Shattered Essence (16 page)

It was ten o’clock at night when I
walked through the front door. I hadn’t even taken my coat off when my phone
rang. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone so I let it go to voicemail. It
had been a long day at work and all I really wanted to do was sleep. I sat on
the couch hoping to gather enough energy to walk upstairs. I sat listening to
the stillness and the quiet of the house.

Ten minutes hadn’t passed before my
phone rang again. I was too tired to move, letting the call once again go to
voicemail.

It was Wednesday night; according to
my calculations I still had three days before my family came home and a week
and a half left of tax season. Before the chaos of my life returned I wanted
one night where I could enjoy the peace and quiet of my home, even if I was too
tired to enjoy it fully.

I headed upstairs and instead of
collapsing where I stood I took a hot shower, put on my pajamas, and literally crawled
into bed. I only wanted sleep. Tax season was kicking my ass. These eighty-hour
work weeks were killing me.

When the phone rang again my mind
turned it to white noise. The sound was struggling in the distance to be heard
over the fog and heaviness of darkness. Sleep deprivation had me in a
zombielike state. I was half asleep, half awake and wasn’t able to place the
sound I was hearing. All I could envision was sleep. I’m not sure how many
times the phone rang before my brain processed that it was actually ringing. I was
groggy with sleep. My mind was trying to clear the fog. I was making an attempt
to get my bearings before I slid across the mattress and lifted my phone off
the nightstand.

“Hello,” I said, sounding rather
froggy.

“Are you sleeping?”

“What time is it? Is it time to get
up?” My eyelids were so heavy I was laboring to open my eyes. “Jake, my eyes
don’t want to open.”

“It’s three-thirty-three in the
morning, babe. Did you have a rough day at work?”

His despondent tone told me
something was not right. It took me less than a second to shift gears.

“What’s going on Jake? Why are you
calling me at this hour?” Freaking out I asked, “Jake? Are the boys okay?”

“The boys are fine.”

Relief ran through me; unfortunately,
it was short lived.

“I’m in the hospital, Espe.”

“What do you mean you’re in the
hospital? Like you are there because something happened to one of your parents?
Or like something happened to you?” I was trying to keep the fear out of my
voice.

“Didn’t you get any of my messages?”

“No, I was too tired to check when I
got home.” I was certainly awake now. “Why, Jake? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want you to worry. Please
promise me you won’t worry,” he pleaded.

Fear was tightening my chest. “You’re
scaring me Jake. What is going on?”

A few seconds of silence passed
before I heard Jake take a deep breath before saying, “I was helping my dad’s
neighbor Paul install a new carburetor in his 1957 Corvette convertible when I
blacked out. Paul brought me to the hospital.” I heard another deep inhale and
exhale. “They did several tests and they found a brain tumor.”

“What?”

“Did you say a brain tumor?” The
beating of my heart was so loud, I wasn’t sure I was hearing him correctly.

“They plan to operate tomorrow
morning.”

I was at a loss for words. My head
was spinning. I was trying to process what he was saying. I heard sheets
shifting and the creaking of the bed Jake was in.

“Espe, please don’t worry, I’ll be
fine. They said it should be an easy procedure.”

“It’s brain surgery, Jake! When has
brain surgery ever been an easy procedure?” I asked.

“Espe please,” he implored, “It’s no
big deal and I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Closing my eyes in an attempt to
calm down, I asked,” What hospital are you in?”

“You won’t be able to get a flight
out for a few more hours. If you drive you won’t get here till noon.” He
sounded disheartened. “Babe, I just want you to talk to me for a while. Can you
do that for me?”

“Absolutely,” I replied.

If talking to him helped ease his
fear, then I’d talk and pack simultaneously.

“I can’t believe you’ve put up with
me all these years.” I heard Jake pour himself a glass of ice cubes. “I need
you to know I never meant to hurt you that one night. I’ve never forgiven
myself.”

He was giggling. “Do you remember when
you hit me with the can of peaches before cracking my nuts?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “It seems like a
lifetime ago.”

Jake confided, “I lay on the floor
for a while needing a reason to get up, a reason to change who I was. I want you
to know I found a reason, and that reason was you.”

