Luca
It’s Christmas Eve.
We’re on our way to visit Dad in the hospital. This isn’t how I pictured us spending Christmas, and I feel like a nervous wreck. After Branson fell asleep last night, I googled some statistics about heart attacks.
One in five people who have had a heart attack will have a second one within five years. Those stats are shocking and scary. I feel like Dad takes good care of himself; he doesn’t drink in excess, he eats healthy, he walks daily, and he doesn’t smoke or do drugs.
I don’t know. It’s crazy that something like this can happen to a seemingly healthy man.
He hasn’t improved at all, but he hasn’t declined either, which has to mean something. Why him, though?
In addition to concerns about my dad, my mind wanders to what Branson told me last night. My heart aches for what he had to go through for years. Our parents are supposed to be our protectors and our homes are supposed to be our safe havens. He didn’t have the protection or the safe haven during that time, and it kills me. I always knew there was more to his dad’s death than just the overdose, but shit. I wasn’t expecting all of that. It does explain a lot of his mannerisms when they first came to live with us.
He was angry and withdrawn. The death was still pretty fresh too, him having died only two years prior.
Regardless, I’m happy he confided in me. It seems like we were brought closer by exposing these hard, hurtful parts of our pasts to each other. If he’s anything like me, carrying around all that hurt and not having anyone to open up to is hard. It takes a lot out of you to bottle all of that in and never have an outlet. I didn’t realize how heavy the weight I was carrying was, until I told Branson. I hope I’m able to take some of that weight off of him too, the way he did with me.
It’s practically eight o’clock on the dot when we arrive at the hospital. We were both up early, anxious to see Dad, so we went out to breakfast at a café next to the hospital to kill time while we waited for visiting hours to start.
“Do you know what room he’s in?” Branson asks.
“I think it’s D-211, but let’s ask her.”
A bubbly red-headed receptionist greets us. “Good morning! How can I help you two?”
“Hi, yes, we’re looking for the room Andrew Hart is in. We think it’s D-211, but we want to be sure.”
“Okay, I can take a look. Who are you both to the patient?”
“Luca Hart and Branson Adler. We’re his sons.”
“Thank you. You’re right, he’s in the ICU, room D-211.” She smiles and hands us guest passes.
“Thank you so much.”
We both put our sticker passes on our coats and head to the nearest elevator. I’m a ball of nerves and feel like I could be sick from them. We haven’t had a chance to talk to Sarah yet this morning, so I don’t know if anything has changed.
Shaking it off, we get into the empty elevator and push the second-floor button. When the doors close, Bran pulls me into him. Wrapping my arms around his torso, I inhale his scent. He smells like the hotel's soap and the manly natural scent of him.
“I can practically hear you thinking. It’s going to be okay, babe.” I don’t know how he can read me as well as he does, but I sure fucking appreciate it. “He’s young, and he’s a strong man. He’ll get through this, I know it.”
Instead of responding with words, I reach up and kiss him. It’s tame, considering we’re in a public hospital elevator, but it still packs all the passion that constantly flows through us. Breaking away from him far too soon, the elevator dings and the door opens.
We find the room easy enough and go right in. Dad isn’t there and Sarah is reading on her Kindle. She gives us a sleepy smile when she sees us.
“Hey, boys.” She gets up and gives us both a warm, comforting hug.
“Where is he?” I’m nervous as hell, but if something major happened, I would think she would have called or texted us.
“They took him to the cath lab to try and insert some stents. They left with him a few minutes ago. I’m not sure how long it’ll take.”
“Was he awake at all before they took him?”
“No, honey. They still had him sedated.” She gives me a sad smile. “Did you two get sleep last night?”
Just then, someone comes into the room—the doctor, I’m guessing.
“Hi, Mrs. Adler,” he says. Turning his gaze toward us, he smiles and pushes his glasses up with his pointer finger. “I’m guessing you two are the sons?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Sarah responds. “This is Luca and Branson.”
“Hello,” he addresses us, with a head nod.
He goes on to say, in much more technical terms, that while they were attempting to place the stents in his heart, he crashed on the table again. It took them a few tries, but they were able to revive him; however, they feel he’s too weak right now to proceed.
“So,” Sarah begins to speak, her voice cracking and tears falling down her face, “what do we do from here, if he’s too weak to proceed?”
“For now, we have him in a medically induced coma. This will allow his brain to rest and his body to heal. When we feel his heart is a bit stronger, we can discuss bringing him out of the coma and working on his heart.”
“How long will that take?”
“It’s hard to say. Everyone recovers differently. We will continue to monitor him and take it day by day. Some people can come out of it in a few hours, while others take a while longer.”
The doctor leaves the room, and we are covered in devastating silence.
A coma.
He’s in a coma.
While yes, it’s medically induced, that doesn’t make me feel any better. What if he never wakes up? What if they bring him out, do the procedure, and he dies on the table?
My breath catches in my throat. I’m fucking suffocating in this room.
Turning on my heel, I walk out. Leaving without saying anything, because I can’t. If I talk, the floodgates will open, and I’m scared they’ll never stop.
This feels too familiar… and I can’t go through it again.
* * *