Kathleen's Story (13 page)

M
ARY
E
LLEN’S SURGERY
to replace a faulty valve in her heart was scheduled for early Thursday morning, Dr. Chris Kiefer as chief surgeon and Dr. Teresa Kiefer attending. Kathleen spent the night before in the sleeper chair near her mother’s bed, knowing that the OR team would arrive very early to begin prepping Mary Ellen for the hours-long open-heart procedure. Once she went to recovery, she’d remain there until she was stable enough to be returned to ICU, where she’d spend the days it took her to fully recover.
If
she recovered. The surgery took a toll on patients, and Mary Ellen wasn’t in the best of health. But Dr. Sanders assured Kathleen that she would be standing by to help manage any complications from the multiple sclerosis. And Dr. Kiefer also said that once the valve was in place and working, Mary Ellen’s quality of life would improve greatly.

In the early part of the evening, Carson came by the intensive care unit to wish Mary Ellen
well and because she had asked to see him. “I want to thank you for saving my life,” she told him. “You knew just what to do.” She reached for his hand as she spoke. “I’m very grateful.”

“No problem, Mrs. M.,” Carson said. “I couldn’t have lived all the years I have at my house and not picked up some medical know-how.”

“He was wonderful,” Kathleen said, standing beside him.

Carson gave a sheepish grin. “The paramedics did most of the work.”

“Well, I’ve been told that your quick actions made the difference,” Mary Ellen said. “At the very least, I owe you dinner when this is all over.”

“I’ll be there.” Turning to Kathleen, he said, “And I’ll see you tomorrow morning in the surgical waiting room.”

“Raina and Holly have already plotted a game plan for the big wait. Their parents are coming too, so we’ll have a crowd,” Kathleen said.

“Vicki said she’ll be in the recovery room personally to supervise my care after the surgery,” Mary Ellen said. “I told her she didn’t have to do that, but she said she was looking forward to handling a real nursing duty. That’s nice of her and I’m grateful.”

“Word’s gotten around the hospital,” Carson said. “You’ll have lots of people checking on you.”

Mary Ellen looked pleased to know that Kathleen wouldn’t be waiting alone. “Holly said that her church is holding a prayer vigil for me. Can you imagine? A group of people I’ve never met sitting around and praying for me?”

“Whatever helps, we’re for it,” Kathleen said.

Carson grinned again. “I’d better be going before the nurse throws me out.” In the ICU only one person at a time was allowed to visit a patient, but the nurses were bending the rules that night.

“Yes, she’ll be in soon to give me my sleepy-time pill,” Mary Ellen said.

He gave Mary Ellen a thumbs-up signal and, taking Kathleen’s hand, stepped out of the glass cubicle with her and into the hall. “You want a sleepy-time pill too? I can ask Dad to order one for you.”

“No. I just want to be with her. I can sleep after this is all over.”

He kissed her forehead. “See you tomorrow. And don’t worry. My dad knows what he’s doing.”

Back in the cubicle, when Kathleen was alone with her mother, Mary Ellen said, “Kathleen, I want to talk to you before that pill arrives.”

“I’m listening.”

“We need to talk about what might happen if… if the surgery isn’t successful.” Mary Ellen’s eyes looked bright with unshed tears.

“Oh, Mom no—”

“Now, I’m not being pessimistic, but it’s foolish to not think about the worst-case scenario.” Mary Ellen’s voice assumed a no-nonsense tone and her expression was one of determination. “First of all, I’ve already signed a DNR form.”

Do not resuscitate
. Kathleen was familiar with the form because of her work in the admissions office. It simply meant that the patient didn’t want heroic measures to preserve his or her life if there was no reasonable hope of medical recovery. Many people attached the form to their medical records before having surgeries. It was routine. But now the idea left Kathleen feeling weak and sick.

“I don’t want to live in a vegetative state,” Mary Ellen continued. “I don’t want to be any more of a burden on you than I already am.”

