Transplant

[Tags: Valentine Contest Entry, Shared Wife, Heart, Valentine's Day]

*

The steady beep--beep-beep of Emmy's monitor echoed through the small hospital room failing to drown out the sounds out in the hallway where staff, patients and visitors bustled past. It seemed incongruous that such a short distance away life went on normally while I sat watching my wife die. Her face had a grey pallor to it, her breathing slow, sometimes hitching and fading away in mid-breath. Every missed inhalation made me jerk figuring this might be her last.

The oxygenation percentage on the pulse oximeter screen of the monitor had showed a steady downward trend over the last few hours even with oxygen supplementation tubes up her nose. She was seldom getting above 65%. The real scary ones were the dips heading down to the threshold where death occurs.

Her body was writhing slowly on the bed, her discomfort obvious. Occasionally she regained consciousness gasping wildly, panic clearly showing in the whites of her eyes when her weakened lungs couldn't catch enough breath to satisfy her body. She would clutch my hand digging her nails in until she lost consciousness again from the lack of air and her hand went limp.

I held her cold and swollen hand, symptoms of the end stages of severe congestive heart failure she'd been diagnosed with last year. Tears traced a path down my cheek, That surprised me. I thought I had cried all them out over the last year since her diagnosis.

I was trying to be strong, to support my love with my strength in these last moments between us. The nursing staff had given me an idea of what was coming, but even knowing that, it was a horrifying vigil watching the love of your life slowly choke out her last breaths.

Worse, tonight's death watch was on Valentine's day.

A day we should have been celebrating our love together.

Today should have been about exchanging loving cards or even those humorous cards we always got a giggle out of. It should have been a day of expressing our need for each other. A night for going out on the town for a fine dinner and dancing. I'd be holding her lithe body in my arms, snuggled together in her loving warmth, enjoying the sexy rubbing of our bodies while we moved around the dance floor. I should be crooning little love songs in her ears, echoing those 'I need You' words while she would breathily sing them right back to me.

I should have been sinking into her warm green eyes with their endless depths and colour changes that fascinated me so much. I could get lost in them making love to her. Thinking about never having her in my arms again was shaking my mental resolve.

So many 'what should be' thoughts for tonight.

A small sob shook my body, I was trying to be strong for her, but failing so badly.

It hadn't always been like this. Emmy and I, Mark, met seven years ago at a friends party. One look was all it took. I made a beeline to my buddy's wife Sarah begging her for an introduction. Luck was with me Emmy was between relationships and somehow she took pity on me, spending the rest of the night talking to me before sharing her number and plans for another date.

Two years after we met we tied the knot at a wonderful bash. Instead of spending a ton of money on a lot of people that really weren't all that important we invited an exclusive group to join us on the beach in Hawaii for our nuptials.

With the sky a staggering plethora of oranges, reds and yellows fading away to blue, we said our vows and celebrated on the white sand and the warmth of the tropics. It had been magical and afterward we left our friends behind to fly off to Maui while they stayed in Honolulu and partied.

Sarah always claims credit for setting us up. I'm not sure it's true, but you give them the small things just in case you ever need something big. Like letting hubby Jeff come to the Stanley Cup or a guys trip to Vegas.

Despite it being the day so important to celebrating love, I knew Jeff and Sarah along with several other friends and family were holding their own vigil out in the waiting room. They'd all tiptoed through earlier, mute and somber, to say a private goodbye to Emmy. She hadn't stirred much and conversation was impossible for her, she was simply too weak to talk anymore. Even if she could suck in enough breath her failing heart was no longer moving it around like it should. People confined themselves to touching her hand or stroking her face, their sorrow obvious.

It was all over except the waiting! Tomorrow I expected to be making phone calls to announce her passing and working on funeral arrangement. Then I would be starting the first day of my new life alone and bereft of the woman I loved. I'd have gladly traded places with her to take away her pain and misery. Despite my willingness it wasn't a choice I would be offered.