“Jake, I—” he cut me off.

Forging ahead, Jake said, “Espe,
even though it may not have seemed like it at times, I’ve always loved you. I made
some serious mistakes. If I could take back the pain I caused you I would. If I
could do it again I’d spend my life being the husband and father I wished I
could have been.”

Interrupting, I replied, “Jake, you’re
a wonderful father and a good husband.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t warm you up on
nights you were cold. I’m sorry I didn’t hold you more. I’m sorry I didn’t love
you the way you deserved to be loved. If I come out of this, Espe, I will spend
the rest of my life making it up to you. I promise,” he added.

My emotions were all over the place.
I needed to clear my head and the only way I was going to manage this was if I
got Jake off the phone.

I begged, “Jake, please let me go to
you.”

“I’m going into surgery in less than
three hours. I’ll more than likely be in surgery before you get here tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there when you wake up,
Jake.” I was trying to get him off the phone.

“Ssshhhh!” he whispered, “Let me
finish. Please.”

“Jake, we’ll have plenty of time
tomorrow.” I said.

“Espe, please, I need to get this
out.” He took a long sigh. “I have never lied to you. I have always loved you
and I know you love me.”

“Of course I love you, Jake,” I
stated.

Pressing on he said, “I also know I
wasn’t the love of your life. How could I be? I was never a good husband. If I
don’t make it I want you to be happy. I want you to find love again.”

“Jake, please don’t talk like this.
You’ll be fine and home in no time.”

Ignoring me, he continued, “You’re
going to have to make your own way. But you’ll be all right. Please don’t feel
guilty or run away from love. You should be happy. I just don’t want you or the
boys to forget me.”

Tears started rolling down my cheeks
as I sobbed.

“Don’t you cry! Don’t you
dare
cry!” he demanded. “Don’t cry for me. Be happy for me and be strong for the
boys.”

In a fragile voice he said, “Don’t
take it so hard. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. Whatever happens
tomorrow is the way it is supposed to be. Make sure the boys know I’m proud of
them.”

I was crying like a baby despite
what Jake had said. “Please hold on for me, Jake.”

“Give me a kiss before you say
goodbye. I’ll be thinking of you and all the wonderful times we had,” he said.

Before I hung up the phone I managed
to speak between sobs. “I love you, Jake. I’ll be leaving soon. I’ll be there
when you wake up.”

I stood staring at the clothes in my
closet, trying to let everything sink in. Tumor. Blackout. Brain surgery. I didn’t
want Jake to suffer. I didn’t want him to die. I didn’t want him to feel pain
either. Was his time up? Was Jake insinuating he wasn’t going to make it? Why
did he sound like he knew he was going to die? Was it cancer? If it was his
time to go, I hoped there was a Lord waiting to welcome him with open arms.

I was praying for Jake to be okay
when I felt an unnatural calm and peace flow through me like a warm embrace. As
I exhaled I instantly understood everything happening was meant to happen.

After speaking to my mom I dialed my
voicemail and listened to the messages. One from Paul telling me he had taken Jake
to the hospital. Two from Jake letting me know he needed to talk to me. One
from Bill, Jake’s dad, two from his sister Anna, and one from my dad telling me
Jake was in serious trouble and I needed to call them back.

I was regretting not answering the
phone the first time I heard it ringing.

 
If only I’d answered it. If only
I’d checked my voicemail sooner, I’d be on a plane right now headed to Omaha to
be with my husband. If nothing else I wouldn’t be feeling like such a
slimeball.

I managed to pack a bag, call my
boss, my mom, Anna, Bill, and find a plane ticket in under an hour. When I
started my car the little yellow gas tank was blinking.

Shit!

I got out of my car and hopped into
Jake’s SUV. I immediately noticed all the Advil wrappers scattered on the
passenger’s seat, the back seat, and the floor.
Oh my god!
This was so
much worse than I could’ve imagined. The severity of the pain Jake must have
been experiencing was unfathomable. I was instantly overtaken by guilt and the
tears started flowing again. How could I not have noticed? The headaches, the
numbness in his arm, the nausea he complained about. How could I have been so
stupid not to put all his symptoms together? Why had I not forced him to push
his doctor for more than just 800mg of Ibuprofen? Why didn’t I push for a CAT
scan when the Ibuprofen didn’t work? Reality set in: Jake wasn’t going to be
okay.