Kathleen opened her mouth to protest, but her mother wouldn’t allow it. “The second thing is that I’ve given Holly’s parents—Mike, actually—temporary power of attorney. My recovery may take months and someone’s going to have to pay the bills for us, oversee the house, keep the van running—you know, the day-to-day-living stuff. He volunteered and I know he’s the right person for the job.”

Kathleen hadn’t even considered such details. Her mother had handled these things for years. “All right,” she said.

“If I
don’t
make it through, I’ve agreed to let the Harrisons take care of you. You will live with them at least until you’re eighteen, so that you can finish high school. Actually, Evelyn suggested this…she’s a kind, thoughtful woman. Raina’s mother volunteered to take you too, but I think the Harrisons are better prepared for such a job. And what with Hunter graduating and leaving for college next year, they’ll have space to spare, according to Evelyn.”

By now Kathleen’s eyes were filling with tears. The deadly seriousness of what she and her mother were facing had slammed into her head-on. If her mother died, she would be an orphan— motherless, fatherless—alone. She was terrified.

“Now, having said all that,” Mary Ellen added, taking her daughter’s hand, “I want you to know something else. I don’t want to die tomorrow. In fact, when I was lying on that kitchen floor, praying for help, before I blacked out, I realized that more than anything in this world, I want to live. I want to see you finish growing up. I want to see your children.

“Maybe I’ve not often given you the impression that I wanted to go on living, what with the MS and…and the loss of your dad.” She picked up Jim’s photo and pressed it to her breast. “But more than anything, I want to live. And if I do make it, I promise you things will be different for both of us. Dr. Kiefer says I’ll feel better. And
when I feel better, I’ll do more. I promise you that, Kathleen. Because …because…” Her voice broke. “Because I love you more than anything on this earth.”

Kathleen threw herself into her mother’s arms and together they wept, but not out of sadness or despair. They wept out of resolve and out of renewed hope, and for the pure joy of their love for each other.

Kathleen remained with her mother as long as she could the next morning, and when the OR transport gurney arrived to take Mary Ellen up for surgery, she reluctantly said, “See you later”— she couldn’t bring herself to say the word “goodbye”—and went up to the surgical floor’s family waiting room.

Holly and Raina were already there. Wordlessly, they hugged each other. Holly said, “Come see what we’ve done.” She and Raina had shoved a table into a corner along with a couple of chairs and spread out pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Holly explained, “This baby has three thousand pieces. I bought it just for today. This way, people can take a break from worrying and noodle over the puzzle piece by piece. Believe me, it’ll help pass the time.”

Raina showed Kathleen a cooler. “And I’ve squirreled away a stash of sodas and snacks. No need to leave the floor for anything.”

“Thank you,” Kathleen said, grateful for the two of them. Then they sat down to wait.

The room was rectangular, with clusters of sofas and chairs. A morning news show played on a television set, dog-eared magazines were stacked on tables, and a pot bubbled with brewing coffee. On one table, Kathleen saw a red phone without a dial face or punch pad. This was the phone the OR used to call the waiting room and notify those waiting when a particular surgery was over. Kathleen longed for it to ring for her.

Carson arrived, as did Holly’s parents. Vicki came by to tell them when the actual procedure had begun, then left to watch the operation from the observatory. Kathleen sat huddled in a chair, Carson beside her. When he took a bathroom break, Raina said, “I wish Hunter could be here too.”

Kathleen remembered he was still at camp. “Does he know?”

Raina nodded. “We talked last night, and I promised to call his cell phone the minute it’s over. He said to tell you that all the counselors prayed for her last night and again this morning.”

“Holly thinks there’s power in prayer,” Kathleen said.

“Let’s hope she’s right,” Raina said, looking to see if Holly was anywhere nearby. “I still can’t figure out why God lets this stuff happen in the
first place. Doesn’t seem very godlike to me to let good people go through bad things.”

People from the Pink Angels program began to stop by with words of encouragement. Connie and Mike brought in donuts and promised sandwiches at noon. Kathleen’s friends and workers from the admissions office also came by. Twice she wandered to the puzzle table, where Holly and her father were hunched over the jigsaw pieces in deep concentration, their fingers touching as they worked together. As she watched them, a lump swelled in her throat. She missed having a father at that moment almost more than anytime before.