Her symptoms had probably been building for years unnoticed. Momentary weaknesses or inability to catch her breath excused as something to do with her period or the lack of vitamins. The first big clue was when she stopped jogging, complaining of not being able to catch her breath at times. The second major one was when we had to stop making love because she couldn't breath. The third time that happened I told her she needed to go to the doctor. When she demurred, I got angry.

Bright and early the next morning I phoned and made her an appointment. When I explained the symptoms I'd observed the nurse made her an appointment immediately. That should have been a major clue in itself. I took the day off work and made sure she damn well went. It took several months of tests to confirm, but the diagnosis staggered us. Congestive heart failure left undiagnosed for too many years. The doctor was blunt and straightforward. She was in the terminal stages and dying, she would be lucky to make a year.

There was always the possibility of a heart transplant, but that was unlikely. Most people getting the diagnoses had years to live and might, with any luck, make it down the list far enough to get a heart. This late in the disease he felt there was little chance.

At home after we cried and licked our wounds for a couple of weeks before deciding we weren't going to let it happen to us. We jumped into researching anything and everything that could cure, delay or help her improve. We chased down a lot of quack cures that went nowhere and talked to several support groups that gave us some hope. There had been some progress in the last few years and a lot of people suffering from the disease felt a cure or better outcome was just around the corner. They just had to survive that long. Emmy didn't have that kind of time.

I don't know, maybe facing death they were just deluding themselves, grabbing onto any hope they could. I couldn't blame them, she and I were both doing the same thing.

Gradually as her symptoms progressed her tiredness became an issue. Soon she needed a cane to help support her and that progressed to a wheelchair before she finally became bedridden. Fluid retention had at times swelled parts of her up like a balloon, her fingers and toes often looking like fat sausages. Nausea became a constant companion and it was hard to keep nutrition in her when she kept throwing up all the time. She lost weight until she looked like a skeleton of her former self. With her bones so prominent pain became a major problem for her, lying against anything, even soft, caused major pain and created sores on her skin. She was suffering terribly.

Fortunately we both had good medical programs through work that allowed her to go on long term disability and when things got worse I got nursing help to relieve me from my care giving status. Not that I begrudged a minute of it. But I still had to work and as lenient as my employers were, I still had to put in an appearance sometime.

Our social life had dwindled off too. Emmy couldn't handle going out visiting anymore. People came to see her in her bed, but it just wasn't the same. Still like good friends they'd stayed till the last. One of Emmy's requests was to throw her a hell of a party for a wake and remember her from her good times. She'd even ordered herself a huge two foot by three foot poster, with Emmy 1990-2018 in bold letters at the bottom.

She used a picture that we'd taken at a lake of her jumping off a dock into the cold water. In her bikini she looked like a million bucks. A young, vibrant, healthy woman that not many men could resist taking a second look at. It was one of those joyously sunny days, a gentle breeze and a cookout with friends. We'd partied till the late evening before settling into our tents for a little loving. It had been a perfect day with perfect friends and I could understand why she'd picked that picture, despite all the skin it showed.

I suppose in some respects having time to get prepared for what was coming brought a certain blessing. We could talk about funeral arrangements. What did she want. What music. A wake? She could plan that in advance. Still my heartfelt suffering of watching her deteriorate took it's toll on me as it did on her. There were times I wished it had been swift, an accident or heart attack. Anything but watching her suffer like this.

The oxygen meter was hovering around 61% by now and I bowed my head over her hand, rubbing it against my face and kissing it. My tears wet her swollen skin, but I doubted she'd ever know. This was it, death was hovering close by salivating at the opportunity to steal my wonderful wife. It's presence permeated the air, feeling cold and fetid around us. I knew if I turned my back for a moment it would pounce on her, stealing her away in that split second.

I prayed for her. Although not a believer I prayed that her death would be peaceful and if there was a heaven, please let her in. She deserved it. Her kindness and good spirit was legendary. She volunteered with disabled children, she loved animals and would cry if one got hurt. I remembered a bird smacking into the front window. She had picked it up and cried over it's broken neck, it's eyes already glazing over in death. She got out her gardening tools and gave the poor thing a burial deep in her garden in a special spot she picked out.

