“It looks like there’s been some damage to the kidney. It’s only functioning at about twenty percent. He needs to start dialysis until we can find a donor. Have you been tested to see if you’re a match?” the middle-aged doctor asks, leaning across his massive desk, hope in his eyes.
Glancing around the room, I take note of the medical books and papers that litter his desk. It’s warmly decorated in earth tones and quite a few framed degrees hang on the wall behind his desk. But it’s the rather large portrait of a landscape opposite us that catches my attention. Standing tall in the middle of a field of wildflowers is a beautiful tree in full bloom. I’m sure the portrait is supposed to be serene and peaceful, but to me, it just looks sad, the tree standing there all alone. No one is around to see the beauty of the flowers and the strength of the branches that reach toward the sky.
I wonder how it ended up there, just the one tree. Was it planted and intended to spend its days lonely, surrounded by nothing but grass and flowers? Or maybe it was a seed that had been blown from a forest just on the edge on the picture, right out of sight. I assume that the tree wouldn’t want to be alone, but perhaps that’s wrong too. Maybe it enjoys the solitude. Maybe the tree is happy that it has nothing surrounding it and drowning out the sun it has so clearly thrived under.
It makes no difference as to how or why it ended up there all by itself. All that matters is that it perfectly reflects how I feel in this very moment.
Alone.
“Yes!” Abby rushes out. “When he was born, we went ahead and got tested in case this day ever came. No one in the family was.” She looks toward me.
I quickly avert my gaze, not wanting her to see the fear in my eyes.
“I don’t understand. Everything has been functioning just fine. He had his annual check just a few months ago. How could he go from being okay to needing dialysis in such a short time?” Her eyes dart between the doctor and me, desperate for an answer.
I reach across hard, wooden armrests to take her hand in mine. She grasps my hand in hers and squeezes my fingers to the point of pain. I try not to let her see my grimace and turn my attention back to Doctor Barnes.
He shakes his head. “It looks like his kidney was damaged somehow. Possibly playing sports. Didn’t you say that he started having these symptoms after a particularly grueling football game? Children born with renal agenesis are really discouraged from doing anything strenuous that could damage the one remaining kidney. I know that it’s hard to tell your son no when he seems like any other normal child. But, unfortunately, this is why we advise against it.”
I know he isn’t trying to be condescending, but it’s still a punch in the gut to hear that all of this could possibly have been prevented. I’m suddenly angry at Abby. Angrier with her than I have ever been. I jerk my hand out of her grasp and glare at her.
Surely she knew that Connor wasn’t supposed to be playing sports, but she let him anyway. It is just another example of how irresponsible she is, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from lashing out at her. Abby loves Connor and I love her, but the fact that she spends more time interviewing politicians in foreign countries than she does raising her own son frustrates me.
Watching the scene play out in front of me feels as though I’m watching a movie. This can’t be real. This can’t be my life. My chest hurts, and a stray tear falls from my eyes, but my mind is running in a million different directions at once and I can’t process what is being said. Numbness is the only word I can think of to describe how I am feeling as I listen to the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth, and even that doesn’t do justice to the emptiness in my chest and the rock in my gut.
The doctor’s kind eyes are sparkling, as if he’s as upset as we are. But how could he be? He didn’t watch Connor come in to this world, red-faced and screaming. He didn’t teach him how to tie his shoes or make chocolate chip cookies from scratch. He wasn’t the one who was going to have to spend countless hours in the hospital, making empty promises that everything would be okay. We were. And, while, deep down, I appreciated his concern, I don’t want his empathy. I don’t want anything more from him but a solution to this horrible situation we’ve suddenly been thrust into.
I rub my hands over my face as he continues to ramble on about the possible causes, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. Evidently, the damage is done and there is no reversing it. A strangled cry passes through my lips at the thoughts racing through my mind, and it isn’t until I notice that the room is quiet that I realize my inner turmoil is on display for all to see.
“I’m…I’m so sorry,” I stutter, embarrassed. “Please, continue”
His warm eyes tell me that my interruption was not an issue. “I was saying that we really can’t pinpoint the exact moment the damage occurred or what it was that caused it. We can only move forward from here.” He turns his attention to his computer and begins pecking at the keys on the keyboard. “First things first. We need to get him down to the dialysis clinic as soon as possible. Is there any way you can have him there at seven a.m. tomorrow?” Doctor Barnes finishes what he was doing and looks toward Abby. His question was aimed at her, but really, it was meant for me.
Undoubtedly, I will be the one to bring him in tomorrow.
“Sure, sure,” Abby replies, looking to me for confirmation. She pulls her phone out of her purse and opens her calendar. “Ah, I’ve got that interview with the governor tomorrow, Sid. Will it be an issue for you to get him here?” she asks, knowing what my answer will be.
I’ve never told her no when it comes to Connor, even when it meant canceling my own plans. Even when it meant selling the condo I loved to help out. Even when it meant putting my own career on the backburner when hers had taken off.
Rolling my eyes in her direction, I nod in confirmation, too afraid to open my mouth for fear of what I might say to her.
