Sixteen
Winter
“Your dad is going to be okay, but his car hit a patch of ice and he’s at the hospital. Your mom said they’re taking him in for surgery.”
Surgery? That doesn’t sound ‘okay’ to me.
Saint pulls me after him, only slowing to lock the shop’s front door.
My father was taken to Yule General Hospital, which is about thirty minutes outside of town, since it provides services to the surrounding areas as well.
“What’s the surgery for?” My mind flits to the worst of scenarios.
He shakes his head solemnly as he starts the truck. “Your mom didn’t give more details. I’m sorry, Win.” His eyes cut to me briefly before he gruffly demands, “Buckle up. We’ll be there soon and hopefully, they’ll have some good news for us by the time we arrive.”
We spend the duration of the drive in tense silence, the minutes feeling as if they tick by slower than physically possible. Once we park at the hospital, I sprint into the building.
The waiting room of the emergency department is packed with people, none of whom are the familiar faces we’re searching for. An employee must open the double doors leading to the patient rooms, so we approach the check-in desk.
Only one worker is currently occupying the desk. I can’t help but shift from side to side, fidgeting almost relentlessly as we wait for her to get off the phone.
I genuinely try to be polite and patient as we wait, but after several minutes, when I hear her making plans for the weekend—a personal call while a line builds up behind us—I’ve had enough.
As I march toward the desk, Saint, unaware of my destination, gives me a questioning glance before seeming to figure out the direction of my thoughts. He tries and fails to snag me by my coat as I pass.
“No, we need to take a rideshare to the venue. It’s been a shit week, and I plan to cure it with drinking my weight in—” She doesn’t get the last word out before I click the button on the phone’s cradle, ending her call.
She looks up at me, her cheeks going red with fury, but I cut her off with a vicious glare. “My father was brought in. We need his room number and for you to let us back there.”
“I can’t just let you back there.” She glares at me.
I’m not going to take no for an answer, not where my family is involved.
“Listen”—I look at her nametag hanging from her sweater—“Jackie, unless you want me to report to your supervisor that you, the only receptionist of the Emergency Department, were ignoring all these people”—I gesture with my thumb to the line behind us—“to make a personal phone call, be my guest. But otherwise, the best way to get me out of here is to give me what I’m after. ”
She surveys me for a minute before concluding that I’m going to be more trouble than I’m worth to her.
“What’s the patient’s name?”
I give her my father’s name, and a couple of minutes later, she gives us a room number and lets us through the doors.
We get behind the security door, but it’s a labyrinth of rooms and hallways.
After several wrong turns, we see a custodian who was coming out of one of the rooms pushing their cleaning cart.
Saint approaches him and asks if he could point us in the right direction.
The kind older man volunteers to walk us to the room.
I appreciate that he’s so much nicer than the front desk woman.
We follow behind him as he weaves us through different hallways until we reach my dad’s room. We thank him before darting inside.
My mom sits slumped in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, while Cypress paces the space and Dougie sits on the floor, back resting against the wall.
If we weren’t in such an emotionally desolate situation, I’d comment on Dougie’s position, pointing out all the germs he’s exposing himself to, but I don’t have the energy right now.
The whoosh of the door sliding shut behind us jolts my mom from her sightless staring. Her head jerks upward. I can tell from the dimming in her eyes that she was hoping we were the doctor coming to give an update. She shakes herself and then gets up, taking turns to hug first me and then Saint.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispers against my hair during the hug.
When she releases Saint, I rip off the Band-Aid. “Saint said Dad’s in surgery. What exactly is he getting surgery on?”
My mom opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out, only a sob. She buries her face in her hands, crying in earnest. Saint approaches and wraps his arms around her shaking body, holding her tight while offering what comfort he can.
Cypress stops his pacing and comes to stand before me.
“Dad was on his way back to the house and hit a patch of black ice he couldn’t see.
He lost control of the vehicle and spun several times before hitting a tree.
A car that was a little farther back witnessed the whole thing.
They pulled over to help. They were the ones who called nine-one-one.
The first responders said that the Good Samaritan probably saved his life.
They helped stem some of the bleeding before the emergency workers got there. ”
My heart is pounding as I digest the information. But he still hasn’t given me the complete picture of what we’re dealing with. “What’s the surgery for?” I repeat.
“His leg was injured badly. They’re trying to salvage it. They said there’s a chance he could lose it.” He gulps, concern clear in his eyes.
Once we have learned all we can about the situation, we sit in the silence of the room, the only sounds coming from outside. Announcements play over the hospital intercom, accompanied by the beeping of machines and muffled voices that grow louder before fading as they walk by.
After several hours, a man walks in. His name badge, hanging from his scrubs, identifies him as Dr. Shen, an orthopedic surgeon.
When he confirms our identities as family, he gives us the update we have been waiting for.
“He’s out of surgery now. We were able to save his leg.
Until he’s healed and undergoes intensive physical therapy, we won’t know what level of function he will have.
He’s in a recovery area where he’ll be under observation for the next hour before we move him to a room for the duration of his stay.
Once he’s been situated in the room and awake, you’ll be able to see him. ”
My mom and Dr. Shen exchange quiet words with each other as the rest of us collect our belongings. He won’t be returning to this room, so we decide to get everything rounded up, making it easier to move to the new room when we can.
I crumple an empty chip bag that my brothers shared and dump it into the trash. When I turn back around, I almost run into Cypress, who’s trying to throw away empty drink cups.
His eyebrows scrunch as we stand about a foot apart. “Why do you have flowers painted on you?” He stares at me scrutinizingly as if he can pull the answer from me with just a look.
Hands on my hips, I remind, “First of all, mind your own business. Second, it’s not the time.”
I don’t need to get into this with my brother. I don’t even know precisely where Saint and I stand in terms of our relationship. Even if our status were cemented, it wouldn’t be the appropriate time to discuss it.