7. Brian (III)
In the midst of
the darkness, there was light.
At first,
it was just a pinprick in the distance, like the glimmer of sunlight at the end
of a tunnel. But it grew nearer, the round
halo of light expanding outward, filling his vision. It was bright, almost blinding. It fought the darkness, chasing it away, and
at first, he was grateful. But the light
kept coming, so close it threatened to swallow him up. He couldn’t see anything, and as the light
surrounded him, his feeling of comfort turned to fear.
He was
going to die.
The thought
crossed his mind a split second before he felt a crushing blow, and the light
faded to impenetrable dark.
In the
operating room, Dr. Robert pulled the defibrillator paddles away from the new
heart in Brian’s chest and smiled, as he watched its weak, random twitches
strengthen into vigorous, pulsing beats.
***
Brian awoke
one sense at a time.
Before he
could open his eyes, he became aware of the sounds that surrounded him. A loud hiss, like static on a TV. A medley of beeps, of all different
frequencies and durations. One blipped
steadily in the background, like a repeating measure of quarter notes, all the
same pitch. My new heartbeat, was his first conscious thought. He heard voices around his bedside, hushed
and unintelligible. He was only able to
pick out his name, but the two syllables were enough for him to recognize the
voice that had spoken them. Becci, he thought next.
He wanted
to see her, but his eyelids felt like lead weights. His whole body felt too heavy to move, yet it
seemed like he was floating, perhaps drifting beneath the surface of deep
water, the darkness and pressure pushing in on him from all sides. His chest felt tight, like someone had
dropped an anvil onto it. His throat
felt clogged, like he was trying to breathe through a straw and not getting
enough air. There was something in the
way; he could feel it now in his mouth.
He tried to reach up to pull it out, but found he could not raise his
arms. He could feel his fingers, opening
and closing, but could not seem to get his hands to cooperate. Then he felt another set of fingers lace
through his own, and the softest touch on the back of his hand. He knew that touch. Becci,
he thought again.
Suddenly,
he could smell her perfume, instead of latex and antiseptic. The scent was comforting and familiar, like
the first few notes of his favorite song.
Becci.
He fought
again to open his eyes, and finally, his heavy eyelids began to cooperate. They fluttered once, and he saw a sliver of
light. Twice, and he began to make out
blurry shapes. On the third try, he
looked up and saw her face above his. It
was framed by a wispy blue cap that held her dark hair and half-hidden behind a
mask that covered her mouth and nose, but it was hers, alright. Her beautiful, blue eyes sparkled down at
him, like the sky on a cloudless day. Becci.
Her name was like heaven, but he knew then that he was alive.
“Rise and
shine, sweetie,” said Becci, and even though he could not see her lips, Brian
knew she was smiling. Her eyes crinkled
at the corners, and her voice was filled with the same expression of joy and
relief. “They said you came through
surgery with flying colors. Your new
heart’s doing great.”
He had so
many questions, but found he couldn’t speak.
The thing in his mouth was a breathing tube, he realized, now that he
was more alert. He remembered the nurse
who had prepped him for surgery explaining about it. She’d told him there would be lots of tubes
and wires at first; his hands were tied down so he didn’t accidentally pull
them out.
“How are
you feeling? Are you in any pain?” Becci
asked, her voice sympathetic.
As the fog of
anesthesia wore off, Brian was aware of pressure and discomfort, but not actual
pain like he’d expected. Not yet,
anyway. He closed his eyes and opened
them again slowly, hoping to communicate that he was alright, just tired and
groggy. He wanted to go back to sleep,
but he wasn’t ready to trade the light of his life in for darkness again. Not yet.
“Your nurse
said they’ll be able to pull the breathing tube in another hour or so, when
you’re more awake. Then you’ll be able
to talk,” Becci went on, feeding him little bits of information at a time.
His lungs
felt constricted by the machine that was doing their job for him, and he longed
for the tube to be gone. But more than
that, he longed to sleep. As his eyelids
began to droop again, Becci squeezed his hand.
“I know you’re tired,” she said.
“You just rest.” Then she leaned
over and tenderly kissed his forehead.
“I love you.”
He squeezed
her hand back, then rotated his wrist from side to side, wiggling his hand
around until she realized what he wanted.
She unstrapped the soft restraint that bound his wrist to the bed rail,
and finally, he was able to raise his arm.
It still felt heavy, but he managed to lift it enough to point at
himself. Then he bent his middle and
ring fingers, pointing his pinkie, thumb, and index finger straight up – the
sign for “love.” Finally, he pointed at
Becci and held up two fingers. I love you, too.
Her eyes
creased at the corners again, as she beamed through her mask. He wished he could slip it off and see all of
her face. He wished he could stare at it
and never look away. But the darkness
was creeping in on him again, little by little, and he knew he couldn’t fight
it forever.
Eventually,
his leaden eyelids sank, bringing the darkness once more, and Brian slept.
***
He dreamed
of being outside. Dead leaves crunched
beneath his feet as he ran through the darkness. He was breathing hard, yet he wasn’t out of
breath; he could feel his heart vigorously pumping blood and oxygen and
adrenaline through his veins as he ran, a breeze whipping through his hair and
the fallen leaves.
When he
woke for the second time, Brian was disappointed to find that he was still
tethered to an ICU bed. He felt more
alert now, alert and alive. This time he
knew it, not only by the beep of the heart monitor, but by the pain. Though he’d never been in a car accident
before, he imagined this was what it would feel like to be run over by a truck
– literally, flattened. He tried to lift
his head from his pillow, straining to look down at his chest. Instead of tire tracks, he saw a large,
white, gauze bandage, faintly stained pink in the middle.
