Descriptive Narrative Essay - 24 little hours

"I can't believe I have to plan my son's funeral!" cried my mother-in-law, Paula. This was the worst thing said on the worst day possible, and, of course, she spoke it. She at least tried to state this in the hallway, and not in the hospital room in front of her son, but I heard it. Most of North America can hear her, when she is in the throws of any number of her dramas. My husband, Jason, was undergoing the first twenty-four hours of a catastrophic illness diagnosis.
August 15th, 2008 was the beginning, and end, of nothing ever being the same for him again.
That Friday morning was standard issue for us, aside from Jason's uncontrollable left arm. I was making a lunch for our son, Max, when Jason came running into the kitchen.
"I can't control my arm!" Jason said with his entire left arm behaving like a seal flipper.
"What did you do now?" I rolled my eyes and smirked at him.
"I don't know, I reached in the closet for Max's gi, and it started going crazy."
"Jesus, does it hurt?" I asked more seriously.
"I don't know, I can't feel it,” he said, looking very surprised.
The shaking stopped of course, when we pulled into St Alexius's parking lot. He was able to walk into the E.R. on his own okay, and I dropped Max off at his summer karate camp. When I returned, Jason was sitting in the waiting room, rubbing his left arm. He had regained most of the feeling back, and thought about leaving, since he has always been the impatient patient.
"Well, we may as well stay, they're going to bill us anyway, so make the most of it. Steal some tongue depressors, and cotton balls!" I said leaning against the stiff back of the plastic chair.
I remember how completely silent it felt before he was called back by Tammy, the nurse. The giant E.R. doors swung open like hell gates from a bad horror movie. After several hours of evaluations, blood testing, and a CT scan, Tammy, and our E.R. trauma doc, Dr. Bussman, came back to us, both with tears in their eyes.
“It's not good,” the doctor said.
Our little clock stopped forever with those three little words. Two brain lesions, suspect of signs of malignancy were found, and Jason would immediately be transferred by ambulance to Saint Louis University Hospital, for further evaluations. The doctor gave us a few, very stunned, blurry moments with each other, and then put his own cell phone, and a $20 bill in my hand, and told me to call everyone I needed to. It was official; we were in a full-throttle crisis mode. I called both of our bosses, and said I wasn't sure when either of us would return to work, and then sent out a distress call to our friends and families. The two of us then left on our first ambulance ride together.
My Dad and step mom, Dianne, met me in the E.R. at Saint Louis University Hospital, with a new cell phone.
"Here, you'll need this." she said, as she handed me a box from AT&T.
My God, we were going to need a cell phone now? We had gotten this far in life without one, and now what we always viewed as evil, was going to become a necessary evil.
At this point, Paula arrived, followed shortly by Jason's father and stepmother, Larry and Esther. My parents and I took this moment to step out and collect Max, and my car at the other hospital. When we returned, Jason was moved from the E.R., into a room on the 5th floor of the hospital. The results of the testing done that evening in the SLUH E.R. were even worse. Jason told us they found lesions on his left kidney, left hip, and right adrenal gland. A young, resident doctor came in to explain the testing and treatments that would perform over the next several days. Dianne started taking down notes, and my father asked a few questions. I shushed Esther, who was busy discussing a recipe, while the doctor was trying to speak.
"Jesus, what's wrong with her?" I thought. Jason should be the priority, not chicken and dumplings. It's like you hear in the movies, ”How can you think of food at a time like this?”
The doctor left, and most of the visitors departed soon after. I stood out in the hallway for a few moments with Jason's father.
"I feel like I haven't gotten to know Jason,” he said to me. This was such an eye-opening statement to make, almost like he was writing him off already, when we truly did not know what was wrong with him. Max was going to stay with his grandparents up in Springfield, Illinois over the weekend, allowing me to spend the night with Jason in his room.
"God, I feel like I haven't talked to you all day." I said to Jason around midnight, while I was making up my flip-out chair bed.
"I don't know what to say. There aren't words for this, Sarah." he replied.
"I'm so sorry for everything." I sobbed as I hugged him.
"Me too. I love you." he said hugging back.
That was the end of the first day of a new life for us.