The Christmas You Found Me, page 26
The top of the donor list. The person with the greatest need for a kidney. The sickest of all the little girls out there who are sick.
They take us to the intensive care unit, past a different row of holiday decorations, and into a darkened room. ICU rooms are never bright, as if everyone’s so sick, even too much light is enough for them to slip out of our hands. The beeping is loud, and the scent of astringent is acrid in my nostrils. Emma’s got wires connected to her little body, running to machines that seem too inadequate for what we need. We need her to be okay.
Only a couple of hours ago, I was in bed, curled up in his arms, feeling safe and warm and happy. My fingers are like ice, and I wonder if I’ll ever feel safe again. I look over at my husband, and my heart crushes in on itself from hurting so much for him. Guy’s been here all these years, dreading this day, alone and fighting to stay strong. And now the worst is happening. The top of the donor list. Which means we’re nearing the end.
“I keep thinking if I’d just kept her at the hospital last night…” Guy says raggedly.
I know. I’ve second-guessed myself over and over again, but only when he vocalizes it do I find what to say, to him and to myself.
“She was happy last night,” I whisper. “When she was in the hospital, she was so upset that this could have triggered sooner. We don’t know. All we know is when she was home, she was happy.”
“Yeah.” Guy closes his eyes. “But I still keep thinking it anyway.”
“Me too.”
I love him. When he sits at Emma’s side and takes her tiny hand in his, what was left of the doubt in my mind is gone. The worst is happening, but he’s not in this alone. I move to stand beside Guy, staying on my feet and holding him while he holds on to his little girl.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” I whisper to my husband. “Miracles happen on Christmas Eve.”
So we wait. And we pray.
Chapter 25
In all the movies and all the television shows, they never tell you how bad it hurts having chest compressions. How rare it is CPR works, how many bones it can break, or how much getting shocked hurts.
Emma’s in a lot of discomfort, and they can only give her so much pain medicine because of how low her blood pressure is right now. Nephrology and cardiology are trying to figure out what symptom to treat, because the medicines to help her kidneys are bad for her heart. She pants because it’s hard to breathe with fluid-filled lungs, which scares her so much that I lie down on the bed next to her and hold her, murmuring soothingly. Guy’s leaning over the other side of the bed, and his arm is around us both. The nurses and nursing assistants are kind enough to work around us when they come in to take Emma’s vitals.
We don’t tell her she’s dying, but I think she knows.
I’m trying, but I don’t know if I’m functioning properly. It takes me too long to understand what the doctors and nurses are telling us as they pass in and out of the room. My brain is utterly consumed by Emma, to the exclusion of even trying to process anything else. I feel like my skin is stretched too tightly over my face, and my jaw and head hurt from crying. Where Guy keeps refusing to look at the monitors surrounding Emma’s bed, I can’t stop staring at them, memorizing her blood pressure, her heart rate, and her oxygen percentage. Each time an alarm goes off because she’s too high or too low, ice refills my veins, washing through me. Guy has warned me from the day we met, but I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready to lose Emma yet.
I can’t tell if Guy is simply stronger than me or if he’s numb. Maybe he’s just on his last leg and giving every last bit of what he has to his daughter. He’s been talking to her in low, steady, comforting words for the brief moments she wakes. And when she cries, he hushes his baby, promising her that she didn’t miss Christmas. Barley is okay, and he misses her. Santa knows where she is and won’t forget about her.
I don’t know what to do, and I don’t know how to help them. My brain is screaming at me to save my family, but there’s no truck to stand in front of, no hit to take. All I can do is hold them both, watching every rapid, shallow breath Emma takes as her lungs fill with even more fluid.
I have two kidneys, and she only needs one. Irrational anger at my body overwhelms me because I wasn’t a match. That I failed in some fundamental way to be what Emma needs, just in existing as I am.
