Blame The Weeds (gxg)

26

OMNISCIENT

In one large room, the relatives sat waiting. Some had pillows, some blankets, and some with children on their laps. Their loved ones lay on the operating tables surrounding the wing of Saint Augustus Hospital.

A married couple near at center was waiting for their son. The woman with aged hair and sallow skin gripped a coffee mug with unrelenting pressure. She'd measured every moment of the past eleven hours, fifty-nine minutes, and thirty-eight seconds. Her husband, who'd endeavoured to remain awake, had slept for the past eleven hours, fifty-one minutes, and twenty-four seconds.

During the mother's seventh cup of black coffee, a nurse stepped through the swinging doors wearing sunflower yellow scrubs. The nurse, standing tall and slender with dark skin and a kind smile, scanned the room and found the parents of the young man who received his donor organ. The snoring man blinked to life, running a hand down his ruddy face.

They met the nurse halfway across the room, stumbling over legs and coats and around sleeping children and sobbing grandparents. They grasped each other as the nurse delivered the news with a smile. The woman threw her arms over the man as tears of relief tore from her throat. The man held his wife so she didn't fall, stronger than he was a minute before.

~

A man, a woman and a girl rose from their chairs, rubbing their eyes. They knew the couple crying in celebration. But they'd been waiting, too. For so much longer.

The young girl's smile was watery as she watched the parents, resting a hand on her heart over a ribbon and a glinting piece of metal. The woman with a stark likeliness to the girl wrapped her in an embrace, looking at the tired man over the girl's shoulder. Apprehension welled in her eyes, mirrored by his own.

Before the three could make their way over to the sunshine nurse, it was too late, and those doors were swinging closed. So, they renewed their vigil.

The man had threaded his rough hands through his hair, scratched his chin, and counted the sleepy breaths of his family—the woman and girl. With all his remaining energy, he forbade himself to look at that boy's parents. But when he failed, and his eyes found their mark, red anger rushed up his neck. When their wait had ended and relief flooded the room, he could hardly take it.

His wait, it seemed, would never end.

~

The intern had not seen a liver transplant before. Grainy videos had no tang of blood or sour scent of concentration. In grainy videos, the young girl's curls couldn't shift and reflect the light from above. But there he was, standing in the corner, barely able to breathe through his mask.

The surgeon called for more gauze, more gauze, more gauze. It was half a frenzy as the girl began to lose too much blood. He continued to watch, lingering by the wall. There was nothing he could do.

The surgeon hovering over the girl had the demeanour of a soldier. His posture was strict, and his brow was in perfect concentration. Every cut and stitch was precise and purposeful. When they'd early this morning, as the intern introduced himself to the surgeon, the man's smile was practiced—such cool distance there. But the intern knew, better than all else, that if it were him on that table, he'd not want another's hands doing the work.

At the twelve-hour mark, the intern pressed a hand to his stomach, and made way for the family with the update.

~

The girl's sleep was fitful. When the woman in green shook her awake, her heart leapt into her throat.

Her family stood to greet the young man in black scrubs who approached. The young girl held the hands of both the man and woman tightly as they listened. But it was fragmented.

Abnormal amounts of bleeding. Rapid blood loss. Transfusion. Further updates will be delivered as soon as possible.

The man fell back into his chair. The woman covered her face. The girl hugged the young doctor, thanked him, then joined her family in their wait. They'd held fast for hours and continued to do so.