A Curve in the Road(17)

For the next hour, Mom and I watch television in silence. Maybe it’s the pain medication or mere exhaustion, but I’m barely aware of what I’m looking at—a sitcom I’ve never seen before, with a laugh track that is strangely hypnotic. A nurse comes to check on us, then leaves again. Another nurse comes later. Ice pellets continue to beat against the window, relentlessly. Time passes slowly.

I wish I could shut down my brain, but I can’t stop thinking about the trauma room and how I was forced to perform CPR on my husband and then watch Dr. Sanders call the time of death. I see Alan lying there, dead on the table, and I feel as if I’m awake in a nightmare that simply won’t end, as it carries me lightly into a memory of how we met.

It was just the third day of medical school, when we were introduced to the dead body that would serve as our group’s cadaver for the year. The class had been warned in advance about the importance of behaving in a respectful manner, and the mood was solemn as we entered the lab, which smelled strongly of formaldehyde. I was nervous to begin with. We were also told that some of us might become nauseated or experience some other unexpected emotional response.

For me, the timing was unfortunate. I had buried my beloved father a month earlier. As soon as I saw the dead man, I became distraught and had to leave the lab.

Alan followed. He asked if I was okay. I said no and told him about my dad. Alan let me cry on his shoulder. He rubbed my back and said he understood because he had lost his mother to cancer when he was thirteen.

Alan and I formed an unbreakable bond that day, surrounded by death. The friendship carried us through the highs and lows of medical school, and when graduation loomed, I didn’t know how I would ever live without Alan if our professional lives separated us. He felt the same way, but fate was kind and placed us together in Halifax to complete our residencies. We tied the knot three months later.

Now here I am in another hospital, two decades later, wishing he were here so I could cry on his shoulder again.

Never in a million years could I have imagined I would lose him like this. Nothing about it is right.

My cell phone starts ringing and pulls me from my thoughts. I glance at the screen and pick it up. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Abbie MacIntyre?”

“Yes,” I reply.

“This is Dr. Payne.” He pauses. “I’m very sorry to hear about your husband. Troy told me.”

I feel like I might start to cry again, but somehow I manage to keep it together. “Thank you.”

There’s a long silence before the vet clears his throat. “Please know that I’m doing everything I can, but your dog is in pretty bad shape. You’re lucky that Troy found him when he did.”

I sit forward on the bed. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I hope so, but as I said, it’s serious.”

My stomach burns. “What’s wrong with him? And please be clear, Doctor. I’m a physician myself.”

“I see. Well . . . he’s had some internal bleeding, which I believe is coming from a ruptured spleen, he has serious bruising everywhere, and his skull is fractured.”

“What?” All of this knocks me off-balance emotionally, and I fight to keep it together. “But he ran such a long distance after the accident. He did that with a ruptured spleen and a fractured skull?”

“Yes,” Dr. Payne replies. “Clearly, he’s a very faithful dog, but I need your permission to open him up. I suspect I’ll have to remove his spleen and see what else we’re dealing with internally.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and pray Winston will come through. “Yes, you have my permission. Do whatever’s necessary to save him, whatever the cost. I don’t care. I’ll pay anything. But no matter what happens . . . please don’t let him suffer.” I take a deep, shaky breath. “And, Doctor, you should know that after losing my husband tonight, I’d prefer not to lose my dog too. Not to put extra pressure on you, but my son would be devastated. We love Winston so much.”

“I understand,” he says matter-of-factly, without missing a beat. “I’ll do everything I can. You have my word. I’ll call you the minute he’s out of surgery, which should be in a few hours. Maybe more. It’s hard to say.”

I speak firmly. “It doesn’t matter what time it is, because I doubt I’ll sleep much tonight anyway. Call as soon as you have news.”

I end the conversation and tell my mother what’s happening. Then I call Zack to fill him in as well. My son cries softly with relief over Winston but also grief over his father. He wants to come and be with me and to be with Winston too. To be reassured. But I tell him he has to wait until the morning, when it will be safe to travel and the light of day will help us see everything more clearly.

I try to sleep, but I can’t. My emotions and stress levels are like a dark abyss from which I can’t escape. So when my phone buzzes at two in the morning, I’m already wide-awake. I sit up instantly and swipe the screen.

Mom continues to snore softly from the bed beside mine, and I try to answer quietly so that I don’t wake her, but it’s no use. She hears me talking, sits up, and switches on the light.

“Hi, Abbie. It’s Dr. Payne.”

“Yes. Hello.” My stomach lurches. “How did the surgery go?”

“Well, we had a few tense moments, but Winston is a fighter. He made it through, and he’s in recovery now.”