This is happening. We’re sitting our baby’s deathwatch, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
My brain eventually registers that Guy should have something to drink with how much he’s talking, and I could use something with sugar and caffeine for my headache. I find a vending machine but forget midtask what I’m doing. I end up sitting on the bench outside her room, two cold soda cans in my hands, watching Guy sit in the chair, head bent, mouth still moving.
Every time she passes out, he starts praying. He only stops when she wakes up. Just in case God changes His mind. Fingers numb from the drinks, I close my eyes and silently beg for better than this for them. For Emma to have a lifetime of horses and dogs and snowflakes. For Guy not to have to walk out of this hospital with nothing but me and a shattered heart.
“Sienna?”
At the sound of my name, I look up and see Micah standing there a few feet away, his hat in his hands. It’s only been two weeks since our divorce, but it feels like a lifetime ago. Another world maybe. He looks like a stranger, just another person in the hall.
I stare at him, utterly confused. “What are you doing here?” My words come out raspy, as if my voice is almost gone, and all I can process is Micah shouldn’t be in the hospital. This is a family moment, a horrible family moment, and he shouldn’t be there. It’s not okay.
“Sienna, is your husband here?” Micah asks, which feels strange. Micah hates Guy. He’s made it very clear from the start.
“He’s with Emma,” I say, unable to muster the energy to react to the question.
“You might want to go get him, honey. I’ve got some news I need to tell you.”
My brain resists the suggestion, and I’m shaking my head before he finishes his sentence, stumbling up to my feet. “What? No, Guy needs to stay with Emma.”
“I’m here, Sienna.”
I look over my shoulder and see Guy in the doorway of Emma’s room. He must have noticed us, or maybe he just heard Micah’s voice. Guy’s always stood at my side or at my back. He’s never stepped between me and anything, not until he steps between me and Micah right now. I can’t even see my ex from around Guy’s shoulders, he’s blocked me so completely.
“Whatever it is, today’s not the day.” Guy’s voice is roughened too, but with a much harder edge to it than mine. “My daughter is very sick, and Sienna’s in shock.”
I’m in shock? I guess it makes sense. Half of my brain hasn’t figured out I’m not still in Emma’s bedroom. Maybe it’s why Guy is between us, because he understands after finding her like I did, something broke inside me. The part of me that never understood what true fear was. The part of me that only thought I knew what all this would feel like going through.
“I’m sorry to bother you both, but something happened she should know about.” For once, Micah sounds quiet, almost passive even. As if acknowledging Guy’s not above dragging him out of there if need be. He has bad news, and I don’t know what could be happening that matters right now. Not when Emma’s on the top of the transplant list. Then Guy shifts sideways and angles his body a little so I’m not being fully blocked from my ex anymore.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Micah look so truly sad. A glance passes between him and Guy that I don’t understand, then Micah adds even more softly, “She’s going to need to sit down for this.”
“Sienna, let me talk to Micah,” Guy encourages me. “You can go back in with Emma.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, a feeling of dread filling me. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
Guy’s arm wraps around my waist, and I’m unable to resist the gentle tug to sit down on the bench outside Emma’s room. He’s close enough to me our legs are pressed together from my knee to our hips. “Do this right, man. She’s not okay right now,” Guy adds in a tight voice as he holds me closer.
When Micah doesn’t get mad and instead crouches down so we’re at eye level, I think maybe I don’t want to hear what he has to say.
“Sen, I got a call today from your father’s facility,” he says quietly. “They were trying to reach you, but your phone kept going to voicemail. They still had me down as an emergency contact, so they called me.”
“My dad… Is he…”
“He took a turn for the worse, honey. He had a pretty bad stroke. I called Jess and just about everyone else in town trying to find you, and then I heard from the police station Emma was flown out here. So I went to the hospital, and I sat with him.”
“They didn’t bring him here?”
Micah shakes his head. “No, his medical directives said to treat him at Caney Falls. I think he wants to be where your momma was when she passed.”
