Brian (III)
In the midst of the darkness, there was light.
At first, it was just a pinprick in the distance, like the glimmer of sunlight at the end of a tunnel. But it grew nearer, the round halo of light expanding outward, filling his vision. It was bright, almost blinding. It fought the darkness, chasing it away, and at first, he was grateful. But the light kept coming, so close it threatened to swallow him up. He couldn’t see anything, and as the light surrounded him, his feeling of comfort turned to fear.
He was going to die.
The thought crossed his mind a split second before he felt a crushing blow, and the light faded to impenetrable dark.
In the operating room, Dr. Robert pulled the defibrillator paddles away from the new heart in Brian’s chest and smiled, as he watched its weak, random twitches strengthen into vigorous, pulsing beats.
***
Brian awoke one sense at a time.
Before he could open his eyes, he became aware of the sounds that surrounded him. A loud hiss, like static on a TV. A medley of beeps, of all different frequencies and durations. One blipped steadily in the background, like a repeating measure of quarter notes, all the same pitch. My new heartbeat, was his first conscious thought. He heard voices around his bedside, hushed and unintelligible. He was only able to pick out his name, but the two syllables were enough for him to recognize the voice that had spoken them. Becci, he thought next.
He wanted to see her, but his eyelids felt like lead weights. His whole body felt too heavy to move, yet it seemed like he was floating, perhaps drifting beneath the surface of deep water, the darkness and pressure pushing in on him from all sides. His chest felt tight, like someone had dropped an anvil onto it. His throat felt clogged, like he was trying to breathe through a straw and not getting enough air. There was something in the way; he could feel it now in his mouth. He tried to reach up to pull it out, but found he could not raise his arms. He could feel his fingers, opening and closing, but could not seem to get his hands to cooperate. Then he felt another set of fingers lace through his own, and the softest touch on the back of his hand. He knew that touch. Becci, he thought again.
Suddenly, he could smell her perfume, instead of latex and antiseptic. The scent was comforting and familiar, like the first few notes of his favorite song. Becci.
He fought again to open his eyes, and finally, his heavy eyelids began to cooperate. They fluttered once, and he saw a sliver of light. Twice, and he began to make out blurry shapes. On the third try, he looked up and saw her face above his. It was framed by a wispy blue cap that held her dark hair and half-hidden behind a mask that covered her mouth and nose, but it was hers, alright. Her beautiful, blue eyes sparkled down at him, like the sky on a cloudless day. Becci. Her name was like heaven, but he knew then that he was alive.
“Rise and shine, sweetie,” said Becci, and even though he could not see her lips, Brian knew she was smiling. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and her voice was filled with the same expression of joy and relief. “They said you came through surgery with flying colors. Your new heart’s doing great.”
He had so many questions, but found he couldn’t speak. The thing in his mouth was a breathing tube, he realized, now that he was more alert. He remembered the nurse who had prepped him for surgery explaining about it. She’d told him there would be lots of tubes and wires at first; his hands were tied down so he didn’t accidentally pull them out.
“How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?” Becci asked, her voice sympathetic.
As the fog of anesthesia wore off, Brian was aware of pressure and discomfort, but not actual pain like he’d expected. Not yet, anyway. He closed his eyes and opened them again slowly, hoping to communicate that he was alright, just tired and groggy. He wanted to go back to sleep, but he wasn’t ready to trade the light of his life in for darkness again. Not yet.
“Your nurse said they’ll be able to pull the breathing tube in another hour or so, when you’re more awake. Then you’ll be able to talk,” Becci went on, feeding him little bits of information at a time.
His lungs felt constricted by the machine that was doing their job for him, and he longed for the tube to be gone. But more than that, he longed to sleep. As his eyelids began to droop again, Becci squeezed his hand. “I know you’re tired,” she said. “You just rest.” Then she leaned over and tenderly kissed his forehead. “I love you.”
He squeezed her hand back, then rotated his wrist from side to side, wiggling his hand around until she realized what he wanted. She unstrapped the soft restraint that bound his wrist to the bed rail, and finally, he was able to raise his arm. It still felt heavy, but he managed to lift it enough to point at himself. Then he bent his middle and ring fingers, pointing his pinkie, thumb, and index finger straight up – the sign for “love.” Finally, he pointed at Becci and held up two fingers. I love you, too.
Her eyes creased at the corners again, as she beamed through her mask. He wished he could slip it off and see all of her face. He wished he could stare at it and never look away. But the darkness was creeping in on him again, little by little, and he knew he couldn’t fight it forever.
Eventually, his leaden eyelids sank, bringing the darkness once more, and Brian slept.
***
He dreamed of being outside. Dead leaves crunched beneath his feet as he ran through the darkness. He was breathing hard, yet he wasn’t out of breath; he could feel his heart vigorously pumping blood and oxygen and adrenaline through his veins as he ran, a breeze whipping through his hair and the fallen leaves.
When he woke for the second time, Brian was disappointed to find that he was still tethered to an ICU bed. He felt more alert now, alert and alive. This time he knew it, not only by the beep of the heart monitor, but by the pain. Though he’d never been in a car accident before, he imagined this was what it would feel like to be run over by a truck – literally, flattened. He tried to lift his head from his pillow, straining to look down at his chest. Instead of tire tracks, he saw a large, white, gauze bandage, faintly stained pink in the middle.
