To Tell My Story

Short story about Victor who has a dying wife.

                             Dawn Dulmes
                             English 190
                             10/15/2008          

Tell My Story

         The phone call came at 3:00 in the morning. Fumbling in the dark, Victor managed to find the phone by touch. Yanking it off the cradle, he jerked it to his ear, almost ripping the cord from its socket. Swallowing the gunk in his throat, he answered.
         "Hullo."
         "Is this Victor Carde?" a calm but stoic voice asked on the other end of the line.
         "Ye...Yes," he said, now fully awake.
         "I'm calling from St. Mary's hospital," the brusque voice of the nurse said, "You should come down here. Your wife, Mrs. Carde, has been asking for you all night."
         All the air was squeezed from Victor's lungs as a cold wave of numbness swept over his senses. Unable to think clearly over the roaring in his ears, Victor forced his focus onto the conversation.
         "... Mr. Carde, I'm sorry, but you need to get down here as soon as possible, your wife is causing quite a commotion, I'm sorry, but it's disturbing the other patients," the nurse said, and then hung up.
         "Wait, why didn't you call..." Victor started to say but was interrupted by a loud dial tone. "...earlier?" Victor let out a growl of frustration before adding, "And so what if she's causing a commotion," he glared at the phone in his hand before placing it back on the cradle, "SHE'S dying."
         Fury rose up inside him. 'How dare they? How dare they act as if his sweet beautiful Ivy was a burden, an inconvenience to be tolerated?' He thought as he pulled on a pair of patched jeans over his lanky figure. 'She was dying and all they cared about was the comfort of their white patients.' Victor fumed as he grabbed a flannel button up shirt and jammed a comb through his messy brown hair. Grabbing his keys, he slammed out the door and headed to his old, beat up pick-up truck.
The cool night air cleared his thoughts slightly and he felt a sliver of guilt about his thoughts, since it really wasn't the whole hospital's fault. It was THAT DOCTOR. Pulling out of the dirt driveways, he sped toward the hospital, the flickering streetlights reminding him of the fragileness of human life.
The drive to St. Mary's, which sat on the other side of town, was full of dark and twisting semi-lit roads, dangerous to even the most experienced drivers. Victor drove carefully, trying hard not to think about what the night would bring. As he drove, Victor passed their old home, a nice, slightly run down, two-story brick house that they had owned outright until Victor's 'retirement', forced retirement Victor thought bitterly had forced the couple to sell their beloved home for a more affordable house.
It was a cold November morning when Victor awoke to the smell of fresh coffee wafting in from the kitchen. Throwing back the covers, Victor got out of bed and padded down the hall toward the beckoning smell. Reaching the kitchen, Victor picked up his already poured cup and sipped the hot liquid. As it flowed down his throat, the bleariness in his eyes cleared and he found himself staring at Ivy, a short curvy woman with ivory skin, piercing green catlike eyes, and pink lips, standing in front of the stove, frying eggs. Her beautiful jet black hair was tied back revealing a small golden cross that hung around her.
"Good morning," she said, her voice smooth and silky. Warmth radiated out from her and enveloped Victor in its embrace.
"Mornin', " he said, leaning over to kiss her. "I thought we'd finish unpacking today."
Ivy nodded slowly, placing eggs on the two plates she had prepared. "That sounds like a good idea," she said, placing the plates on the table and moving to turn off the stove.
Victor sat down, placing Ivy's leather-bound tome of the complete works of Shakespeare next to her place. The atmosphere of the room changed suddenly and Victor looked up, searching for the source. Ivy stood in the center of the kitchen, motionless, a blank look masking her face.
"Ivy?" Victor asked. In slow motion, he watched as Ivy's eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she started to fall, face first towards the carpet. Victor sprung forward, managing to catch her before she hit the ground. Carefully placing her on the ground, he stared in disbelief as Ivy's body started to spasm and quake uncontrollably.
Somewhere in Victor's mind, a thought managed to push forward. 'She's having a seizure', he thought and pushed the dining room table and chairs against the wall, careful not to touch her for fear that he'd hurt her. Grabbing the phone, he dialed 911.
Victor sighed, shaking his head as he tried to get the image of his loving wife thrashing about on the floor out of his mind. An ambulance siren roared to life behind him, causing him to pulling over, allowing the ambulance to pass on its way to St. Mary's. Pulling back on the road, Victor drove a couple more minutes until St. Mary's brightly lit parking lot appeared. The building loomed ahead, a symbol of doom. Walking into the building, Victor's memories again took over.
