Massachusetts General Hospital
3 years ago...
The doctor asks if we have any questions but we'd already asked them all last time, when my wife had received her diagnosis. Through the door I can faintly hear the lullaby my mother-in-law is singing our baby boy. In that moment I envied her. To her there was still uncertainty, still a 50/50 chance that her grandchild hadn't inherited the disease that was now quickly decimating her daughter's body. The blind hope I'd had just moments ago.
I turn to look at Elizabeth and I see her spirit break. Her shaking had been under control the last few days but now, in light of the news that her genes had doomed our child share her fate, her body just gives out. She falls back into her hospital bed sobbing and convulsing. I move quickly to hold her to keep her from falling off the bed and to offer what measure of comfort I can.
The doctor excuses himself to give us our privacy.
I lie holding her tightly, listening to her breathing patterns to make sure it doesn't become too irregular. This has become my habit over the last year and I catch myself wondering how long it will be until I start to do the same for our son.
Eventually her tremors weaken and her sobbing slows.
"Do you want to try sitting up?", I offer mechanically.
She wipes her eyes on her sleeve and nods. I gently slide my arms behind her back and neck for support and whisper a slow-paced, "1... 2... 3". We pull her upright and I sit back down in the visitors chair. As I lean back I close my yes and sigh as I realize just how exhausted I am. Even still my mind won't stop spinning.
"Do you think he'll hate me?", Elizabeth's words pull me from my reverie.
"What?"
"Do you think our son will hate me for doing this to him?", she pauses and fidgets with our son's teddy bear as my overtired brain struggled to put words together, "I hated my dad for so long. I blamed him for every spinal tap, for every time I had to fed and for very time I had to be bathed by a complete stranger. I barely remember him but I still hate him. And he didn't even know what he had. I knew damn well and I chose to have him anyway."
"El, we didn't plan. I mean we thought it was a sign. Remember?" I offer weakly.
"A sign of what? We're both smart people Ryan, you study genetics for fuck's sake! We could have ended it. I could have!", her voice startle to crack again. She struggles against her own damaged nerves to form word, "I just, I can't stand the thought of him hating me this much."
I move back back onto the bed but just sit next to her in silence. Words had never been my forte and I doubt there's any permutation of sounds that would serve any positive purpose right now. I grab her hands so she'll stop playing with the bear and look at me instead.
"What do we do, Ryan?"
"Whatever we have to baby. Anything it takes."
_______________________________________________________________
Residential Unit A-114
Ryan woke to the sound of someone banging loudly on his bunk's door. He looked to the clock, despite the sun shining brightly through his curtains it was the middle of the night. He couldn't help but draw his eyes to the tiny stuffed bear resting on the shelf beside the clock. The one memento of home he had taken on this trip to steady his resolve if ever he questioned his own actions.
"Anything it takes..." he repeats to himself like a mantra before the banging started again.
"RYAN! Wake the fuck up!", Marcus Jones' voice was desperate. The urgency in his voice spurred Ryan into action. He opened the door to reveal a severely injured Marcus. His left eye was swollen over and purple, his left arm was obviously broken, and Ryan was pretty sure his ear was supposed to be where he was looking, but all he saw was a deep crimson mess.
Despite his obvious physical distress Marcus pushed into the room with the strength of a man possessed and headed straight for the first aid kit containing the morphine. His frostbitten hands fumbled to open the latch.
"Jesus Christ Marcus we have to get you to medical now!"
Marcus ignoring Dr. Miller's objections had popped the safety latch on the first aid kit and was currently tearing the needle out of the plastic wrapper with the teeth.
"Shit, let me help you at least.", Ryan reached for the syringe only to have Marcus jump at him bearing his broken teeth like an animal. An moment later Marcus seemed to come to his senses and handed the syringe over. Ryan quickly disinfection a patch of skin that didn't look too mangled and skilfully slipped the needle into a veins. Within moments Marcus visibly relaxed.
"Thank you, I think this stuff is the only thing holding me together right now."
"Mr. Jones, you need to get to medical right now. I have no idea how you're even standing. What the hell happened?"
"Snowmobile accident, I think. I was at the sub and my fucking vehicle just exploded or something. I had to drag my ass all the way back, I have no idea how I made it. This is some good stuff though, I'm already feeling a lot better."
"What Sub? Look Mr. Jones, you're not better you're just high. We need to get you to medical right now. Come on, I'll help you."
"No really, I'm fine now, see the color is coming back to my hands already. Do you have a real first aid kit? I'll just wrap my head up."
"Marcus, I'm telling you you're not fine. Your arm is broken, you're missing an ear for God's sake let me help you.", Ryan reached out slowly and tried to take his colleague's arm.
"I said I'M FINE!", Marcus Jones pushed Ryan with his good arm and the next thing he knew Ryan was on the other side of the room. The wind was knocked out of him and his ears were ringing.
Marcus looked down at the other man apologetically.
"Shit, I'm sorry. Look, I gotta go, I'll talk to you tomorrow.", Ryan was still too disoriented to get up. He could only watch as a still bleeding Marcus turned to the door before pausing to grab the handful of morphine doses that remained and left.
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