“Welcome back,” said a voice. He turned his head toward the sound and saw a nurse standing beside his bed, making notes on a clipboard. Her eyes crinkled above her mask as she smiled down at him. “I’m just checking your vitals – everything looks great! You ready for that tube to come out of your throat?” Brian nodded as emphatically as he could without pulling anything out himself, and the nurse laughed. “I’ll get a doc. Hold tight.”
She disappeared and returned in a few minutes with a woman dressed in an identical sterile gown, cap, mask, and gloves. The latter introduced herself as a resident, Dr. Beam, and told Brian, “Happy birthday!”
He looked at her in confusion, since his birthday wasn’t until February. It was November.
Dr. Beam’s eyes were smiling. “From now on, you’ll celebrate two birthdays – the day you were born, and the day you were reborn with your new heart. Welcome to your new life. To celebrate, I’m gonna have you blow out your birthday candles – invisible ones, that is. I want you to take a deep breath, and on the count of three, you’re going to blow, while I pull the tube. Got it?”
Brian nodded, wincing as they helped him sit up for the first time.
“This is going to be uncomfortable, and you’ll cough a lot at first, but you’ll feel better breathing on your own without that tube in the way. And you’ll be able to talk,” said Dr. Beam, as she pulled off the tape that held the tube in place. “Ready?” Brian nodded, letting his lungs fill with air, even though it hurt. “One… two… three.”
His chest seared with pain as he blew; it felt like the tube was being pulled all the way from his naval, but finally, it was out, and he was coughing uncontrollably. The nurse put an oxygen mask over his face, and the coughing fit began to subside. Finally, Brian collapsed back against the bed, weak and in pain, his chest aching from the force of the coughs.
Dr. Beam asked, “How are you feeling?” The nurse lifted the oxygen mask so he could speak clearly.
“Hurts,” Brian rasped, sounding like he had laryngitis. The nurse offered him a cup of ice chips, and he took one to suck on and soothe his sore throat.
The doctor nodded, unconcerned. “It’s not going to feel comfortable for you to cough or even breathe deeply over the next few days, but we need you to do both. It’s important that you keep your lungs clear, to avoid infection. Infection is your worst enemy while you’re on immunosuppressants to keep your body from rejecting your new heart.”
Brian nodded his understanding. Dr. Robert had prepared him for this; he knew that in order for the transplant to take, his immune system had to be virtually wiped out, which left him vulnerable to germs. It was the reason everyone who came to visit him over the next few days would need to wear masks and gloves and sterile coverings over their clothes, the way the doctor, the nurse, and even Becci had.
Wondering about Becci, Brian asked, “My wife?”
The nurse smiled. “I think she went to call your family again. I’ll see if I can find her.”
She left with Dr. Beam and returned with Becci, who slipped her gloved hand into his and squeezed it when she came to stand at his bedside. “I talked to your mom and dad. They’re keeping Calhan busy and send their love. Once you’re in a regular room, I’ll see if they can bring him up to visit.”
Brian smiled, picturing his son. He couldn’t wait to hold him again, to be able to chase him around the house without feeling like he was going to pass out. He put his hand lightly on his chest, over the bandage, imagining the healthy, new heart that beat inside it.
“Wanna listen to it?” asked the nurse, who stood back out of the way, watching.
Brian looked up. The nurse came over, removing her stethoscope from around her neck. She wiped it down with a disinfectant and slipped it gently into Brian’s ears. “Here… take a listen,” she said, handing him the bell.
Brian pressed the end of the stethoscope flat against the bandage and closed his eyes. It nearly took his breath away, at first, to hear the strong, steady beat in his ears, so different from the weak sputtering of his failing heart. He couldn’t stop listening. After a minute, he opened his eyes and looked up at the heart monitor by his bed, watching the perfect peaks sync up with the sounds of his new heart.
Then he looked at Becci, who was watching him intently. “You wanna?” he asked, pulling the stethoscope out of his ears and offering it to her. She nodded, sliding it into her own ears, while he held the bell steady against his chest. He saw her eyes widen and heard her sharp intake of breath as she listened, and for a moment, he was reminded of the day they had sat together in her obstetrician’s office and heard Calhan’s heartbeat for the first time.
New life. That was what the miraculous sound of a heartbeat represented, both then and now. Dr. Beam had been right when she called it a rebirth. This was the first day of the rest of Brian’s life.
“It sounds perfect,” said Becci, taking the stethoscope out of her ears and handing it back to the nurse. When she looked back, Brian was startled to see a sheen of tears in her eyes.
He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “We got lucky,” he said. But he knew it was more than luck. He owed his life not just to God, or to the team of doctors who had successfully operated on him, but to the anonymous donor, his equal in size and blood type, who had died that morning and whose heart now beat in his chest. He cleared his raw throat, wondering about him or her. “Did they tell you anything about the donor?” he asked Becci quietly.
She blinked, and a tear spilled out and slid down her cheek, disappearing into her mask. “She was a woman, in her twenties, from Ohio, who was killed in a car accident,” she said, her voice wavering a bit. “That’s all they could tell me.”
Brian nodded solemnly. He would likely never know the name of his donor, but he liked to think that she would know him, wherever she was now. He pressed his palm to his chest once more, trying to feel the pulse of the heart beneath the bandage. Then he brought his hand to his lips and blew a kiss toward the ceiling.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
***
