Chapter XXII: Déjà vu

The family decided to seek a second opinion, but didn’t know who to call. Mike watched his older siblings take turns explaining why they couldn’t do it, so finally he stepped up—as usual. He got a recommendation for another specialist and left a message for him.

When the doctor called back, he had questions for Mike. Unfortunately, at the same time Mike’s dad was trying to tell him what to say—things that had nothing to do with what the doctor was asking. His dad kept saying, “Tell him she had a second rupture in the same spot” and getting more annoyed each time he said it. Mike was listening to the doctor’s questions and giving him the information HE wanted. When the call ended, Mike heard his dad curse and yell, “Stupid people can’t do anything right!”

Mike respected his father, but that was completely uncalled for. So he asked his dad, “Did you want the doctor to make a diagnosis over the phone or come here tomorrow, read the charts and exam mom? If you don’t want him to come here you should call him back.” Mike’s father didn’t reply. But later, when he was going home for the night, he mumbled something about people saying things they don’t mean. Mike was never sure if his father was talking about what he said or what Mike said. It didn’t matter. Mike was spending the night.

In the morning, the second opinion was the same as the first—no hope. The hospital recommended turning off the life support equipment and asked the family for permission. Mike’s dad asked the kids to vote. By coincidence, they were sitting in order by age and started with the oldest. One by one, Mike’s older siblings all voted to turn off the life support. How could they give up? But then it was his turn. It was Monday morning and he hadn’t slept since Thursday night. He had trouble organizing his thoughts. He could see his dad was a wreck and couldn’t make a decision. Should he make it easier for his dad by agreeing with his siblings and making it unanimous or go his own way, as usual? Whose feelings should he put first?

Mike voted to turn off the life support. But he still had hope. If his mom was going to survive, she would be fine without the life-support. Did he believe that? He didn’t know what he believed at that point. Then a nurse showed up to take them to a private room to say goodbye, the plug had been pulled. As they walked down the hall, Kathy showed up. Did someone call her? Mike should have, but he didn’t think of it.

Finally they arrived at the room. His mom would be fine or she would be gone. When Mike passed through the door it was clear, his mom was gone. It felt like he had passed through more than just a door. It felt like a portal to the past, to the day when he was 6 and his mother told him she was going to die. Suddenly he was Mikey again. But this time he wasn’t numb. This time he knew what to do. This time he cried his eyes out. The walls Mikey had built with such care were completely gone now. The demolition process that was started by a little Asian girl in southwest Virginia 10 years earlier was completed that day—oddly, after a second trip to that area. The first visit he'd gotten the stuffing beaten out of him and during the second visit his mom died.

Mike was reasonably sure he would never venture there again.