She never talked smack about a friend, not even an enemy. She had been true to me from the day we met, not once giving me cause to doubt her. She had loved me totally and completely and maybe that was her greatest achievement.

Or maybe it was mine that I managed to attract such a wonderful woman.

The machine beeped a warning a couple of times, her oxygen slipping to 58%, but then righted itself shooting up to 62% almost immediately. She was fighting her last moments I knew. Maybe she wasn't conscious of what she was doing, but she wasn't just going to walk off quietly. That was my Emmy! A fighter to the last!

But death was waiting for her somewhere between 55 to 60%. It was inevitable.

It would be minutes now, even seconds I thought when the door flew open, smashing against the door stop.

Her doctor strode in followed by a gaggle of nurses and equipment, "we've got a heart Mark. I need you out of here now so we can prep her and get her into surgery."

"Wha..." was the stunned response out of my mouth.

"A young woman killed in a traffic accident. We harvested her organs and she's a match for Emmy. Now get out of here. Time is critical she's on her last moments. I need to get her hooked up to the heart machine. That'll keep her alive while we do the transplant. Into the waiting room with you, I'll come and see you when we finish. Nurse take him"

By now the other nurses were pushing Emmy out of the room and a nurse took my arm as we watched the bed race down the hallway, those caring nurses running hard to get her help in time.

"She's got a chance she didn't have a few minutes ago," the woman said to me softly.

I nodded my head dumbly, tears streaming down my face. So close! Was this just a tease before she died anyway? I let myself be led into the waiting room where everyone's suddenly stricken faces held their breath waiting for my announcement of Emmy passing.

That kindly nurse took over correctly assuming I was too stunned to talk, "there was a traffic accident and a suitable heart became available for Emmy. She's headed for surgery right now so pray for her and please take care of Mark here."

The collective gasp of disbelief said it all. An unexpected reprieve. Maybe!

Sarah and Jeff were on their feet instantly and led me over to a chair to sit between them, wrapping their arms around me to comfort me while we waited. Sarah laid her head on my shoulder and I could hear her whispering something. I turned to look at her.

"Praying, Mark. I'm praying for Emmy." Her eyes bright with tears slipping down her face.

That didn't surprise me she was the religious one in the group, going to church every Sunday and constantly spending time reading her bible. She taught Sunday school too.

It was hours later, along with countless cups of coffee and vending machine food wrappers before an exhausted looking doctor appeared. We'd discovered as more groups of people arrived that several operations were going on with the gifts this accident victim had left. Her eyes, heart, liver, kidneys and more were going into patients that needed them. Emmy was the most critical of all of them.

"She made it through the operation Mark. She died twice on the table, but we were able to resuscitate her. I'm going to keep her in a medical coma for the next few days until she stabilizes. There's nothing more any of you can do here so go home and get some sleep. We'll call if there's any change. But I have high hopes for her now. The good news is the heart started beating as soon as we hooked it up. That's always a good sign in a transplant."

Despite the admonitions to go home and wait, I slept for a few hours, showered and went right back. I hovered around that place until the head nurse threatened to call the police and have me removed. When I stared her down she walked away shaking her head, "damn, I wish my husband cared half as much."

Strangely enough it was her that organized the efforts to keep me up-to-date after.

A few days later they finally let me into her intensive care room all gowned and masked. They were going to bring her out of her medically induced coma. Her last moments had been unconscious, she would be coming out of a black hole with no idea of what had happened. The doctor insisted on me being there to comfort her, not that he had to ask me twice.

With her hand firmly clasped in mine her eyes flickered open and she looked around. I pulled my mask down wanting her to know it was me. I wasn't supposed to, but hey, she needed to know.

She looked at me and faintly smiled, "what level of Hell is this where you're a doctor Mark?"