“Did he…” I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but my voice is oddly level. “Is he…”
“They think he doesn’t have a lot more time left. Maybe a few weeks, maybe more. The stroke was a hard hit, honey. He can’t talk much, but he woke up once and asked for you. I told him you were taking care of your little girl, his granddaughter. He said that was good.” A brief, pained smile crosses his face. “He was real hard to understand, but I’m pretty sure he cussed me out before he fell back asleep.”
I can’t help but exhale a laugh. I don’t feel like I’m crying, but it’s hard to see, and I keep blinking water out of my eyes. “He never liked you, but he always loved you.”
“I always loved him too, even though the old codger and I never got along.” Micah’s hands squeeze his hat. “I’m so sorry, Sen.”
It’s too much. Today’s been too much. I think my mind shuts off for a while, because when I check back in, my forehead is resting against the edge of Guy’s chest, my nose almost in his armpit, with the weight of his arm a shield around my shoulders as I sob.
Micah looks lost, but I can kind of understand. I never cried in front of him. Not once, not during our whole marriage. It was never safe to cry in front of Micah. Guy is different. What we have together is a safe place, and that has changed so many things.
“Thank you for being there for him,” I whisper, meaning it.
Micah looks like he wants to say something, then changes his mind. Instead, he says, “I’ve got Dominic out there feeding everyone for you. He knows to follow your chalkboard, and I showed him how to take care of things. I tried to get Barley, but the old fluff ball won’t move off the guest bed. Emma’s room now, I guess. So Dominic’s going to take care of him too. Jess is going to bring you both some clothes, ’cause it didn’t feel right for me to go through you two’s stuff.” Micah looks at Guy as he stands up and takes a respectful step back. “I don’t like you, and I probably never will. But I wouldn’t wish what you are going through on my worst enemy. I really hope your little girl pulls through. You too, Sienna.”
“Thank you,” Guy says quietly, and if Micah expects more, he isn’t going to get it. Guy’s attention is on me, and he’s going to keep shielding me from Micah until he leaves.
Boot steps take him away, finally leaving us alone. Only then do I hide my face completely away in Guy’s chest.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” Guy tells me, his voice raw with pain as he rests his chin on top of my head, hand stroking my hair. “If you weren’t here with us… I’m so sorry.”
“I’m exactly where I need to be.” I wipe my eyes and pull back to look up at him. “Dad always put family first, and he would be the first to tell me I was a fool if I left you and Emma to go sit beside a dying old man who has better places to be.”
Guy exhales a small breath of a laugh. “Tough old man. Must have got it from someone I know.”
“I think it was the other way around. But you never met my mother. She was tougher than all of us put together.” I wipe my eyes again, then whisper, “Emma’s even tougher than Mom.”
“Sienna, if you need to go see him right now, it’s okay. Or if you just need to step away, I won’t be angry. Don’t push yourself too far.”
He’s holding me the way he holds Emma, those muscled arms wrapped around me as if to protect me from any more bad things by sheer physical presence. He’s the kind of man who will take the hit over and over again, if he can, to protect the ones he loves. I understand, because that’s me. That was my father. That was my mother. My parents would never walk away if there was anything left to fight for.
I shake my head, and then I unsteadily stand. I’m not ashamed I need Guy’s arm around me as we head back inside the room. I’m not afraid to lean on him for support, because I know he’ll lean on me too. Emma’s starting to stir, and this time, I sit down on the chair next to her bed, and I’m the one holding our baby’s hand.
“No,” I whisper. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
***
I’m holding Emma close to my chest, cuddling her as best as the wires and machines will let me, and telling her about Barley’s first Christmas as a puppy when a soft knock comes at the door. It’s Emma’s nephrologist, Dr. Sanghvi. She gives us a shadow of a smile, which feels wildly inappropriate.
“We have a kidney.”
Guy’s hand squeezes the bed rail so hard the plastic creaks. “I’m sorry, what was that again?” The expression on his face says he can’t believe what he just heard.
