Not so long ago - now

By Emmett Hall

The call came from Todd, Sarah’s brother-in-law.  We were sitting arm-in-arm on the couch watching an old rerun of Cheyenne with Clint Walker.  As is Sarah’s habit when she saw it was Todd on the caller ID, she answered by speakerphone.  “Hi, Todd.  How’s it going?”

“Not too good,” was his response.  My interest was piqued.  I don’t generally contribute much to those calls being content to listen.  Todd sounded strained. 

“What’s the matter?” Sarah asked.

“It’s Penny.  You remember the infection she got a few months ago.”

“Yes.  I thought that was cleared up.”

“We did too.  Evidently, it morphed, or something and backed up into Penny’s kidneys.”  Todd sniffed in the phone.  A cold, I wondered?

“Her kidneys?  What does that mean?”

“She had to go into the emergency this afternoon, and they have her on dialysis.  They say she is stage four, end-stage – pretty much the same.  She needs a kidney, or she won’t make it.  She would be upset if she knew I called you about this.”

I was on the edge of my seat by this point.

 

“I’ll be right down,” Sarah said.

“No, no.  It’s too late.  Penny will be on the machine another four hours.  That puts her back in her room little after two A.M.  Come tomorrow.”

Sarah looked at me.  I nodded.

“Todd, I’ll bring her down in the morning.  We’ll be there by eight.  Where are you, which hospital?”  I Asked.

“Paul, we’re at Good Samaritan at NW 22^nd Ave.  Thanks, she’ll want to see you.  I have to go.  Love you, Bye.”

“Bye, love you too,” we said together, and the connection was severed.

 

I looked at Sarah.  Tears were welling in her eyes.  “She’s only, what two, three years younger than you.  That makes her twenty-six or seven?”

“Twenty-six.  I can’t believe this is happening to Penny.”

“Let’s go to bed.  I’ll set the alarm for four.  It’s only a three-hour drive.”

~~~#~~~

We had taken a change of clothes in case we were there overnight.  We were.

Todd and I sat on a soft burgundy sofa in the surgery waiting room for families.  Another group of five were in the far corner conversing about grandpa’s open heart.  I only heard bits, but I figured grandpa was in his early seventies.  Sarah offered a kidney for Penny without hesitation.  I fully supported her decision.

The side door opened and Dr. Samuelson entered.  Todd and I stood.

The doctor began his report, “Mr. Pierce, your wife took the surgery fine and is in recovery.”  He looked at me and sweep the surgery cap off his head. 

“Mr. Holland, we had a complication with your wife.  She developed a bleeder we couldn’t find.  I’m sorry.  We gave Penny both kidneys.”

The room twisted.  I had no breath.  Next, I knew I was on the sofa being jerked to consciousness with smelling salts.

~~~#~~~

Sarah passed sixty years ago.   I chose hospital hospice, there is no one left but me.  For a long time, I felt the pinpricks in the middle of the night.  The beeping alarm for bag changes and the antiseptic smells.  The heparin flushes gave me a flash of rotten fish taste.  That’s how I knew the PICC was still working. 

“I’m a DNR you know.” I probably said it every shift change of staff. 

The nurses are sweet turning me this way and that.  They helped me order meals.  Providence has a killer hamburger.  Not that it’s an issue now.  I haven’t eaten anything since, since… I can’t remember.  It doesn’t matter.

Todd was there.  No, I guess he wasn’t.  He’d passed on twenty-some years ago, Penny too, I think.  I’m losing track.  I hate that.  I felt the nurse put the compression socks on my feet.  I wanted to tell her about Sarah.

“Nurse?” I whispered.  I wasn’t sure she heard me.

“Mr. Holland, is there something I can do for you?”

“No.  I just wanted,” It was so hard to talk.  I never felt so fatigued. I whispered again, “Sarah… she’s here.  She looks the same as when she left me.  She’s wearing a pristine white dress, her hair is brunette with highlights and is sweeping up over her head as she descends.”  I smile so hard at a time when I thought I was done feeling, made my face hurt. “Must be dark for our journey, she’s carrying a lit candle.”  I heard a steady tone for a bit. Then silence.

Sarah landed on the floor and put her hand in mine.  The expression on her face was as serene as I remember it being when she fell asleep by my side all those years ago when I ran the side of my finger along her cheekbone and kissed her closed lids.  I’m glad she’s here.  I’d missed her. 

  

The nurse was done with me.  I got up and went with Sarah.

End