Then gasped in shock realizing she was talking, something she'd been unable to do before. Instinctively her free hand flew to her mouth drawing a tremendous cry of pain out of her. Her clavicle had been split down the middle a few days ago and was still healing. Still she held her arm up inspecting the newly pink coloured skin and the reduced swelling. Her fluid retention was rapidly disappearing.

"How...?"

"They had an accident victim Emmy. A young woman. Her heart matched and you got it at the last minute. Look!" I pointed at the monitor showing her oxygenation levels up close to 100%.

"Oh my God," despite the pain she was poking around her chest and the bandages holding her ribs together.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," was all she kept chanting and then our tears came.

They could stuff their rules. I crawled into bed beside her and took her into my arms comforting her until the pain got to be too much and she needed medication. I watched her eyes become unfocused and she drifted off.

The hospital became my life after that. For the next three months I helped with her bathing, her physio as they tried to rebuild deteriorated muscles and anything else I could do. Rubbing sore muscles and her back became a job I luxuriated in. The alternative we'd been headed for was so much worse.

She got around a bunch using a wheel chair at first, then graduating to crutches and finally a cane. When she finally walked her first steps were unsteady tottering around more like a drunk, but day by day she got stronger and walked further. Day by day she put more weight back on until her skeletal resemblance was a thing of the past.

My Emmy was coming back to me.

Strangely enough all her hair started turning dark. She been a brunette, but by the end of three months her hair, pubes and eyebrows had all turned a jet black colour. We'd asked, but none of the doctors or nurses seemed to have an answer, a shrug seemed to cover the subject so we let it go. Personally I liked it and Emmy remarked that she liked the change too. It was actually quite striking against her bright green eyes. The starker contrast made them seem much more vibrant.

The day in mid May when I got her back from the hospital was a celebration. Normally ten recovery days was sufficient, but because her transplant had come at the very last second her body and muscles were far more deteriorated than the average recipient. It required a lot longer to put her back together.

The three nurses that had cared for her all insisted on pushing her wheelchair down to the front door then watched her stand before the four women were all clenched in a tearful thank you hug. I helped her walk out to the car I had idling and waved goodbye to them. They'd become such an important piece of her life.

As spring progressed into summer bit by bit my Emmy came back to me. We got intimacy back at five months and hit the lake several times through the summer where Emmy got extremely vocal making love, letting our friends know that she was very much alive. She wore her bikini with her new scar proudly displayed like a badge of honour. After a while you didn't even notice it running straight down between her breasts.

There were a few hiccups along the way. Most had been minor but three of them stood out like a searchlight in the night sky. She'd been advised to keep a fairly strict and healthy diet, avoiding fatty or raw foods and drinking lightly. That seemed pretty easy until the day we were out looking around for a place to eat lunch. She pointed out a sushi restaurant.

"There," she said.

I looked at her astonished, her diet was supposed to avoid raw meats which for her wasn't a problem. She disliked sushi always telling me it was squicky-icky. I wasn't even sure if that was a real word, but she couldn't stand the thought of eating raw fish. If we went out for dinner with friends they automatically knew sushi was off the evening's list.

"Ah, babe?" I ventured.

Without taking her eyes off the place she said, "I know, I know. But I have to go in there for some reason. I can't tell you why. Please let's just park and do it."

Inside she bellied up to the counter and without even looking at the menu ordered a number six plate, which amazingly existed. I carried our food behind her while she seemed to scan all the tables and them made her way over to one.

"This one," was all she said, her fingers stroking the table top like an old friend.

I watched her chow down on the sushi stunned when she dug right in and ate like it was her last meal.

I toying with my food wondering what was the hell was happening when she finished, wiped her lips and looked around.

"I'm having déjà vu feelings Mark. I've been here before. This table is special somehow."

"Emmy that's impossible. You hate sushi. In all the years I've known you we've never once gone for sushi. We've never been in this restaurant."

"I know that honey, I can't explain it..." her voice trailed off.