Black Coffee

Tom and Mindy were a married couple who started out as friends of mine in college, and became two of my favorite people on the planet. Tom was one of the nicest human beings, who happened to be stuck in a body that just didn’t agree with him much. Tourette’s was one of the biggest disagreements; it wasn’t the “fucking swearing” type, but he had his share of tics, and hiding them was not an option. It turned out, however, that his primary issue was having a heart that was too big for his chest. I’m not saying this figuratively, although one could argue that Tom did, in fact, have a kindness and generosity that would rival Mr. Rogers. His literal heart, however, did not behave in such a loving manner but rather made its best attempts at breaking free from the prison called Tom’s rib cage. Of course, this did not work out so well for Tom. It was while waiting for his second heart transplant that his body finally surrendered and our world lost one of its best.

             In addition to his unselfish ways, Tom also saw the good in everything. He could find something to be happy about in the worst of situations. The amount of laughs he, Mindy, and I shared in years of hospital rooms would make you think he was waiting to get his tonsils out and excited about the aftermath of unlimited ice cream. But, no, Tom was dying, and we all knew it. And we knew it was soon. At that time, heart transplants were only good for about ten years before you had to trade it in for a new one. Kind of like a lease, but compared to your average Ford Explorer, the terms and conditions on a heart are a tad bit more stringent. Add to that the fact that hearts are doled out to the younger folks first and, well, you do the math. Eventually, your name makes its way to page two.

             Tom’s first transplant was successful and, all distressing and painful repercussions aside, gave him more years to share his light with the world; most notably with Mindy and their two baby girls. It’s this first transplant that I’d like to start with. Mindy spent countless days, nights, weeks, and months in hospital rooms and I joined her for many of them. And most of the time, believe it or not, we were laughing. At anything. Everything. We found the humor in horror—and thank goodness, because there was a lot of horror.

             It was a day like many others; Mindy and I sat in the uncomfortable hospital armchairs, trying to make the best of hard foam covered with vinyl. Tom, of course, was in bed, sitting up and sitting still, trying not to disrupt any of the numerous wires, tubes, and bags lying on, going into, or hanging from his fragile frame that seemed to lose weight every day. Still, we were laughing. A nurse came in and checked on the urine canister—the translucent container with measurements on the side of it that kind of resembles a pitcher your mom might use to mix up Kool-Aid. Tom wasn’t allowed to pee in the toilet, no sir. Hospital staff always need to keep a close eye on all of your bodily functions, so in the Kool-Aid jug Tom’s pee did go. The nurse squinted at the urine to give it the evil eye and, once satisfied, went on her merry way. I then excused myself and followed her to the nurses station.

             “Excuse me.” I said. Do you happen to have any more of those urine containers?”

             Without a second’s pause, she replied “Sure, how many do you want?”

             Surprised at the ease of this transaction, I answered, “One will be fine, thank you.”

             Without any more questions, she handed me an empty canister. I hopped on the elevator down to the cafeteria, purchased a large cup of black coffee and proceeded to fill the container with approximately the same amount of coffee that Tom had done with urine in his container upstairs. I then hopped back on the elevator up to Tom’s room and shared my devious plan with Mindy out in the hall; secretly swap the two canisters and watch Tom flip out when he notices his urine had turned brown. Why she didn’t tell me this was a bad idea is beyond me. It was obviously a bad idea! But she didn’t. I hid the coffee under my jacket (hospital rooms are always freezing—bring a jacket), entered the room, announced my need to use the restroom, and proceeded to switch out his canister for mine. I then hid the actual urine under the sink, made my way back to the hard, vinyl-covered foam, and waited, snickering internally.

             It took some time, but if you aspire to being a reputable practical joker, you have to have patience. No dastardly deed can be rushed and still have the oomph you’re hoping for. Sure enough, Tom eventually had to go. Very slowly and gingerly making his way through all the wires, tubes, and bags, he walked towards the bathroom, wheeling his IV cart behind. He stepped inside and closed the door. We waited. Nothing. More nothing. Then, “Mindy!” The second cry was louder. “Mindy!”

