The Flatline

Kade feels his hair stand on end every time the monitor spikes. It jolts up, his heart rate following as his hands grip the railing in front of the viewing window, as if they’d been fused together. He watches, eyes frantic as the doctors try to calm the violent palpitations of his husband’s heart. He doesn’t register the blood anymore, just the beeps and the sounds of the doctors hushed voices that follow. He teeters on the edge the whole time, feeling like he might faint or sob or both if the doctors don’t get things under control soon.

They had made it so far, through so much. For it to end now would just be far too tragic. No, wait. Not tragic. Tragedy is graceful. It holds beauty in it’s heart-wrenching embrace, carries a message on it’s life-stealing breath. This, this could only be described as a catastrophe. One that pulls apart trembling breaths and stains empty bed sheets with ugly tears. It doesn’t steal your breath away in a whisper, but punches you hard in the gut with a cry that could shatter glass. That’s what this could be. But Kade wouldn’t allow that. No, his husband was going to live. His husband was going to live and he would take him out to the nice restaurant down the block, the kind they always love to go to. They’ll cuddle in bed and share tender kisses, the kind that made him melt before the chemo chapped his lips. He’ll feel Nic’s legs tangle around his as they fight off sleep for a few extra minutes of listening to each others breathing and slide his hands across his husband’s sides before he leaves for work the next morning. They’ll have that again. He has to believe they will.

He looks up at the sound of the receding beeping, knees almost buckling as the tension ebbs from his legs at the sight of the relieved doctor’s faces. They were still working, things weren’t done, but his husband lay calm once more under the anesthesia. He felt a soft hand stroke up his back, from the middle of his spine to the ridge of his shoulder. It’s soothing and pulls him back to the brightness of the hospital hallway overlooking the operating room. He spares barely one glance to Mian next to him, her eyes tender and grounding. He keeps his attention on his husband’s surgery. Mian keeps her attention on Kade’s facial expression. Their priorities differ on the important person in the room; the one who might not live and the person who wouldn’t bare to stay alive if the other didn’t. He takes a breath and lets it out. Takes another, holds it, refocuses, and lets it out again. He relaxes, unclenches his muscles, and fixates on the monitor once more.

Three beeps. The doctors seem relieved, working quickly. Two beeps. The doctors seem pleased. Kade can tell the surgery is almost done. Three beeps. His hope is growing, like a balloon, threatening to pop. Two beeps. Something is wrong. The doctor’s face is scrunching up. Two beeps. There’s yelling and rushing. Kade can’t make out what they say, he’s too focused on the beeps to pay attention to the muted voices. One beep. It’s sickening at this point. There should be more beeps at a time. More beeps do not come. The doctors are frantic. He remains focused on the beeps, he knows they will rise. Mian’s hand tenses on his back, no longer soft, and tells him she is more focused on the blood than the beeps. He knows he should look, but the beeping is all that keeps him grounded. He listens harder.

One beep. He grips the railing.

One beep. He denies that this is really happening.

One beep. There is more blood than he anticipated.

One beep. The doctors have stopped moving.

One beep. There’s nothing he can do.

One beep. He lets go of the railing.

One beep. He lets go of Mian.

One beep. He lets go of life.

No beeps.

There is only flatline.