet you."
"What can you tell me?"
"It seems that your father suffered cyanide poisoning."
"What? How?" I look to Stacy whose eyes glass over with tears.
"He actually self-diagnosed. He mentioned it when the medics arrived. Said he had a salad with Almonds and couldn't get rid of the almond smell."
"But how is he doing?"
The young doctor glances at the machines and shakes his head. "We pumped his stomach once we were able to confirm it, but his condition is quite serious. I don't know if you're familiar with the effects of this type of poisoning, but because it acts so fast and is so lethal, even if he were to survive, which at this point looks unlikely, we don't know what permanent damage has been done."
Stacy sobs loud and heavy.
"Permanent damage? Like what?"
"His kidneys are failing, and since it's like an internal asphyxiation, we don't know the extent of the damage to his heart and brain. Right now we're trying to stabilize his blood pressure with IV fluids."
"But, he's a doctor!" Stacy squeals. "How can he be poisoned if he's a doctor?"
"One thing has nothing to do with the other. Being a doctor doesn't negate things like sickness and cancer."
"I know that Lucas, I'm not an idiot. But he should know better. Couldn't he tell the food wasn't right?"
"Why? Was it something you made? Maybe you added a little something extra to knock him off?"
She covers her mouth with her hand and shakes her head, looking horrified that I could possibly say something so terrible to her.
"He was my husband. I loved him."
"You loved me, too, once upon a time. That didn't stop you from ripping my heart out."
"Is this what she did to you? Did she make you cold and heartless?"
"Who? Olivia?" Is she really going there? "No, baby, you did that all on your own. Don't you dare blame Olivia."
While Stacy and I bicker, the doctor makes his way out of the room. For the first time since I made the decision not to go to medical school, I regret it.
If I'd gone, maybe I could come up with something more than putting my trust in some pre-teen looking boy playing the role of MD. At the moment I feel out of control and helpless.
The last thing I need is more grief and aggravation from Stacy. If she pushes any further, I’m not confident I can control myself. I turn away from her and focus on my father. After pulling a chair over to the bed, I take a seat.
I glance at her. She owes me, and this is her time to pay up. "Do you mind? I'd like a few minutes alone with him."
She looks offended, but the days of me caring about her feelings are long behind me. "Fine." She dabs at her eyes with a tissue.
I wait a few moments after she leaves to gather my thoughts together. I don't know exactly how I feel. My mind, my heart, they’re in turmoil.
I lean forward in the chair and take his hand in mine. I work hard at swallowing the lump in the back of my throat. "She really is a piece of work. I think I finally understand what you were trying to say about Stacy being your penance."
There’s no response. He just lays there. Still. Too still. With the machine keeping air circulating through his body, instead of his lungs.
"I think I'm ready to hear your side of the story. But you have to open your eyes first, understand? I need for you to open your eyes."
My mind wanders for a moment to the children I work with. When they’re unresponsive, lost to a world most of us can't see or reach, I know if I continue to probe, to talk or touch, I can reach them in some way. In small measures at least, I pull them back into this world. Staring at my father, I don't have the confidence I could do the same.
"I need you to come back so we could hash this out the way we should've five years ago. Just you and me. No Stacy. Or Mom. Not even Olivia. Just you and me."
I glance at the machines monitoring his blood pressure and heart rate. Both drop just a little. I know my father isn't coming back to me. He’s lost. Gone forever.
I need to give Olivia the keys to my car and send her home. I’m not leaving. Not until it’s over.
As I walk out of his room I wonder if it’s possible to both love and hate someone at the same time. Until I saw him lying so helpless, I didn't think there was an ounce of love left in me for this man. Now, I know there is. I wonder if my mother has similar feelings for him.
Oh shit. My mother. Someone has to tell her, and that someone has to be me.