Dr. Sanghvi moves to Emma’s side, gazing down at her. “A donor kidney that’s a match has come through. The kidney is en route, and their flight should land in the next hour. We need to take her back to get prepped for the surgery.”
My lip trembles so hard, my teeth chatter. “She’s going to be okay?” I whisper.
“Emma’s a very sick child, and there are risks during any procedure. Her heart’s weakened, so we need to do the surgery as soon as possible.”
We both hear what isn’t said. The surgery needs to happen before her heart gives out completely.
“But Em’s getting a kidney?” Guy’s lips are white from clamping them together so tight, and when his voice breaks, I begin to cry again. Relief and fear twist into some unrecognizable creation inside me.
“She’s getting a kidney in”—Dr. Sanghvi checks her phone—“fifty-eight minutes.”
“Oh God.” With a low cry, Guy sinks to his knees, and I don’t know if he’s praying or puking or maybe both. I hear him whispering “thank you” though. I grip his shoulder, the only part of him I can reach, because Emma’s stirring now, awakened by the noises.
The doctor gives Emma a smile. “Emma, before we take you to get your new kidney, there’s something you should see first. It seems like you’re a very loved little girl.”
The nursing staff have a million things to unhook and rehook her to for them to be able to wheel Emma’s bed out of the room. Guy staggers to his feet as I get out of Emma’s bed, giving them room to work. As we cling to each other, following as they take Emma down the hallway, I realize for our miracle to happen, someone else’s life was just destroyed. Someone’s baby lost their life on Christmas Eve.
I don’t even know who I’m crying for anymore: Emma, that child, their parents, Guy… Maybe I’m crying for all of us.
As we pass down a hallway of windows, Emma’s nurse gives us a smile as he points to the nearest pane. “Emma? There’s something you should see, sweetie.”
Despite being nearly ten at night on Christmas Eve, it feels like half the town of Caney Falls is clustered on the snow-covered lawn below the hallway window, wrapped in heavy winter coats and warm blankets. They’re all holding electronic candles, and in the front and center are Sanai, Jess, and Charley, standing next to where candles on the lawn spell out “We Love You Emma.”
Even through the glass and the sounds of the hospital around us, we can hear everyone singing Christmas carols.
It’s not easy to get Emma closer to the window, not with so many machines hooked up to her, but the hospital staff manage it. She’s too sick for us to pick up, but they raise her bed high enough so she can peer over the windowsill. Emma leans her head against Guy’s shoulder and watches them sing with the most beautiful smile on her face as “O Holy Night” fills the night.
“Do you see, baby?” he tells her. “That’s your name. They wrote out they love you.”
“I love you,” I mouth to Jess and Sanai and Charley through the window. They give me their best and brightest smiles, and I can swear I hear my friends’ voices better than all the others. The hospital staff are sneaking peeks around us, because big, fat snowflakes are swirling down from the sky, and I start to laugh softly, even as more tears well up in my eyes. For the first time, I can feel Christmas, the way I used to as a child.
A voice clears behind us almost apologetically. It’s Dr. Sanghvi. “Mr. and Mrs. Maple? The transplant team will land in a few minutes. It’s time.”
Time to prep Emma for surgery.
With all the hope in the world and all the fear I never knew I could have, I nod. Then I take Guy’s hand.
***
They let us stay with Emma up to the last set of doors, where we have to say goodbye. I kiss Emma’s forehead, then I whisper I love her. I remind her that she’s strong and tell her I’ll see her when she wakes up. Then I step back and let Guy have a moment alone with her, as alone as they can get.
Emma starts to cry when she sees the people milling around, and Guy holds her because she’s scared. She seems to understand this surgery is a good thing, but Emma wants her bed and her dog and Legs. She wants her daddy, and she wants to go home. I don’t know what he says, but her little chin nods, and she says she loves him.
“I love you too, Mommy,” Emma adds as they take her away.