Hours after Ivy's seizure brought her to St. Mary's, Victor found himself pacing the room, agitated at the lack of information they had received thus far.
"Victor, would you sit down please, you're making me dizzy," Ivy pleaded, closing her eyes as another bout of dizziness threatened to overtake her.
Victor paused in his pacing and glanced over to see Ivy's face drain of color. Hurrying over, Victor took her hand in his and stroked it gently.
"I'm sorry, sweetie. I just wish someone would tell us what's wrong," Victor said.
A couple minutes later, the door to Ivy's room swung open with enough force that banging noise caused both Ivy and Victor to jump.
Dr. Smithingson, followed by a team of young looking persons all wearing the same white lab coats and carrying clipboards, flooded the room. Victor was pushed to the side as the group gathered around Ivy.
Without looking at either Ivy or Victor, Dr. Smithingson said, "This 45 year old Asian woman presented with a grand mal seizure, arriving by ambulance around approximately 10 am. She presented with blackout confusion, convulsions, loss of consciousness, and a deep sleep lasting for approximately 15 minutes. Firstly, what are the medical names of each stage of this seizure and what tests would you recommend be run? Dr. Darone?"
A young man, ' probably around the age of twenty four', Victor estimated, shifted nervously back and forth. He glanced first at Ivy and then Victor, and for a second Victor felt his unwillingness to evaluate a patient in this manner. However, a sharp "Dr. Darone?" from Dr. Smithingson, was sufficient enough to push the young man past his discomfort.
"She experienced a grand mal seizure, going first through the tonic stage, then the clonic stage, and finally ending in postictal stage. Recommended tests are blood tests, a CAT or MRI scan of the brain, and thorough history taking including any drug, alcohol, or prior medical conditions," he said, out of breath.
"Very good," Dr. Smithingson smiled, nodding his approval towards the young man. "Now, please tell me what was found from these particular tests, Dr. Murkes."
"The tests indicate this woman has a glioma, wrapped tightly around the carotid artery," Dr. Murkes said.
"Wait," Victor said, startling not only himself, but everyone else in the room as well. Dr. Smithingson narrowed his eyes at Victor, upset by the interruption. Victor cleared his throat, and said, "I'm sorry, but what is a glioma?"
Dr. Smithingson sighed and then said with a slightly irritated affect, "I'll explain in a second; however, I'm in the middle of a teaching sessions so if you wouldn't mind keeping quiet, I'd appreciate it."
Victor was taken aback and nodded meekly, glancing over at Ivy. She looked so small and scared in that huge hospital bed, with IV tubes running into the veins on her left arm while unseen patches adhered to her skin kept track of her heart beat. A blood pressure cuff took her blood pressure every couple of minutes. Victor tuned out the rest of the conversation, which lasted more than a couple of seconds, in fact, more than a couple of minutes.
Finally, the interns, in their perfectly white coats and note filled clipboards, filed out. Dr. Smithingson closed the door behind them.
"In the future," he said, looking right at Victor, "don't interrupt me when I am teaching. This hospital doesn't run itself and although I have made every effort to employ the best doctors in this country, it is crucial that new doctors learn from the best." He paused to make his point more poignant and then continued, "Now then, your wife's condition is severe and unfortunately, there is no cure as of yet that I can provide for her," Dr. Smithingson smiled sadly at Ivy, then said, "A glioma is a brain tumor and it's positioned in her brain in an area that even if I was able to operate, she would most certainly bleed to death and die on the operating table. I wish I had better news to give."
Victor's brain tried to process this information, but found the only question he could come up with was, "Will she get better?"
Dr. Smithingson's eyes twitched and for a second something akin to sorrow and pity floated through them. Seconds later, he had recovered his professionalism saying, "I'm very sorry, Mr. Carde, but your wife will only get worse. She will be kept in the hospital for her safety but I estimate that she has only a matter of months left."
He turned to walk out, then stopped and said, "I see that you have no insurance. You will need to pay for her stay here. And no, I don't advise you take her home." With that, he left as abruptly as he came.
Victor remembered asking Ivy if she wanted him to take her home, but she declined, worried, he knew, about the burden she would feel she was to him. Sometimes, he wished he had taken her home, but he knew that, even with the horrible reality of Dr. Smithingson's feelings toward his non-white patients, she was safer there.
