Nonfiction by Ryan McFadden (originally published in Reed Magazine)
At midnight on December 8, 2017, a heavy thud wakes my dad’s girlfriend, Judith. She rushes to his room. There’s shit on the floor and on the bed, but he’s not there. She retreats to the hall, pushes the bathroom door open. She finds him on the toilet, naked and sweating.
Oh, Mark! she says. Should I call an ambulance?
No, he says. I had burritos for dinner. Fried tortillas. It’s just indigestion. Help me back to bed.
But the sheets, Mark! There’s…poop.
In the morning, he says.
He leans on her, and they stagger to his room. He collapses into bed. She stands by, not sure what to do next.
Go back to bed, he says. Let me sleep.
Reluctantly, she retreats to her room. After a long time she falls asleep.
At four, another crash. This time he’s on the floor of his bedroom, between the bed and the mirrored closet door. The door is dented, the glass shattered. Blood drips from a gash on his elbow. He’s delirious.
She calls 911, and the paramedics come fast. Panting, he says to bring his wallet and the bag with his insulin. Then they take him. She follows in her car.
Halfway there, the ambulance pulls over. She does, too. Then the sirens come on, and the ambulance guns it.
She hides against the wall of the ER, watching the swarm of people in blue scrubs. A doctor straddles him and rams his chest with CPR. They get a pulse. He arrests again. They restart CPR, get a pulse, but he arrests again. Over and over this happens. All the while, she watches. Somehow, after ninety minutes, he stabilizes. The pulse lasts long enough to start surgery. Finally, a nurse leads her out.
They find three blockages in two main arterial vessels. They insert stents and reopen the veins, fixing the root problem. But there’s collateral damage. His heart isn’t pumping, his lungs are full of fluid, and he’s in a coma. For ninety minutes, there was intermittent blood flow to his brain.
They hook him to a respirator, a dozen IV drips, and an ECMO (an external heart). Then they wheel him to the ICU. Critical, and on the most invasive possible life support. But, technically, alive.
At seven AM that morning I read the following text:
“Ryan it very urgent that u call me. At Dominican Hospital and your dad is having major heart attacks and is in surgery now. Had to call the ambulance at 4:40 ish this morning . Pray now!!!! Xo”