About an hour after the ambulance left, my dad gets home. He walks in the door and says, “Sorry I’m late…” His words trail off. His face turns white, and I know he’s thinking the worst has happened.
“Everything is okay, Dad. We just had to take Mom to the hospital. We think she might have broken her hip. Grandma went with her, and I stayed home to ride with you. We should probably go now.” I say it as calmly as I can ’cause the last thing I want to do is worry him more.
“Let’s go.” He turns back toward the garage, and I follow with Jake behind me.
We all get into the car. “Jake, would you mind driving? I don’t want Dad to drive.”
He turns to my dad and holds his hand out for the keys. “Mr. McKenzie?”
My dad doesn’t even argue as he usually would and hands his keys to Jake. I love that Jake didn’t have to ask to go. He’s part of the family. He just comes with us, and neither dad nor I think anything about it. It’s as if it’s expected.
When we get to the hospital, Jake drops us off at the emergency room. “You guys go in and find her. I’ll park and find you all.”
“Thanks, Jake,” my dad says as he gets out of the car. He rushes to the doors, and I quickly follow. When he gets to the information desk, he asks the nurse on duty about Mom. She shuffles some papers and then steps away from the desk.
It takes her forever to come back. When she does, she looks at my dad and says, “Mr. McKenzie, your wife has been admitted. She is in room nine oh six. You will need to take these elevators”—she points to her left—“to the ninth floor and stop at the nurses’ station there. Right now, they are not allowing visitors.”
“We can’t see her?” my dad asks.
“You will have to talk to the nurse on nine. She will be able to give you more information.”
Dad rushes toward the elevators just as Jake approaches.
“Come on,” I say to him. He follows, and we all get on an elevator and head to the ninth floor.
Once the doors open, my dad rushes out and heads straight to the nurses’ station. He begins to ask about mom when a lady approaches.
“Mr. McKenzie?” she asks.
He turns toward her. “Yes.”
“I’m Dr. Andrews. I’m the doctor on duty who has been assigned to your wife.”
“Is she okay?” my dad asks. “They said she was not allowed visitors.”
“Yes, I put that restriction on because I knew you would be arriving soon. I wanted the opportunity to speak with you before you saw her.” She motions toward the waiting room across the hall. “Why don’t we sit for a minute?”
We all turn toward the waiting room and see Grandma sitting there. She walks over to join us, and we all sit together.
Dr. Andrews remains standing and says, “I want to start by saying that your wife is alive, but she is in a great amount of pain.”
“What happened to her?” Dad asks. I can hear the exhaustion in his voice.
“From what I can gather, it appears the cancer has been growing in the ball and socket of her hip joint. While the cancer was growing, it was also eating away at her bone and socket. It has gotten to the point that the bone is very thin, and the slightest movement caused it to split.” She looks down at her notes and says, “She probably just shifted in bed and the frail bone snapped.”
“So where do we go from here?” Dad asks.
She hesitates. “The hip is broken, yes. A normal patient would undergo a hip replacement and lots of therapy, but in Mrs. McKenzie’s situation, it’s not so cut and dry. If we go in and replace the hip, we are exposing the cancer. The chances that it will spread rapidly are close to ninety-nine percent. If we do nothing, she spends the rest of her life in pain and traction. She will never be able to leave the hospital.”
Dad looks at me. We are both crying because we know this is the beginning of the end for Mom. We can’t leave her in pain; neither of us want to see her suffer any more than she already has, which has been enough. But if they operate, we are signing her death sentence. The only question now is how long she will have.
As if Dad is reading my mind, he asks the doctor, “If we proceed with the surgery, how long will she have?”
The doctor shakes her head. “There is really no way to say, but from experience in situations like this, I would say two, maybe three months.”
Dad breaks down. My heart is broken, not only that I am losing my mom but for him. He loves her so much, and neither of them deserve this kind of fate.
Without looking at the doctor, Dad says, “Do the surgery, as soon as you can. I don’t want her in pain anymore.”