Four-and-a-half hours later I
arrived in Omaha. Jake’s sister, Anna, picked me up from the airport and asked,
“Do you want to see the twins or go straight to the hospital?”

I knew Jake was in surgery so I
opted to see the boys and Jake’s parents.

Shortly after noon the boys and I
arrived at the hospital. Jake was in recovery and only one person at a time was
allowed to see him. I encouraged my boys to visit him first. When I saw Jake the
first thing I noticed was the bandage on the right side of his head.

Filling out some paperwork the
recovery nurse said, “He’s quite a fighter. He’s already breathing on his own.
His vitals are good and I don’t see any problem with taking him up to the ICU
as soon as a bed opens up.” She glanced up from her paperwork and walked to the
head of the bed. “Jake, your wife is here.”

Jake raised his hands, curling them
into fists. “Esperanza, I’m so glad you’re here.” With his eyes closed he started
punching the air. He said, “Don’t worry; I have this, babe.”

My heart sank watching him literally
trying to fight. I leaned in and kissed his check while he continued to punch
the air. I was with him for only a minute before the doctor came in.

He extended his hand. “Mrs. Anderson,
I’m Doctor Moore.”

I took his hand and shook it.
“Doctor Moore.”

“Why don’t we let Jake rest,” he
said leading me to the waiting room.

I turned to face him in the hallway.
“What can you tell me, doctor?”

He stood across from me, his feet
shoulder length apart and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Jake has a Glioblastoma tumor. It
is considered one of the most invasive types, grows rapidly, and spreads into
nearby tissue. During surgery we discovered the tumor was the size of a golf
ball and had spread into nearby tissue like a web. Making it impossible for us
to remove it all.

“Is it cancer?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Can another operation be possible
in the future?” I asked.

“Since the tumor has already started
to weave around tissue, nerves, and blood vessels it will only continue to
grow. We can’t remove it surgically without causing complete brain damage and
he very well may end up in a vegetative state if we tried. We have two options,
chemo and radiation treatment or nothing. His cancer is currently in stage
four. We estimate he has three months to live. If you decide to go with chemo
and radiation it might help to extend his life a few more months. However, he’ll
be sick from treatment. He’ll probably feel like he has a really bad case of
the flu. If you opt to do nothing, he’ll be able to enjoy the last bit of time
he has left. As the cancer spreads, however, he will become weaker.”

He was saying words I did
not
want to hear. I felt hollow. I needed time to comprehend all he had said.

“Thank you doctor, I need some time
to digest what you’ve said. How can I reach you if I have additional
questions?”

“Just get one of the nurses to page
me,” he replied before turning and walking away.

I’m not sure how long I stood in the
hallway before a nurse came and walked me to the waiting room. Concern and
worry was all I could see on everyone’s faces.

“James, Josh, do me a favor, run to
the cafeteria and bring back some coffee and muffins or something. I want to
talk to your grandparents for a minute. When you get back we’ll chat. Okay?”

Because Jake was in the recovery
room, we weren’t allowed to sit with him. Once every hour one of us was allowed
to visit Jake for a ten-minute stretch. Josh, James, his mom, his dad, his
sister and I all took turns. Hour after hour we were informed all the beds in the
ICU were occupied. As soon as one was available Jake would be moved. By eight o’clock
in the evening Jake was still in recovery. It was so frustrating not being
allowed to see him, to spend time with him because of the other patients
sharing the recovery room with Jake. I protested several times. I wanted someone
with him. What if he woke up and no one was around?

At ten o’clock at night they advised
us they were going to take Jake for a CAT scan and finally move him to the ICU.
What a relief
I thought,
finally he will be surrounded by loved ones.

I was standing next to the nurse’s
station when I saw Jake’s bed being wheeled down the hall. Dr. Moore was not far
behind. I waited for him. I wanted to know the results of the CAT scan.