Life has a way of fucking you over: that's a lesson I know way too well. Following the latest chemo session, Josh was in so much pain, his body could not even be coaxed into a wheelchair. I stood with tears in my eyes and my heart in my throat as my husband cried out in agony.
"I just want to go home!" Josh's limbs flailed but not enough to put up much of a fight. Strapped to a bed, he was given an IV of morphine as well as some Tylenol for the fever.
"If we can't get the fever to break, we might have to keep him overnight," the nurse explained. She was a kind, older woman with curly hair and glasses. Her eyes had seen the situation too many times before. "Such a beautiful soul."
"What?"
"I'm not a woman of God but I can feel when a soul is ready." She immediately caught herself. "Not ready to die, that's not what I meant."
"What did you mean?" I asked with a chuckle.
"He's at peace. That's all."
Chemo left Josh with a weakened immune system, that was a fact I'd come to accept. "What does his primary doctor say?"
"Given it's the weekend, his doctor won't be in until Monday. He just wants to try and get the patient stabilized."
"Ok." I had to be ok.
Josh's fever got worse over the next few hours, slipping into the triple digits. This meant we would not be visiting Nurse Tomas at the truck stop chapel.
I had Tomas's contact information, but I didn't call. I wanted to see if he would visit of his own free will. Instead, I attempted to sleep on the plastic hospital chair.
At around six at night, Josh had finally managed to sleep, but the fever was still present. Tomas stopped by not long after. "Hey, Carol."
"Hey," I replied through pursed lips. "Nice of you to stop by."
"So, what's the plan to get Josh home?"
"They're mostly giving him pain medicine," I explained. "He could probably walk out right now if he wanted to."
"What do you mean by that?"
My mind froze for a moment. "Not that he could walk or I'd force him to walk. Just that no one gives a crap. You know what I mean."
Tomas placed his hand to Josh's neck. "His pulse is racing."
I nodded and sighed. "Yeah, not that I have any idea what that means for someone in a coma." Josh wasn't even in a coma. What the hell was I even talking about?
"Do you want me to stay?"
"No." I shrugged, choking back tears. "I mean you can if you want."
"But do you want me to stay?"
That was the question. Did I? "I think I'll get some sleep. I'd like it if you checked back maybe before the end of your shift."
"I'll do that." Tom got up to leave but I didn't see him until early the next morning.
I awoke with a backache from sleeping on a set of chairs. "Tom?"
Right on cue, he entered the room with a tray of coffee and doughnuts. "Good morning Carol. I figured it was my turn to supply breakfast."
"Where were you last night?"
"You were asleep when my shift ended so I thought I'd come back later." Tom must have noticed the look in my eyes. "What, did you think I forgot about you?"
I wanted so badly to be mad, but looking into his eyes I could only cry. I needed a friend, a second person to bear the weight of my screwed-up life. "No, I'm sorry."
Tom put his arm around my shoulder. "Today is all about you and Josh."
"Me and Josh?"
"I'm here for both of you." Tom stayed by my husband's side until Josh was conscious enough to reach for his hand. He was also there when Dr. Matthews, Josh's primary care doctor came to visit.
And the first thing he did was bring up the D-word. "Mr. Miner, you really need to consider having a DNR on file."
Tomas and I locked eyes, knowing that the topic would not go down well.
"With all due respect, doc," Josh groaned his mouth filled with spittle and rage. "I'd rather go down fighting."
"Is that why you also don't have a medical power of attorney on file?" The doctor asked, flipping through a large plastic folder.
"Actually, I do," Josh said with a smile.
"The task doesn't fall to your wife by default."
"It falls to a blood relative, right?" Josh asked, with a coy smirk, as if he had fully thought this through. "Can a teenager legally sign one?"
"You gave power of attorney to your now estranged daughter?" the doctor asked with confusion.
"Her face is the last thing I want to see."
I couldn't tell if he was being truthful, angry, or sarcastic. Best case scenario, Josh gave power of attorney to Christy back when she was getting her appendix out as a show of support for her first-ever surgery; he would always be there for her and she would always be there for him. (Though I'm sure Christy gave power of attorney to her wife upon marriage.) And now that our daughter was estranged, there was no one around to possibly get tricked into signing a DNR on Josh's behalf.
The doctor seemed to laugh off the situation. "Regardless, we're going to be stopping any further chemo sessions."
"So, I'm just supposed to die like a bitch?" Josh's voice went deeper, to an almost demonic level.