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“He’s back in the OR. When he comes out, he’ll be back in recovery until he stabilizes. He’ll be sedated so he won’t be able to hear you,” Drake said, his eyes filled with sympathy. “They have to keep him sedated to give his brain time to recover from the trauma.”
“Is he going to die?” I asked finally, barely able to speak because my throat was so dry. “Tell me the truth.”
Drake looked at me with such an expression of pain and sadness that I knew he was trying to prepare us.
“Things are not going as well as I’d hoped and now with this new complication,” he said and squeezed my hand. “He’s not responding the way he should. The damage was to a part of his brain that controls blood pressure and other vital functions. If the blood flow doesn’t improve, he might not survive.”
“Oh, God,” I said and covered my eyes, tears spilling over once more. I fought my tears, wanting to be strong, but the realization struck that my father was probably dying.
I felt Elaine’s arm go around my shoulder, and sat there being consoled by the two of them. Drake held my hand, kissed it briefly, and Elaine squeezed my shoulder with affection. She seemed so calm. She’d seen a lot as a nurse and so was prepared.
“When will we know?” I looked in Drake’s eyes. “How long?”
He shook his head. “It’s hard to say. The next hour or two will be important. If he survives this second surgery, he’ll start out at zero again. His chances improve with each passing hour. It depends on whether they can stabilize him. If not, they’ll have to intubate him again.”
“He didn’t want to be kept alive with any heroic measures,” Elaine said, her voice shaky. “He signed an advanced directive. The doctors know.”
“What do you mean?” I said, horrified. “He wants to live. I’m sure of it.”
“Not if it means he’ll be a vegetable,” Elaine said. “If the brain stem is involved, he could be locked in.”
“Locked in?” I asked, frowning. I thought I knew what that meant. He would be aware of everything but unable to communicate with us.
“Locked in means he can’t communicate at all," Drake said. "He can’t move anything except his eyes. Sometimes, not even those.”
“Ethan was clear,” Elaine said softly. “If he had another stroke and it damaged his brain enough that he’d be even worse off, he wanted the doctors to not use any heroic measures. No tracheotomy. That kind of thing.”
“He never said anything to me,” I protested.
“He didn’t want to upset you, but he knew he was at risk of another bleed so he signed an advanced directive after his first stroke.”
I sat and let myself cry for a few moments, unable to deal with things any longer. Drake pulled me into his arms and held me, letting me cry on his shoulder.
Elaine wiped her own eyes as she prepared for the worst.
We spent the next hour like that, the three of us silent, watching the news. I hoped that the story about Drake didn’t come back on, but if it did, we missed it and I heaved a sigh of relief. I didn’t want that whole mess to come and plague us while we were in the hospital.
Finally, after about ninety minutes, Dr. Franks came to where we sat and pulled up a chair. His face was calm as he removed his cap. He didn’t look sad.
“Just thought I’d update you about how Ethan is doing.”
I met his eyes, and didn’t see anything bad in them so my hopes rose.
“Ethan has come out of surgery and is now back in recovery. We had to perform what’s called an embolectomy. We threaded a thin catheter into his brain to remove the clot and restore blood flow to his brain stem. He seems to have survived the procedure pretty well so far. The next couple of hours will be key. We’re going to keep him sedated, but you can go in and see him now if you want. His vital signs have stabilized enough that we’re moving him to ICU. He should be in his room within thirty minutes. You can go in one at a time and then he needs to be kept quiet for the next twenty-four hours. I’d advise you to go home, get some rest. It’s going to be a long night.”
“Thank God,” I said and covered my face, my relief so strong that I felt a bit faint.
“He’ll have a long period of recovery but if he survives the next few hours, I have hope that he’ll do well. The stroke was caused by a small clot from the earlier surgery.”
I nodded and Drake stood when the surgeon did, and the two colleagues shook hands.
“Thanks,” Drake said. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for my father.”
“No problem,” Dr. Franks said and smiled before leaving us alone in the small alcove.
“Shall we go get some tea or a bite to eat?” Drake asked.
I nodded and checked my watch. My stomach rumbled, telling me that it was time to eat something.
