“You should have called an ambulance, Tonio.”
Guilt gnawed at me. I’d already told her about Uncle Jaime’s call, but reminded her of the conversation. “He asked me not to.”
“He’s in pain. People don’t think straight when they’re hurting.”
“Leave him alone,” my father cut in. “What’s done is done. Nothing he can do about it now.”
“Well, Tio can’t stay down there. I don’t care how stubborn he is, he needs to be up here with family. You tell him that, Tonio. You make him see reason, get him all packed up, and bring him home. This is foolishness.”
I didn’t even know what was wrong with him and whether or not he’d make it through the night, but pointing that out wouldn’t do any good. “I will, Madre. I’ll bring him home.”
“Should I wake the kids so we can drive down there?” Mom asked.
“Nothing we can do,” my father replied. “Let’s wait until we hear what’s going on. Keep us posted, Tonio.”
He disconnected, leaving me alone with my worries. I’d done everything I could for the old man and the rest was up to him and the doctors. I knew Mom was right, and if my uncle died, I’d never forgive myself for not calling that fucking ambulance. I should have ignored his wishes and made the call anyway. His health was way worse off than I ever could have imagined.
What’s done is done.
Yes, it was, and now I’d have to live with the consequences. Hopefully Uncle Jaime would live with them, too.
Spade
“YOUR UNCLE’S APPENDIX ruptured, and he developed an abscess in his abdomen. It’s a good thing you brought him in when you did,” a greying doctor in a long white lab coat over khakis and sneakers told me. His nametag read J. Standen, MD, and his bushy salt and pepper eyebrows kept moving up and down his forehead, seemingly of their own accord, making it near impossible to concentrate on the important information he was delivering.
“Is that like appendicitis?” I asked. I’d heard the term before, had no idea what it meant, and I was trying to sound like I had a clue about what the hell was going on.
“Appendicitis is inflammation. Your uncle’s condition is more severe than that. When his appendix ruptured, it created a pocket of pus… an abscess… in his abdomen.” Dr. Standen pointed to his own belly. “And those harmful toxins have been sitting in there for hours. Immediate surgery was necessary to clean out the infection and keep Mr. Fernandez alive. After we wheeled him back, he came to long enough to sign the consent, so we were able to remove the damaged organ and clean out the abdominal cavity.”
“So, the appendix and the abscess are gone?”
“The appendix has been removed. We’ve started him on an antibiotic for the infection and we’ve put a tube in place to drain the abscess. That usually takes about two weeks.”
“But will he be okay?” I asked, trying to imagine what Uncle Jaime would look like with a tube sticking out of his belly.
“We got his fever down and he did great during the surgery. He’s in recovery, but he’s going to have to stay here for at least twenty-four hours so we can monitor him. Depending on how he does, he could possibly go home tomorrow evening or the day after. Does he live alone?”
I nodded.
The doctor jotted something down on the chart in his hand. “Once he’s released, someone will need to stay with him for at least the first two weeks. Considering his age and the amount of drainage, his full recovery time will be about four to six weeks, and he won’t be able to do much at all for the first two to three.”
“We’ll make sure he gets the care he needs,” I replied, wondering how long I was going to be stuck in Portland.
“Good. I’ll have one of the nurses take you back to see him. If you have any more questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
I thanked the doctor and waited as he walked to the admittance desk, summoned a nurse, and pointed her in my direction. She took me through the secure doors, down a couple of halls, and to a bank of elevators. When we finally made it to Uncle Jaime’s room, she stepped inside with me.
It was disconcerting to see the man who’d always been so much larger than life confined to a hospital bed and hooked up to machines. Feeling like I’d been punched in the gut, I doubled over and pretended to tie my shoe to buy myself a little time to process and get my emotions under control as the weight of what could have happened pressed against me.
What if I hadn’t answered my phone?
What if I’d arrived later?
His life had been in danger, and I’d let him talk me out of calling an ambulance.
“He’ll be asleep for a while,” the nurse said, checking the readout of a machine.
Forcing myself to take a deep breath and drop my shoulders, I stood. “But he’s okay?”
