Glad You're Here

Chapter 7: 22%

Tom, Dee, and I sat in the waiting room for a long time. Tom was on his phone and I dug a book out of my purse, but Dee seemed completely occupied just staring at the wall. I realize what this might feel like for her and Tom. I'd only known Mark for a year or so, only been dating him for six months, but they had known him his whole life. I thought about Mark's dad again and wondered if they'd been in a hospital like this before, waiting to hear the verdict or go to a meeting. I wondered if Mark was thinking about his dad too.

A nurse came up to us after a while.

"Are you the Fischbach family?" She asked and Dee nodded. The way the nurse had said it made me feel a bit better, even if it was purely for convenience and wasn't intentional. I was part of the Fischbach family. I thought about when, on the plane, I was thinking about Mark's family being 1/10 of the person he was. I was wrong. These people were so much more than that, so supportive, so caring. I felt like I'd been adopted into the family and I'd only been around them for about 24 hours. Most importantly, I wasn't alone.

The nurse gestured for us to follow her and we did. My leg had fallen asleep while I was sitting down and I felt the pins and needles as we walked down a few halls and into a meeting room. I checked my watch while we walked. 4:25 PM. There was a circular, brown table in the middle of the room and three doctors were sitting around it, opposite the door. Three seats were waiting for us.

"Please, have a seat," said one doctor with close cropped blonde hair. We did, Tom sitting on the right, me on the left, and Dee in between us. "My name is Dr. Ryans, and these are my colleagues, Dr. Klydensor and Dr. Campbell." Dr. Ryans said, gesturing to the people on his right and left, consecutively.

"I'm Dee, Mark's step-mother, and this is Tom and Caitlyn." Dee answered, gesturing to Tom and me.

"Mark is the patient?" Dr. Klydensor whispered to Dr. Ryans, who nodded. My mouth was oddly dry.

"I'd like to begin by asking you to recount Mark's activities these last 48 hours or so." Dr. Ryans said, folding his hands in front of him like a teepee. Dee gently nudged me and I told the doctors about Mark on the plane, how he had refused to eat anything and looked mildly in pain. After recounting how we'd landed, I let Tom take over, jumping in to say how Mark had looked flushed and said he was feeling very good towards the end of the party, thinking he'd eaten too much and how he'd slept for a few hours. When we arrived at the moment of the story where I found Mark, I found it a lot harder to talk, like there were cotton balls in my throat. Even so, I pushed through.

"I walked in to check on him and found he had a fever. When I tried to wake him up, he didn't move for a minute, and when he finally did wake up, he...I think he had some kind of body spasm and he pushed me off of the bed and I saw him completely doubled over in pain. He couldn't talk and I don't think he could breathe very well...Dr. Ryans, is Mark going to be okay?"

"Please continue your story." Dr. Ryans said, not answering my question and making my heart sink down a bit. I knew it was childish to ask a question like that, but I couldn't help it. I felt childish and I felt scared. I cleared my throat and kept talking.

"I called for help." I said, gesturing to Dee to finish, but she shook her head, a single tear on her cheek, and so Tom finished instead. Dee reached out and grabbed my hand. I squeezed it, grateful. After we had finished, the doctors were silent for a moment.

"You mentioned that Mark drank a bit at the party," Dr. Campbell said, clicking his pen and making a little scribble on the paper in front of him to make sure it worked. "How much alcohol did he have?"

"He had... five shots, maybe." Tom said, and the doctors nodded and made little notes on their papers. Then they muttered a bit to each other. I think they forgot we were in the room.

"Has Mark had any surgeries before this incident?" Dr. Ryans asked.

"Yes," Dee said, her voice soft but steady. "He had a surgery a few years ago to remove his appendix, which had swollen, and a small tumor."

"Mark's bowel obstruction was most likely caused by the scar tissue from that surgery. To remove the blockage, we will need to do a minor operation. Normally, this operation is quite safe, but the alcohol in Mark's system might...complicate things a bit. It is a risk, but it's the only way to alleviate Mark's pain."

"Excuse me," I said, raising my hand a bit like I was in school or something. "But, what kind of risk do you mean? What are the chances that the surgery could go wrong?"

"Normally, there is a 97% success rate on this surgery. In this case, the percentage has been lowered to 78%." A 78% chance of success, which meant a 22% chance of failure. I felt sick.

"Well, is there any alternative?" Dee asked.

"No, this is the..."

"Then we should do it. We have to."

"I agree," Tom said, his hand on his step-mom's shoulder. "If this is the only way to help Mark, then damn it, let's do it. Why wouldn't we if there's no alternative?"

"This is our line of thinking as well," Dr. Klydensor said, nodding his head slightly. "We only wanted to share it with you. If you agree, then we can begin the surgery within the hour."

"Can we see him before that?" Dee asked.

"Of course you may," Dr. Ryans said, smiling sympathetically. "He will probably take it best if you tell him, but we'll have a nurse in there with you anyway."

"Alright, well, thank you gentlemen," Dee said, standing and reaching out a hand to shake the doctors' hands. "We should go see him now, if that's alright."

"Of course, go right ahead." Dr. Campbell said, smiling a bit. Tom and I stood up at almost the same time and followed Dee out.

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We walked to Mark's room in almost complete silence. No one wanted to talk, especially not after the meeting with the doctors. All I could think about was 22%, a 22% chance of failure. That number moved around my head, jumping to the forefront of my attention numerous times, no matter how many times I tried to push it away. 22%. 22%. I tried to replace it with different numbers, checking the time. 4:58 PM. We made a final turn and Tom opened the door, holding it open for Dee and me as we walked in. I saw a mass of hair at Mark's bedside and realized that was his mom. She jumped when we came in and self-consciously straightened her skirt. She was wearing a white blouse and a long black skirt. She must have come from work to see Mark. I wonder who called her and told her, considering Tom and Dee seemed just as surprised as I was at seeing her. Maybe she was Mark's emergency contact.

"Hey guys." Mark said, seeing us for the first time. He smiled and I realized that, even underneath the oxygen mask, his smile was still his smile. It still made my heart melt when I saw it.

"Hey Mark." Was all Tom could get in before Dee descended on Mark like a hawk, immediately rushing to give him a hug and jerking back as he winced.

"Mark, Mark, are you okay? Is there any pain? Is there anything we can do? Oh Mark. Do you want to me to call a nurse or something? Are you comfortable?"

"Dee, Dee, I'm fine, it's okay," Mark said, barely able to fend his flustered step-mom off. "I'm okay, really. Just lonely, that's all. I'm glad you guys are here." Mark looked individually at everyone in the room, smiling at each of us. I wonder when he last saw his whole family together. Not his whole family, my stupid brain said. His Dad's still not here. I ignored my negative thoughts, trying to push everything but Mark's face out of my head. Even so, it was impossible to completely silence my thoughts of Mark's dad and the still continuing stream of 22% chance, 22% chance. Instead, I tried my best to smile and just enjoy Mark's company. For the most part it worked.