Trekking down the dimly lit halls towards Ivy's room, Victor angrily wiped tears from his eyes. 'I can't let Ivy see me like this,' he thought, 'I have to be strong, for her.' The familiar but sickening smell of death and decaying flesh invaded his nose and churned in the pit of his stomach. Heaviness settled over him as he approached, dread filling his pores. Pausing in front of her room, Victor caught a glimpse of Dr. Smithingson entering a patient's room down the hall and wind roared in his ears as memory surged.
Victor awoke in a stiff wooden hospital chair that he had pulled next to Ivy's bedside. The large Shakespearean tome that he had been reading from lay carefully on the wheeled table used for meals. Staring at it for several seconds, unsure how it had moved from his lap to the table, he finally decided that one of the nurses had placed it there. Stretching quietly, he glanced at Ivy to see her sleeping peacefully for the first night in many days. The hallucination phase of the tumor progression had begun and Victor had spent day and night, trying to calm her down enough to get her to sleep. Unwilling to wake her now, he left the room in search of something to eat.
Walking along the hospital corridor towards the nurses' station, where the night nurses kept a supply of food for the worried family members that ended up spending days and nights on this terminally ill ward. He was limping along, shaking his foot in an attempt to wake it up, when a familiarly loud and commanding voice burst from a room a couple of doors down. Sidling up alongside, intent on entering, he froze as the words seeped into his consciousness.
"I know she's not getting any better. She's not going to get any better. And I refuse to waste perfectly good medicine on some Asian woman when there are patients that need that medicine that will get better," he said.
Whoever was talking to him was too quiet for Victor to hear. Seconds later, he continued as though carrying on a conversation. "Yes, white patients! Jesus, don't be such a smart ass. Of course I know that surgery might help, but they couldn't pay for it anyway, so why bother their simple minds with it." Dr. Smithingson said. A paused followed, and then he continued, "Besides, Mrs. Carde doesn't match the requirements to be given that type of treatment anyway."
The other conversant must have asked why, because Dr. Smithingson said, "Because she's a CHINK, that's why." Silence reigned for a second before a deafening blast came darting out into the corridor, "Don't you question me, you bitch! You're just a nurse and easily replaceable at that."
Dr. Smithingson stomped towards the door, 'like a little child,' Victor thought as he managed to step into an unoccupied room so as not to be noticed.
Once inside Victor stood, shocked. How could he do something like that? Wasn't it against the law? He thought. I should move Ivy to a different hospital, one that will try every possible treatment to help Ivy. He stood up straighter at this idea, and paced angrily in an attempt to figure out where to take her. Then the realization dawned on him that he couldn't afford to take her to another hospital and even if he could, what could he really do to ensure that the same thing didn't happen there. At this thought, Victor's shoulders sagged and he collapsed into a chair, tears free falling from his face.
He didn't know how long he sat there, but when he finally managed to gather himself enough to go back to Ivy's room, he was surprised to find that she wasn't alone. Slowing his steps for the second time that night, Victor snuck up on his wife's room, peering into the darkness to see who was there. He was hesitant, unsure after the shock of the last revelation he overheard, whether he wanted to know what was going on inside. A combination of curiosity and a fierce need to protect Ivy forced his hand. He stepped lightly into the room and stopped, flabbergasted.
Sitting in the chair which he had vacated earlier, a young nurse with a fair complexion, messy strawberry blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and red lips sat, Ivy's Shakespearean tome opened in her lap, as she read softly from it. She was clad in white scrubs and wearing reading glasses. The sight of someone taking precious time away from their duties to read to his wife warmed his heart slightly.
The young woman became aware of his presence and stood abruptly, placing the leather tome back and looking at him with the gaze of a frightened deer.
"I'm sorry; I thought you had gone home. I didn't mean to..." she said.
"No, you're not interrupting. Do you do this often?" Victor asked, gesturing towards the chair and book.
The girl nodded and said, "I try to get in here during my shift, but if I can't, I'll come in and read after my shift is over, just for a while. It's the least I can do," she smiled, and then said, "Oh, by the way my name is Lucy." She offered her hand for him to shake.
"Lucy, it's nice to meet you. I'm Victor," he said.