Full of nervous energy, she picked up an abandoned newspaper, leafed through the sections and was stopped cold. She was looking at a full-color picture of Stephanie’s face from the front page of the Trendsetter back-to-school supplement. Had it only been the month before when she and Raina had stood at the window looking through binoculars at the photo shoot and making wisecracks? High school and wearing the “right” clothes seemed so trivial. Her whole life could change forever by the end of this day.

“What’s up?” Carson interrupted her thoughts.

She jumped. “Nothing,” she said. “And everything.”

He slid the paper from her hands and stared at Stephanie’s photo. Kathleen watched him, remembering
the framed image of Stephanie in his bedroom. She couldn’t read his expression. “Not too shabby for a girl in high school,” she said.

His eyes met hers. “Take it from me, there’s nothing glamorous about Steffie’s life,” he said. “Nothing.”

Just then, Holly tapped Kathleen on the shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, girlfriend, but I’ve got to take off for a while.”

“Where?” Kathleen worried that she might have missed something critical while talking to Carson over the newspaper.

Holly’s face lit up. “Ben’s going home today. I can’t let him go without saying goodbye.” She looked over her shoulder at her father, then back at Kathleen. “After all, he’s the only acceptable boyfriend I’ve ever known.”

H
OLLY RAN TO
the elevator, punched the Down button repeatedly, gave up and headed to the stairwell. She hit the ground floor and ran down a hallway and through a giant atrium to a second bank of elevators that would take her to the pediatric floor in the next building. She tried the elevators again. “Hurry up,” she demanded after hitting the button. She didn’t want to miss Ben’s leaving.

The afternoon before, he’d talked of how his daddy and mommy were driving over in his daddy’s big red truck to take him home. “But Grandma has to stay at my house ’cause there’s not enough seats in the truck for all of us. She’s making me a cake!”

Holly made it to the pediatric floor and pushed through the double doors of the cancer wing. She saw nurses clustered around Ben, who was sitting in a wheelchair in front of the desk. Holly recognized Ben’s mother too. Balloons, looking like a bouquet of lollipops, had been tied
to the arm of the wheelchair and danced above the small crowd. When Ben saw Holly rushing toward them, his face lit up. “Holly! You came to see me.”

“I wouldn’t let my favorite patient go without saying goodbye,” she said, bending to give him a hug.

Beth-Ann said, “Charlie, this here’s the girl I was telling you about.”

Holly said, “Hi” to the big man next to her.

“We’re mighty grateful for the way you helped out with Ben,” Charlie Keller said.

“He’s a wonderful little boy. I loved knowing him,” Holly said.

The Pink Angels volunteer assigned to take Ben down to the patient pickup area asked, “You want to take him down, Holly?”

“I sure do. And thanks.”

Hospital rules stated that every patient had to be escorted out of the hospital in a wheelchair after checkout. With another round of goodbyes to the nurses on the cancer floor, Holly and Ben’s family walked to the elevator, and this time Holly wasn’t in a hurry. Beth-Ann and Charlie carried books, toys, flowers and all Ben’s hospital gear. Ben was clutching his pirate teddy bear.

“I’m going to miss you,” Holly told him. “Who will I eat chocolate cake with?”

“He’ll be back for checkups,” Beth-Ann said. “We’ll look for you when we come.”

Except for her swollen abdomen, Ben’s
mother looked thin to Holly, and pale. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired, but real happy to have my little boy coming home.” She cradled her abdomen. “Only two more months now. Good thing too. I’m worn out just staying in bed all the time.”

Holly pushed Ben outside and into the semicircular driveway designed for patient pickup. Charlie went to get his truck. Beth-Ann also sat in a wheelchair nearby, and Holly crouched in front of the chair so that she could look into Ben’s face. “You think of me whenever you read one of those books, okay?”