             Mindy rushed to his side and found Tom frozen in front of the sink, one hand holding the coffee and the other grabbing the IV roller to prevent himself from collapsing, his mouth wide open while his body visibly shook. Tears had not yet started to roll down his cheeks, but panic had definitely set in.

             Just to be clear, heart attack-inducing activities are not ideal for heart transplant patients.

             Hindsight.

             I’m going to save you the suspense and share that Mindy, finally realizing the gravity of my little joke, divulged our secret, and by the grace of Allah, Buddha, Krishna, and Jesus combined, Tom did not have a heart attack. Nor did he die that day. Whew! Call me lucky. And believe it or not, the three of us laughed about it until the sun went down.

             Now, I tell you that story to preface this one. Fast forward to his second heart transplant adventure. Tom was back in the hospital, lying in the bed accompanied by his now familiar wires, tubes, and bags, and Mindy and I were back on the vinyl. It had been a number of years, but still felt like old times. Certainly a familiar scene, and we were well acquainted with the daily routine. Keep in mind that surgeries like that are not what they call outpatient procedures: you can be there for months at a time. We knew the drill.

             Things were going swimmingly, or at least as swimmingly as things can go when you’re waiting for a rather important organ to be ripped from your body—an after-market, used organ at that—and then replaced with a newer model. The three of us were doing what the three of us did, and—bam! Like a cannon, the door flew open, crashing against the wall, and a nurse who couldn’t have been more than twenty years old burst into the room, frantically waving her arms and babbling something about emergency lights and alarms at the nurses station making all sorts of racket regarding Tom’s vital signs.

             “I need you to get out!” she demanded, looking directly at Mindy and myself.

             The two of us looked at each other with panic. Holy shit! Is this really happening? To say we were paralyzed with fear would be an understatement. I found it hard to breathe. Sweat started to seep from my pores, but the instant decrease in my body temperature pulled it right back in.  

             “Get out!” the nurse yelled.

             With my heart beating a million miles an hour, Mindy and I made our way to the door, which was slammed quickly behind us. That’s when the tears welled up in my eyes. Still in disbelief at what the last ten seconds had brought, I looked at Mindy, who stood as motionless as a statue. No expression on her face, no emotion in her eyes. Blank and empty. Before we had time to even consider what was happening, the door flew back open, and the young girl burst out, slamming the door behind her, and sprinted down the hallway, gasping and stumbling and calling for help. I tried to ask her what was happening, but by the time words left my mouth, she was gone, around the corner and down another hall. Gone. It got eerily quiet. Now what do we do? was the only expression Mindy and I were able to offer each other, eyes wide with a complete lack of sense as to our next move. My friend, Mindy’s husband and the father of her children, was about to die, if not dead already just beyond the door in front of us. Where was everybody? Why wasn’t any help coming? A million other thoughts were clamoring to surface, but none of them came. I was hollow.

             A squeak pulled our attention towards the door and the handle started turning. The door cracked open and slowly revealed Tom’s thin frame filling half of the space. He was calm. Relaxed. Even glowing. A tiny upturn from the corner of his mouth made his eyes sparkle as the grin became a smile, which became a slight laugh. He simply pointed his finger at me and said with a sinister tone: “Black coffee!”

             Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?! I didn’t know what to say, which didn’t matter anyway as I hadn’t yet started to breathe again. This was a joke? A retaliation for my stupid prank all those years ago? I was shocked. I was in disbelief. I was even a bit angry. Okay, I was pissed. And then my first breath came back, finally filling my lungs again with oxygen and, as I exhaled, I noticed a wave of emotion came over me. Obviously glad that Tom was still alive, but also, I was impressed. Tom had responded to what I thought was the ultimate prank with the actual ultimate prank. I was still shaking, fighting back tears, but I had to chuckle with respect. Mad respect.

             I will never know how that nurse got away with her shenanigans without getting herself fired—and who knows, maybe she did. I certainly wouldn’t be surprised. But Mindy and I helped Tom back into bed, and together we replayed both pranks over and over again, laughing into the night.

             Tom never received his third heart. He passed before those stars aligned. He was a beautiful soul. A giver. A servant. A dedicated father, husband, and friend. I will forever miss him. And, yet, when I think of Tom, the corner of my mouth always turns upward, transforming the grin into a smile, and finally a slight laugh.