A tap on his shoulder brought Victor back to the corridor outside Ivy's hospital room. Victor turned to see Lucy, wearing her traditional white scrubs, her blue eyes sorrowful and red lips pursed. Her face was flushed and she looked at him worriedly.
"I think it's Ivy's time. I tried to get HIM to order you be called sooner but...," Lucy said, then glanced into the room. "You should go in; I'm not sure how much time she has left."
Victor entered the room, his eyes taking in every detail. The room was small and cramped, but clean, with two hospital cots separated by a thin white sheet and drawn windows blinds, blocking out the moonlight. Victor made his way to the blinds and yanked them open. Then he turned and blinked back tears at the sight of Ivy's frail body. He took her hand in his and stroked it gently.
Ivy opened her eyes in response. "Victor, I thought you would never come," she said, her voice raspy from the fever that raged within her.
"I'm here now, sweetie," he said, swallowing the lump that had filled his throat. "How are you feeling?"
Ivy looked at him through sunken eyes surrounded by her now pale gray skin. She'd lost so much weight that her skin hung from her body in places and her muscles were wasted away. Pain radiated outward from her and Victor winced inwardly in response.
"I'm tired, Victor, so tired," she said, gasping for breath in between words, "I love you, will you read?"
"I love you, too," Victor said as he blinked hard and fast against the tears that filled his eyes. "Of course I'll read to you." He picked up the volume of Shakespeare, the familiar weight in his hands steadying him slightly. Sitting, he turned to her favorite story, and began reading. He got through most of Hamlet before a change in the feeling of the room made Victor stop abruptly.
"Please continue, Victor, please read," she whispered, now clearly halfway through death's doorway.
Victor's voice cracked as he read, "As thou art a man, give me the cup: let go; by heaven, I'll have't. O good Horatio, what a wounded name, things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me! If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart absent thee from felicity awhile, and in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, to tell my story."
"Tell my story," Ivy said, her breaths coming shorter and further apart. Victor watched holding his own breath, breathing to the sporadic rhythm of the rise and fall of Ivy's chest. "Victor, tell the world."
Victor looked into Ivy's eyes only to realize that the life had left them. Her pulse and heart beat stopped and the machine emitted a steady beeeep.
Ivy was gone.
He would never remember what started it or why, but after sitting and staring at his wife's dead body for an indeterminate amount of time, a slow burning rage started to rise in his body. His muscles tensed, his heart pounded, his head throbbed and before he knew it, he was up on his feet, hauling the chair from the floor to above his head, and throwing it against the wall of the hospital room.
The chair bounced off the wall and splintered into three pieces. Unable to stop his rage now, Victor picked up the second chair, hoisted it above his head, and started slamming it against the wall. The repetitive beating against wall drowned out any other sounds and focused his rage.
Victor slowly became aware of a voice repeating his name over and over again. "Victor...Victor... Victor...Stop..." Lucy's voice penetrated the fog in his brain and he came to, realizing that he was causing massive destruction to the hospital room. He stopped abruptly, dropping the chair and staring at the destruction. He could just imagine how he looked. A man of 50 years old, standing at approximately 5 feet 8 inches, rage contorting his tan brown complexion to a ghoulish gray color, his eyes wild, and his sloppy blonde hair plastered to his sweat soaked face, pounding hospital furniture against the wall.
Muttering a "sorry" in the general direction of the staff, Victor shrugged off Lucy's grip and made his way out the door, the crowd parting like the Red Sea.

Victor sat in their bedroom, tears flowing freely down his face. Ivy was dead and nothing mattered to him anymore. The pain of her absence was like a void, a black hole that sucked everything inside it, allowing nothing to escape. He sat on the edge of their bed, not bothering to wipe away the tears. 'There was no reason to be strong, not anymore, not without Ivy. There's no point in living,' he thought, 'not without Ivy. There's no way I can survive without her. What do I do now?'
Victor jumped as a loud bang registered in his hearing. Searching for the cause, Victor realized that the loud bang was actually a knock on the front door. Blindly, he made his way to the door, unsure why he was even bothering to answer. He had ignored every knock on his door since Ivy's death, preferring to lie in bed and drink until he passed out. Sighing, Victor pulled open the door.
He had to blink his eyes several times before he was sure he could trust what he was seeing. Standing on his front porch was Lucy, the young nurse from the hospital, holding Ivy's leather bound tome of Shakespeare in her hands. Draped over her shoulder was a satchel that looked as though it weighed at least 10 pounds.