“I will, Holly.” Ben was still bald from chemo and impossibly thin. His big blue eyes tugged at her heart.

“And stay well.”

“I
hate
being sick,” Ben said emphatically, then added, “Am I still your boyfriend?”

“My one and only.”

“Good.”

Charlie’s red truck pulled up. Ben’s stuff had been secured in the open bed, and the radio played a country song. Charlie lifted his son out of the chair and buckled him into the vehicle’s backseat. “Nice meeting you,” he said to Holly. He and a nurse helped his wife into the truck.

Beth-Ann leaned out the open window and took Holly’s hand. “Thank you for all those books you bought Ben. He loves them.”

“It was fun hunting for them in the bookstore and figuring out which ones he’d like best,” Holly said. She stepped back and, waving, watched the truck drive away. She stood with the empty wheelchair for several minutes, long after the truck had been swallowed up in traffic, the hot afternoon breeze stirring her hair. She felt a peculiar sense of loss and foreboding that sent a shiver through her.
Kathleen’s mother!
With a start, Holly remembered what was going on upstairs. She dragged the wheelchair inside the door and ran for the elevators.

At noon, two of the Pink Angels volunteer staff brought sandwiches to Kathleen and her friends. “You should eat something,” Holly’s mother said kindly, offering Kathleen a sandwich.

“I don’t think I can swallow,” Kathleen confessed. She looked at the clock for the millionth time. “It’s been hours. When do you think it’ll be over?”

“Dr. Kiefer said it could take a long time. Don’t worry, hon. A lot of people are praying for your mom. I truly believe that’s she’s going to pull through this.”

Kathleen nodded, not trusting her voice, wishing with all her heart that Evelyn’s prediction would come true, and quickly.

“When this is over today, please come home with us,” Evelyn said. “I’d love to take care of you
while your mother recovers. And Holly would be thrilled to have you stay awhile. And we’d love to have you live with us once school starts. Just until your mother comes home.”

“That’s nice of you.”

Carson had walked up, eating a donut. “You can stay at my place. I’ll tell my mom, ‘She followed me home. Can I keep her?’”

This made Kathleen and Holly’s mother smile. Evelyn said, “I’m serious, dear. You’re always welcome in the Harrison household.”

Holly bounded into the waiting room just as the red phone rang. An elderly man, also awaiting word from one of the operating rooms, answered it. He held the receiver in the air. “Kathleen McKensie?”

Kathleen’s mouth went dry. “That’s me,” she said, taking the receiver and holding it to her ear.

A voice said, “Dr. Kiefer will be there shortly to speak to you. Please go to the room across the hall.”

She hung up, her hands shaking. “It’s over,” she said. “Dr. Kiefer’s coming down.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” Carson asked.

She nodded and they all went into the smaller room. Moments later, Carson’s parents swooped through the doorway. They wore the green surgical garb of the OR and looked imposing, almost godlike. Teresa was holding her surgical
mask and Kathleen saw spots of blood on her gown. She offered Kathleen a reassuring smile. “Your mother made it through the surgery just fine. The new valve is in place and your mother’s in Recovery.”

If Raina and Holly hadn’t been holding her hands and Carson hadn’t been standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders, Kathleen would have crumpled to the floor. Everyone in the room gave an audible sigh of relief. “Can I see her?” Kathleen asked.

“Not just yet. Someone will let you know when she’s been taken up to ICU.”

Dr. Chris Kiefer said, “The next forty-eight hours are probably the most critical in heart procedure cases, but I really think she’s doing well. And,” he added, raising an eyebrow, “I’m impressed that the head of nursing is in Recovery to oversee her care.” He looked tired. “We have things we must do now, but I’ll be by to talk to you later.” He glanced at his son and their gazes held for a long moment.

“Thanks,” Carson said softly.

Dr. Kiefer gave a nod and left the room.

Kathleen turned, put her arms around Carson’s neck and buried her face in the front of his shirt. She cried, but this time from relief, from pure gratitude that it was over and that her mother was alive.