Countdown

Prologue

“Doctor Wilson, could you just run through the procedure one more time?” Megan asked, her voice shaky and weak, like a dying leaf, barely hanging on to a branch.

“Honey, you already asked that a million times, repeating the surgery won’t remove the tumor any faster,” laughed Gabe. “I’ll see you in a bit,”

“I…I love you so much,” she whispered, placing a hand on his.

He smiled and squeezed her hand. “I love you too. And Charli,” he said, turning to a young girl standing on the other side of the gurney. “And I love you the most, my little jelly-bean. Don’t worry about me. You know what, when I get out of the surgery, we can plan a father-daughter camping weekend, just like we used to before, well you know, the little stinker set up camp in my brain.”

“I love you, Dad. We’ll be waiting for you on the other side, okay? I know you’ll get through this,” responded the girl. Her voice sounded calm, but her eyes told the truth, she was more scared than she had ever been in her life.

“Alright ladies, this is as far as you can go. I know how extremely difficult this is. But rest assured, my team and I will update you frequently on the surgery.” Doctor Wilson informed them, with a softness in his voice.

“Okay, my beautiful ladies, good night. Don’t sit around too long, go home and rest. I know I’ll enjoy the next seven hours. I’ll finally get some quality sleep,” winked Gabe.

“G-g-goodbye, Gabe,” was all Megan was able to say.

“I love you guys. Now, let’s get this party started.” Gabe exclaimed, as if a butterfly glioma were an easy walk in the park.

“Bye, Daddy,” Charli replied.

“See ya later, alligator.” Gabe joked as the scrub nurses began to wheel him into the operating wing.

“After a while, crocodile,” she responded.

“I love…you.” Megan called out, but by the time the last word left her lips, he was gone. She stared at the big doors, with the words “Employees Only” plastered on them in big red letters to make sure everyone got the point. The door to the place, where a man they had met just a few months ago, was going to slice into her husband’s brain.

“Let’s go to the waiting room,” suggested Charli, as she quickly wiped the tears in her eye. His words ringed in her head like a bell, chiming in the wind. See ya later, alligator. The phrase he always said when dropping her off at school. The phrase that she had heard so often, that responding with “after a while, crocodile” had become a reflex. She wondered if that would be the last time she said it.

They walked silently. Rivers streamed down Megan’s face. Her head was clouded with thoughts. She hadn’t wanted to cry in front of him. He seemed so hopeful, so optimistic. Who was she to take that away from him? She thought back to the doors. The big ugly doors that took her husband past them, out of her hands, out of her embrace. The doors that hid him away. She wanted to be there, to hold his hand through the surgery the way he held her hand when Charli was born. What was behind those doors? Life or death. Death or life. Will he come out of them? She replayed the last moment with him, the hardest goodbye she had ever said. Why hadn’t she said more? There was so much to say! But what do you say when you don’t know if you’ll see them again, if this time may be the last?