“Welcome
back,” said a voice. He turned his head
toward the sound and saw a nurse standing beside his bed, making notes on a
clipboard. Her eyes crinkled above her
mask as she smiled down at him. “I’m
just checking your vitals – everything looks great! You ready for that tube to come out of your
throat?” Brian nodded as emphatically as
he could without pulling anything out himself, and the nurse laughed. “I’ll get a doc. Hold tight.”
She
disappeared and returned in a few minutes with a woman dressed in an identical
sterile gown, cap, mask, and gloves. The
latter introduced herself as a resident, Dr. Beam, and told Brian, “Happy birthday!”
He looked
at her in confusion, since his birthday wasn’t until February. It was November.
Dr. Beam’s
eyes were smiling. “From now on, you’ll
celebrate two birthdays – the day you were born, and the day you were reborn
with your new heart. Welcome to your new
life. To celebrate, I’m gonna have you
blow out your birthday candles – invisible ones, that is. I want you to take a deep breath, and on the
count of three, you’re going to blow, while I pull the tube. Got it?”
Brian
nodded, wincing as they helped him sit up for the first time.
“This is
going to be uncomfortable, and you’ll cough a lot at first, but you’ll feel
better breathing on your own without that tube in the way. And you’ll be able to talk,” said Dr. Beam, as
she pulled off the tape that held the tube in place. “Ready?”
Brian nodded, letting his lungs fill with air, even though it hurt. “One… two… three.”
His chest
seared with pain as he blew; it felt like the tube was being pulled all the way
from his naval, but finally, it was out, and he was coughing
uncontrollably. The nurse put an oxygen
mask over his face, and the coughing fit began to subside. Finally, Brian collapsed back against the
bed, weak and in pain, his chest aching from the force of the coughs.
Dr. Beam
asked, “How are you feeling?” The nurse
lifted the oxygen mask so he could speak clearly.
“Hurts,”
Brian rasped, sounding like he had laryngitis.
The nurse offered him a cup of ice chips, and he took one to suck on and
soothe his sore throat.
The doctor
nodded, unconcerned. “It’s not going to
feel comfortable for you to cough or even breathe deeply over the next few
days, but we need you to do both. It’s
important that you keep your lungs clear, to avoid infection. Infection is your worst enemy while you’re on
immunosuppressants to keep your body from rejecting your new heart.”
Brian
nodded his understanding. Dr. Robert had
prepared him for this; he knew that in order for the transplant to take, his
immune system had to be virtually wiped out, which left him vulnerable to
germs. It was the reason everyone who
came to visit him over the next few days would need to wear masks and gloves
and sterile coverings over their clothes, the way the doctor, the nurse, and
even Becci had.
Wondering
about Becci, Brian asked, “My wife?”
The nurse
smiled. “I think she went to call your
family again. I’ll see if I can find
her.”
She left
with Dr. Beam and returned with Becci, who slipped her gloved hand into his and
squeezed it when she came to stand at his bedside. “I talked to your mom and dad. They’re keeping Calhan busy and send their
love. Once you’re in a regular room, I’ll
see if they can bring him up to visit.”
Brian
smiled, picturing his son. He couldn’t
wait to hold him again, to be able to chase him around the house without
feeling like he was going to pass out.
He put his hand lightly on his chest, over the bandage, imagining the
healthy, new heart that beat inside it.
“Wanna
listen to it?” asked the nurse, who stood back out of the way, watching.
Brian
looked up. The nurse came over, removing
her stethoscope from around her neck.
She wiped it down with a disinfectant and slipped it gently into Brian’s
ears. “Here… take a listen,” she said,
handing him the bell.
Brian pressed
the end of the stethoscope flat against the bandage and closed his eyes. It nearly took his breath away, at first, to
hear the strong, steady beat in his ears, so different from the weak sputtering
of his failing heart. He couldn’t stop
listening. After a minute, he opened his
eyes and looked up at the heart monitor by his bed, watching the perfect peaks
sync up with the sounds of his new heart.
Then he
looked at Becci, who was watching him intently.
“You wanna?” he asked, pulling the stethoscope out of his ears and
offering it to her. She nodded, sliding
it into her own ears, while he held the bell steady against his chest. He saw her eyes widen and heard her sharp
intake of breath as she listened, and for a moment, he was reminded of the day
they had sat together in her obstetrician’s office and heard Calhan’s heartbeat
for the first time.
New
life. That was what the miraculous sound
of a heartbeat represented, both then and now.
Dr. Beam had been right when she called it a rebirth. This was the first day of the rest of Brian’s
life.
“It sounds
perfect,” said Becci, taking the stethoscope out of her ears and handing it
back to the nurse. When she looked back,
Brian was startled to see a sheen of tears in her eyes.
He smiled
at her and squeezed her hand. “We got
lucky,” he said. But he knew it was more
than luck. He owed his life not just to
God, or to the team of doctors who had successfully operated on him, but to the
anonymous donor, his equal in size and blood type, who had died that morning
and whose heart now beat in his chest.
He cleared his raw throat, wondering about him or her. “Did they tell you anything about the donor?”
he asked Becci quietly.
She
blinked, and a tear spilled out and slid down her cheek, disappearing into her
mask. “She was a woman, in her twenties,
from Ohio, who was killed in a car accident,” she said, her voice wavering a
bit. “That’s all they could tell me.”
Brian
nodded solemnly. He would likely never
know the name of his donor, but he liked to think that she would know him,
wherever she was now. He pressed his
palm to his chest once more, trying to feel the pulse of the heart beneath the
bandage. Then he brought his hand to his
lips and blew a kiss toward the ceiling.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
***