“Mom!”
8
BRANDON
I leap out of the hard, plastic chair lining the visitors waiting room of the emergency department at our local hospital when Dr. Giorgio breaks through the clear flapping doors in the corridor. There’s no blood on her smock like the stories Melody shared on the events after the Greggs’ home invasion, and there are no police officers filling the room, but her face is as white as Joey’s was when he collapsed, and her eyes are as drenched as mine.
My family watches her cross the room in silence. Since Joey’s collapse was many hours ago, we’re all here. Phoenix drove four hundred miles straight without stopping, Dad arrived at our ranch before the ambulance, and Madden rocked up three hours ago. We’ve spent a majority of the time pacing the corridor outside of the emergency triage room they raced Joey into. We only stopped when the security guard cited we were causing a fire hazard and requested for us to wait in the visitors waiting room.
I suck in my first breath in what feels like minutes when Dr. Giorgio dips her chin instead of shaking her head. No one wants a headshake. A head shake would’ve meant I was too slow getting to Joey. It would have meant he was dead.
“It’s still touch and go,” she advises us, her tone grim. “The medications we’ve been administering to him the past two years aren’t working as they once did. The muscles around his heart are badly inflamed, causing an inadequate blood supply to be pumped to the rest of his body…” she bounces her eyes between my father and mother while saying, “… including his brain. That’s the reason he collapsed today. His carotid arteries have been compromised. We’ve organized for stints to be placed in tomorrow afternoon, but they are only a temporary solution.”
“Temporary?” my mom double-checks.
When Dr. Giorgio nods, my father seeks additional information. “What’s a permanent solution? He can’t keep living like this. He’s barely been out of bed the past six months.”
To an outsider, he seems like a caring, fretful father. Only those who know him best know the real reason for his questions. Just like no one wants a headshake when the doctor comes out to greet the family of a sick patient, no one who campaigns optimum strength and agility wants to admit they have a sick kid.
A majority of our family and almost all of Joey’s friends are unaware he’s sick. Our father hides his illness as well as he does his temper when members of the media try to rile a response out of him. He acts as if he’s personally responsible for Joey’s condition.
Joey jokes that he is. He said a faulty heart was his punishment for lining up for a heart when so many male members of our family before him skipped that line.
“What about a pacemaker, surely that’s an option?” my father asks.
Dr. Giorgio steps closer to my parents. “We had considered a pacemaker, but it’s too late for that now. The only thing capable of saving Joey is a heart transplant.”
“A transplant?”
My mother falls back into her chair when Dr. Giorgio nods. “It truly is our only hope.”
While Phoenix comforts our mother, Madden fills the silence of our father’s gaped jaw. “Then how do we get one of those? Can you order it off Amazon? Have one shipped in from China? What do we need to do to get him a new heart?”
Although his timing is ill-mannered, Madden’s first defense when he’s grappling for a sense of normality is to joke around. Considering anger is his second go-to, I’d rather deal with his ignorance than his aggression.
“We’ll place Joey on the organ donor registry, but I must be honest with you, the wait time could quite possibly be longer than the durability of Joey’s heart.”
Madden’s switch flips in less than a nanosecond. Gone is the humor on his face, replaced with a man who looks like he wants to rip Dr. Giorgio’s heart from her chest and give it to Joey. “What are you saying? Are you saying he could die before he gets a transplant?” When he gets right up into her face, I pull him away. “This is bullshit. He’s barely lived. He’s only eighteen years old!”
He shrugs out of my hold before storming out of the room, upending two chairs on his way. I watch his retreat until he disappears from view, then I switch my focus back to Dr. Giorgio. She’s twice my age and a ton more sophisticated, but she’s only ever had Joey’s best interests at heart, so she doesn’t deserve to be disrespected like that. “I’m sorry—”
“It’s okay, Brandon. Don’t apologize. It is a very trying time right now.” She drifts her eyes between each member of my family before holding them on my mom’s. “For all of us.” She bends down until she’s eye level with my mom. “I’ll do everything I can for Joey. I promise you that.”
My mother drags a balled tissue under her running nose before lifting her chin. “Thank you.”
My brows stitch in confusion when Dr. Giorgio squeezes her hand before she stands to her feet, but since now isn’t the time to decode anyone’s body language, I shake off my confusion for a more appropriate time.
“I’ll allow one visitor at a time to see Joey over the next hour, then we’ll call it a night. It’s important everyone gets some rest right now.”
When my family sighs in collective agreement, Dr. Giorgio exits the room, leaving me with the task of proving to my father why it’s more important for a mother to visit her son before his father.
It’s a long, drawn-out forty minutes.
AS I CLIMB the stairs of my family home, I rub at the tightness in the back of my neck. I have no clue what the time is, but if the rooster crowing in the background is any indication, I’d say it’s a lot closer to dawn than dusk.
Since I spoke out against my dad’s wish to see Joey first, I was the last of our family members to visit him, but it didn’t take away from the experience. In all honesty, I’m kind of glad. Dad saved the best for last. Even Joey said that.
Since Joey was doped up on pain medication, he was in good spirits. He spent a majority of our twenty-minute chat encouraging me to fight for Melody as rigorously as he’s planning to overcome his disease.