"Hi, Victor, I'm sorry to disturb you, but...well I thought you would want this," she said quietly, holding out the tome to him. Victor took it numbly and placed it on the pewter table next to the door.
"Thanks," Victor said, and then before he could stop himself, "would you like to come in?"
He would never know why he said it, but the fact that Lucy's eyes lit up at the invitation told him that it was the right thing to do.
"Yes, thank you," Lucy said.
As Lucy stepped inside, Victor became painfully aware of how dirty he'd allowed his house to become. Dirty laundry, microwave dinner leftovers, and empty beer cans were strewn everywhere. Guilt came over him as he remembered how neat Ivy had always kept things. His eyes teared up again and he wiped at them fruitlessly.
Lucy must have noticed, because she quickly said, "This won't take long; I just wanted to make sure you were still alive. I know how much Ivy meant to you," she paused, and then continued, "I quit my job. I just couldn't continue working under that racist Dr. Smithingson."
Victor nodded, unsure of what she wanted him to say; however, instead of waiting for answer, Lucy continued, "I've been taking up a collection of testimony from several families in the area that have been treated at St. Mary's. It turns out the death rate among colored patients vs. the death rate among white patients is enough to, when brought to their attention, force the Board of Directors of St. Mary's to call a conduct review of Dr. Smithingson's behavior."
The blank look on Victor's face pushed Lucy to say, "He could lose his license. He would never be able to practice medicine again. That is, if we can gather enough testimony of his misconduct."
Victor realized what she wanted him to do. Lucy wanted him to testify against Dr. Smithingson and tell the story of what had happened to his precious Ivy. He wasn't sure he could.
"I don't know, Lucy. I think it's too soon. I just think it's just too soon," he said, but as he watched the hopeful look on her beautiful face fall, he added, "but I'll think about it, okay?"
Lucy nodded, and then handed him a piece of paper. "This is my number. If you need to, please call me, day or night," she said as she gathered her things, "please let me know."
With that she was out the door and gone. Victor stared after her and then closed the door. Turning, he smashed his leg against the pewter stone table and knocked it over. Victor swore, rubbing his now bruised leg with his left hand and looking down to see the pewter stone still intact. His eyes then lit on Ivy's tome of Shakespeare that had been knocked open on the floor. Picking it up, a small string of words stood out against the blurred page: to tell my story.
'But how?' He wondered. 'How could anyone expect him to be able to stand up against the racism and ignorance in the small town of Hamsburg? Would it even be worth it?'
His eyes focused in again on the words and Victor sighed. He knew he needed to do this. Not just for Ivy, but for himself as well. It was what Ivy would want him to do. That he was sure of. Reaching for the phone, Victor dialed Lucy's number.
"Lucy, I'll do it," he said.

A couple of months later, on a cool autumn day, Victor stood in front of rows of white concrete grave markers. A breeze whisked through the trees, rustling the leaves, causing explosions of red, orange, and yellow leaves to fall to the ground. Standing in front of Ivy's grave marker, Victor's eyes blurred slightly as he settled down in the brown colored grass amidst the colorful leaves.
"Ivy, I wanted to come out and read something to you. Lucy brought it by. You remember Lucy, she read to you, remember?" Victor said and pulled out a piece of paper from his dark blue jacket pocket. "Well, she brought this by. It was in the paper today. 'In what can only be considered the most scandalous events this small town has ever seen, the Conduct Review Board has issued the following statement: In light of events recently brought to our attention relating to the conduct of Dr. Scott Smithingson, we have decided to revoke his medical license and forbade that he practice medicine ever again. This decision will be sent to every medical community possible to ensure that Dr. Smithingson's despicable conduct is not repeated. As for the families that lost loved ones under Dr. Smithingson's care, we apologize and wish you the best of luck with your further endeavors.' Isn't that great, Ivy?" Victor asked and then said, "Lucy is working hard on a proposal to ensure that those families that lost loved ones are taken care of by the rest of the town. I know it's a stretch, but if it weren't for her encouragement and help, I would never have been able to get on. I really miss you, Ivy." Victor said.
He sat there in silence for a while, his eyes closed, feeling the breeze rub against his back. For several moments it feels as though Ivy's hands are gently rubbing his back and even though it's really the wind, Victor knows that Ivy's proud of him.
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