*         *         *

Gabe

I could tell she was struggling to hold back tears; I don’t blame her. I may have joked and laughed, but the truth is, I’ve never been more terrified. I mean, who wouldn’t be? A literal knife will go into my brain. I might lose my sight, my memory, my mobility…that is, if I even come out of it alive. But at the same time, I feel relieved. Living with this monstrosity in my head has been like living in a cold, dead, prison, with ticking bombs all around me. Finally, I would be free. No matter how this ends, I won’t just be some weak little tumor man anymore. My emotions come and go in waves. I think of the life ahead of me, being able to run and jump and swim again without losing my energy after half a minute. I’ll be able to kiss my wife without knowing that this might be the last kiss, her soft lips brushing against mine, her waist in my hands, her sapphire blue eyes gazing deep into mine. And that’s when a wave of fear flushes over me like a tsunami, drowning any remaining energy I have, choking my hope, killing my optimism. What will she do if I die? They say that 41% of marriages end in divorce, but ours has only blossomed from a playful poppy into a magical magnolia tree. I remember the day we met as if it were yesterday. She was working at a coffee house at eleven at night, wearing a short little plaid skirt, a white sweater, and thick black stockings. Her hair was pulled back into an effortless ponytail that bounced exuberantly with every step. I could tell she was tired, her makeup a little smudged, her eyes barely open. Still, her beauty radiated through the coffee shop, and when she came over to ask for my order, I nearly fell off my chair upon hearing her angelic voice. This may sound silly, but I had never seen a girl like her before, so when she came with the check, I impulsively decided to ask her on a date. It must have been my lucky day because she said yes. We went to dinner the following evening, and the more we talked, the more I fell in love. She had the most amazing zest for life, a sense of humor that had me clutching my stomach in pain from laughing so hard, and a passion for literature that made me want to stand up on the table and recite Shakespearean plays. I knew I wanted to marry her right then and there, but I waited two years before popping the question. She had always been there for me, and I did my best to be there for her. Marriage brought us closer together than we had ever been, and we were no longer two individual people on this earth, we were two parts of a whole, yin and yang, Bonnie and Clyde, whatever you want to call it. If I die, a part of her will die too. The thought of her losing any part of herself made me want to scream. This woman made me who I am. Before her, I was a boring bank clerk, living the same life every day, barely ever talking to anyone, let alone dates. How lucky was I, to have stumbled into that run-down little coffee shop late one evening, in the search for a hot cup of tea the day before a huge work meeting? This woman taught me to live life without regrets. Never would I have gone skinny dipping in the middle of the night at the local beach, never would I have gone to a tango dancing class, never would I have sung Beyoncé’s Single Ladies at the Karaoke Club if it wasn’t for her. Life with her was so full of surprises, so full of excitement, and it kept getting better. About a year after our wedding, we welcomed little baby Charlotte into our family. My precious little princess, Charli. When we found out we were having a girl, I was a little nervous. What could I possibly know about raising a daughter? But when she arrived, any doubts I had melted away. Her tiny fingers wrapped around mine, and I knew that I would spend the rest of my life protecting this angel, raising her into an extraordinary woman, just like her mother. Charli always liked to play soccer, from the moment she could waddle like a penguin across the backyard. She was just like her mother, always looking for something new to try, always ready to take a leap of faith. We lived a happy little life, filled with adventure and mystery, until I was diagnosed with this stupid glioma. We were playing volleyball in the backyard, and the ball hit my head. After a few days of terrible pain, we went to the ER, thinking I must have a concussion. Imagine my surprise when they told me I have a brain tumor. The next few months were filled with a blur of chemo, checkups, medication, scans. I fell into a routine of hospital visits, sitting in that big white machine while it photographed my brain, discussing the treatment plan for the next two weeks. So, when the doctor said he suggests we go with the surgery route, I couldn’t believe it. I was so ready to just get back to my life. Hell, I was even excited for going back to fulltime work! But now, the day was finally here. The mixture of fear and excitement I had felt earlier was now a million times greater. I stared at the walls of the operating room. Sterile and shiny, reflecting the smoothness of the top of my bald, chemo-treated scalp. I was so ready to finally have hair again. The surgeon approached me. I knew it was time. He smiled, delivered some words of encouragement, and brought the anesthesiologic mask down on my face. Immediately, I felt drowsy. I could hear him count down.

