The phone rang at 3:30 am.
“Hello?” I said groggily.
“Barbara, this is Dr. Park calling from AtlanticCare.”
In my half-asleep state, I was confused. He was the doctor who intubated Chris 5 weeks earlier at our local hospital. How could this guy be everywhere? He’s magic.
“Speaking.”
“I’m calling in regards to your husband Chris. We need you to come now,” he said.
“Now-now? Or in the morning ‘now’?” I asked stupidly.
“Now would be best,” he gently urged.
I called Chris’ mother. “We need to go,” I said. “I’ll be there shortly.”
We arrived at the hospital 40 minutes away, anxious about how we’d find Chris. Neither of us expected to find him sitting up in bed shoveling pancakes into his mouth with his hands.
“They forgot silverware,” Chris said through a mouthful. “Do you want my coffee?”
I took his lukewarm hospital coffee and made a grand show of how terrible it was, grimacing and making guttural, disgusted sounds. It amused him.
When Dr. Park quietly glided into the room, I was happy to see him. He was trustworthy. He pulled a chair to the foot of the bed and gently told us that hospice was the next step. Chris asked for possible treatments, including intubation if necessary. It was a quiet grasp at straws.
I looked at him and said softly, “Babe.”
We asked Dr. Park for a full assessment of Chris’ condition. He was the only doctor to give us the full scope. The doctor quietly went over each portion of Chris’ current state.
“How do you feel Chris? Any pain?” he asked.
“No,” Chris replied. Hooray drugs, I thought.
When Chris, his mother and I agreed that hospice would be a welcome solution, Dr. Park said they would get things underway, right away. Chris was relieved, his disposition lightened.
“No more medications, baby. Only the good ones,” I said.
I followed Dr. Park into the hallway.
“How long, do you think?” I asked.
Dr. Park had kind eyes to go with his mild demeanor. “Two, maybe three days. I’m sorry.” With that, he hugged me and I thanked him through tears for taking good care of Chris.
It wasn’t even 7 am.
And now I'm sobbing
{{hugs}}