Doctor Barnes stands and then perches on the edge of his oversized desk. “Okay, great. The nurse will get you all the information you need and she’ll send over his records this afternoon. Ms. O’Neil, I am so sorry to have had to tell you this.” He squeezes her shoulder, letting his hand linger. “I know this is not what you were expecting when Sidney brought him in for the back pain he was having. But I promise you we are going to do absolutely everything we can for Connor.”
“Thank you so much, Doctor Barnes.” Abby smooths her hair with shaking hands and plasters a fake smile on her face.
It doesn’t fool the doctor, and I know that it’s hiding the terror she’s feeling.
“I’m sure Connor will be glad to know we have a plan in place,” she says. “So, when can I tell him that the dialysis treatments will be over? I know he will be ready to start feeling better, and having a finish line will go a long way in helping that.”
I gape at her, getting angry all over again. Is she stupid? Was she even paying attention? Or was she too busy worrying about what she was going to ask the governor tomorrow that she didn’t comprehend what she just heard? I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, yell at her to wake the fuck up. Doctor Barnes must be thinking the same thing I am, because he glances over at me, his eyebrows raised. I shrug, just as confused as he is.
“Ms. O’Neil, there isn’t an end date. If we don’t get a donor kidney for Connor, he will be on dialysis permanently. I’ll say this as gently as I can, but I can’t sugarcoat this for you. If Connor doesn’t get a kidney within the next six months, this will unfortunately be fatal.” Doctor Barnes lets the word fatal hang in the air and waits to see how she will react to the bomb he’s just dropped.
My stomach rolls. I’m still trying to figure out what she’s thinking, so I continue to look directly at her. Her face pales, and her eyes go wide. She opens her mouth and then clamps it shut so violently that I hear her teeth clack together. I turn my head back towards the painting of that lonely tree. I can’t bear to see my sister so upset, even if this is her fault.
“He won’t be able to survive on one kidney that isn’t functioning,” Doctor Barnes finishes quietly. His fingers flex as he squeezes her shoulder one more time, trying to comfort her.
I stare at it, wondering who will comfort me.
When Abby opens her mouth again, it’s to shriek, “Fatal? Fatal?!”
I flinch as my train of thought comes screeching to a halt and stare at her in shock.
She bats the doctor’s hand off her shoulder. “How can you sit here and use the word fatal when talking about my son? You don’t know him. You don’t know how strong he is. How smart and funny and quick-witted Connor can be.” She takes a big gulp of air. “There is no way that this is going to be fatal.” She spits the words out like spoiled milk. Snatching her purse from beneath her chair, she shoots me a look demanding I follow her.
Painfully, I turn the corners of my mouth up slightly and give the doctor an apologetic smile. I can’t stand to think of smiling while Connor is sick and dying. There is nothing to smile about, but I do. I throw my hand up in a quick wave before I scramble after Abby.
I catch up to her in the parking lot and grab her arm.
Whirling towards me, she bites out “Fatal? He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. The man is obviously a quack, Sidney. We need to get a second opinion.”
I take a deep breath in before I begin to speak, knowing that I’ll need every ounce of restraint I have to keep from exploding at her. She really has some nerve to question the doctor I handpicked for Connor’s care.
“Abby. That man is the best doctor in the state. He has written countless articles on children born with renal agenesis that have received recognition from around the world. Not that you would remember that, because you aren’t the one who spent hours researching him and then called begging for an appointment every day for three weeks! How dare you call him a quack! And what was that bullshit you spewed about him not ‘knowing’ your son,” I say, throwing up air quotes. “He has been seeing Connor for the last six years! It’s because of him that Connor has done so well up until this point! If we want to talk about someone not knowing your son, then why don’t we talk about you?”
I pause to catch my breath for a moment, but then another thought flies out of my mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me that he wasn’t supposed to be playing sports? How could you sign him up for something that was so dangerous? It’s just like you to think you know better than a fucking specialist!”
So much for staying calm, I think when my rant ends.
It’s Abby’s turn to stare at me while her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. The pain of what I’ve just said flashes across her perfect features, and her shock at my accusations should have softened me towards her. Instead, it just pisses me off further, and suddenly, I can’t stand the sight of her any longer.
I make it two steps toward my car before the gravity of what’s just transpired hits me and my knees buckle. There, in the middle of the sidewalk, the tears I’ve managed to hold at bay spill out of me like waves on the ocean. Once they begin, there’s no hope of stopping them, and I don’t even try. I’ve earned these tears over the last seven years. Every time I had to be the bad guy and tell Connor no. Every time I had to force him to take the medicine that upset his stomach. Every time I had to hold his hand while he was poked with yet another needle. I’ve earned the right to cry in the middle of this busy parking lot.
For what seems like an eternity, I sob while people walk around me, in a hurry to get to wherever they are going. While I’m lost in my sorrow, a pair of feet pause briefly, perhaps a person stopping to offer comfort, but no one can give me that. There is no comfort to be had. Connor is dying.
Abby finally comes over to me and places a hand on my back, but I shove her away. I don’t want her comfort when it’s her fault that this has happened in the first fucking place. It isn’t Abby’s life that’s being cut short.
And that’s when it hits me. It isn’t my life, either.
“Oh, god!” I wail as a fresh wave of tears begin to flow.
How are we going to tell my twelve-year-old nephew that he is dying?