10…9…8…

*         *         *

Megan

           The waiting area was the worst place I had ever been. Just a few chairs arranged in little rows in a semi-isolated part of the hospital. I could still see everyone passing by around me, some people staring, as if I were on display. The waiting area felt like a bubble. Inside, time moved slowly. A few other people were there too, all looking just as tense as I was. I stared vacantly into space, while all around me, people hurried in their busy lives. I observed the people. I made eye contact with a woman who gave me a look of pity, the way you look at a child when they complain to you about something meaningless problem they have. I rolled my eyes dramatically, which scared her off. Maybe that wasn’t the nicest way to behave, but if I’m going to sit here for hours, I at least want to be treated with some decency! Another woman walked by. She was pregnant, and by the urgency in her husband’s voice, you could tell she was having contractions. How I wish I could trade lives with her at the moment. Granted, giving birth isn’t exactly anyone’s choice of how to spend the day, but at least you end the day with a little baby, a symbol of the commitment you made with another, and the only tears that stream down your face are tears of joy. When Charli was born, I couldn’t stop staring at her. She was the perfect mix of Gabe and me. You could point to a feature and tell who she got it from. Gabe was so good with her. He would get up in the middle of the night so I wouldn’t have to, he would prepare dinner for me while I took care of the baby, he would read to her… and he still is great with her. I love my dad, but I never had as close a bond with him as Charli has with Gabe. When she was a toddler, Gabe would take her to this toddler jungle gym, and when she got older, he cultivated a love of sports in her. He never forced her to do anything, rather he played games with her and let her decide what she likes and doesn’t. I would always see them in the backyard, playing soccer with an old, scratched up ball, using trees as goal posts. At the end of the game, Gabe would pick up Charli and spin her in the air as she laughed like an angel. After dinner, we would watch a movie, and Gabe would tell Charli the most creative stories he could come up with, and he would even sing. I was living a perfect life, but it was about to come crashing down on me like a city during an earthquake. I watched Gabe wither away. He struggled to walk, his energy waned, he became more irritable – he wasn’t the same. I’m not angry at him, how could I be? He had a ginormous tumor in his brain. I did my best to keep life relatively normal. I even tried playing soccer with Charli, but I could see she didn’t enjoy it as much as she did with her father. I didn’t enjoy life without him. He was there, typing away on his computer, as I brought him food like some kitchen maid. I felt terrible, and even a little guilty. Maybe if I had a job, he wouldn’t have to continue working. His boss let him work half the hours as he had before, and he was able to work from home, but I wish he didn’t have to work at all. These could be his last months, I didn’t want them to be filled with math and banking, I wanted it to be filled with memories. But I’m trained for nothing! After high school, I didn’t go to college. My family had no money. My parents ran their own little unsuccessful bakery. Sure, they got a few customers here and there, but overall, the money income was unsteady, and there was hardly any money for me to go to college. I decided to become a waitress, and I worked at a little coffee house for five years. Then I met Gabe, got married, had a baby. I quit work when Charli was born. All our money comes from Gabe. I hate to sound selfish, but what if he dies? His savings won’t last forever, especially with all the medical bills. But I don’t want to think of that now. I’ll figure out how to deal with financial issues, I always have. Right now, I just need to be here in the waiting area. I realized I haven’t checked in on Charli. I was so caught up in my own thoughts, I didn’t bother to ask her how she’s doing. Then again, what’s the point. Her father is in a dangerous, low survival-rate surgery. I doubt she’s doing okay. I didn’t want to talk, so I just reached my hand and took hers in mine. I looked at the clock. Ten seconds to noon. Chills creeped up my spine. They’ll be starting any moment now. I could imagine the doctor counting down.

…7…6…5…

*         *         *

Charlotte

No one ever calls me Charlotte, just Charli or Char, sometimes Lottie. That’s how it has always been. My birth certificate says Charlotte, but never is it said. So, when my parents called me saying, “Charlotte, can you come for a moment?”, I knew something was wrong. I came into the living room, and they told me about how my father has a brain tumor. My knees collapsed, and I fell onto the purple couch behind me, sinking into its soft, marshmallow cushions. Tears exploded out of my eyes like lava from a volcano, but I really wish they hadn’t. No one ever told me anything. Like how can you tell someone their dad has a brain tumor and not follow up? My parents went to hospital visits, checkups, and chemotherapy sessions almost every week, and never bothered to update me! I would always ask how everything went, and all I would get back in response was “fine”. It frustrates me so much how everyone treats me like I’m four, not fourteen. Sure, fourteen is still a kid, but I can handle bad news. I wish people would realize that I’m not blind to all these problems. It happens with the news too. Anytime I try to bring up some article I read about a political issue or a global problem, they just dismiss it. I wish people would understand that I have an opinion, that I’m able to think for myself, that I want to be listened too! Anytime my relatives come over, my aunt just asks me if I’ve bought any new clothes, if there’s any boy I like, if I have any “female problems” – not only does that make me extremely uncomfortable, it degrades me, not to mention that I have my mom who I could talk about that with. People see me as a teenage girl, and they assume that I automatically only care about makeup and dresses, they don’t care to look deeper. And now, my dad’s life is more fragile than a Fabergé Egg. I didn’t say anything about this though, I didn’t want life to be any harder for my parents, especially my mom. She was so busy trying to maintain order, I didn’t want to add any petty stress of mine to her worries. I could see she cared about my feelings. She even tried playing soccer with me, but it wasn’t the same as with dad. Whatever. I’ll just keep my feelings inside. I’m used to it. I looked at my mom. She looked so empty, as if her soul had left when my dad was taken to the operating room. She was watching the clock and holding my hand. I doubt she knew, but she squeezed it while softly counting down. I stared at the clock with her.

…3…2…1…