18: Final Prognosis

Death is not the greatest loss in life.

The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.

Norman Cousins

Phil’s eyes flickered. He noticed people moving around and someone was flipping through paper, mumbling angrily to himself. As rational thoughts began lapping at the shores of his consciousness, he cracked his eyes, examining the recovery room.

It seems I survived, was his first thought, as he was surprised he had. Curious, he tried to touch his head, but his hands were still restrained, rattling the railing of his gurney.

“Ah, I see you’re awake,” a nurse said, coming over and leaning over him. “Sorry about the restraints. While they’re no longer technically required, we didn’t want to risk you touching your incisions.

“Hooo,” he struggled to say, the sound raspy and garbled.

“Here, your throat is dry.” She spooned a few ice chips into his mouth. “Let them melt and then swallow before trying to speak. I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got time.”

He did as instructed, noticing several nurses and a couple men, though he couldn’t tell what role they played. While many of the women wore pink or blue-green scrubs, most of the men had lab coats. He couldn’t tell what they wore under them.

Swallowing was a little difficult. He tried again.

“Was it ... cancer ... ous?”

The nurse, one Betty Kirkpatrick, drew back slightly, frowning. “I’ll let the surgeon explain. I’m not authorized to provide those details. He’ll be by in a few minutes to review the operation.”

Phil grumbled, rattling his restraints for emphasis. “Will I ... live or not?” he demanded.

Worried, the nurse laid her hand on his arm. “Don’t worry. You came through the surgery with no complications. As for how the operation went, the surgeon would scalp me if I told you anything. For any information concerning your prognosis, you’ll need to wait for him.”

Phil glanced around the room, looking for a clock. “What ... time is it?”

“It’s only nine fifteen,” she told him, pointing to one over the entrance.

Phil shook his head, curious. “Why so soon?” He turned his head to study her reaction. “Surgery was ... supposed to last hours.”

“It was scheduled to last five or six hours, but the surgeons decided they didn’t require so much time. However, I still can’t give you any details. Drs. Punjab and Altinon will see you soon. They’re anxious to speak with you. Now that you’re awake, I can bring your family in if you want.”

“Please, and tell the surgeons to hurry.”

It was several minutes later, after they’d wheeled him to a more recessed corner of the recovery room, when Toni and Jane entered. They were accompanied by Mathew Tate, Phil’s lawyer.

They hurried over, taking tiny steps to avoid disturbing the silence. Mathew took his time, allowing the women to go first. Phil noticed the staff watched them intently. They seemed to be walking on eggshells, careful what they said. Despite other recovering patients, every eye seemed to be on him. He wasn’t sure how to interpret that. The only thing he could imagine was that his brain tumor was malignant and the surgeons decided it was pointless to operate. That horrified and surprised him. He was sure it was benign simply because—despite Dr. Punjab’s insistence—he’d never suffered any symptoms or side-effects.

“It’s so wonderful to see you Dad,” Toni insisted, bending over and hugging him. The nurses, still watching, didn’t object to the physical contact, though Betty headed over to them.

“Here, let me release those,” she said. “As I explained to Phil, we only left those on so he wouldn’t play with the surgical incision.”

The two women stood aside as she let the Velcro restraints fall free over the sides of the railing.

“It’s bandaged, isn’t it? How could I damage anything without yanking them off?” Phil asked.

“It is, but we didn’t want you rubbing it. Still, I should have removed these some time ago. It’s not a positive image to wake up too.”

“At least you lost the armed guards,” Phil mumbled.

“Hush up, dear,” Jane said, grasping his hand as she leaned over, kissing him. “Just be glad you’re alive. You were so worried they’d paralyze you, count your damn blessings. You’re here, everything else is secondary.”

“Not if I don’t survive long afterwards.”

“Please! You were sure they were going to kill you and were prepared to die in a couple weeks anyway. What difference does it make now? Be satisfied you’re breathing. You’ve got to learn to thank God for small miracles, rather than demanding immediate answers all the time.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind, if I survive long enough,” he joked. Jane didn’t appreciate it, though Toni tried to muffle a snort. Her response, more than anything, lightened Phil’s mood.

“Seriously, I was on pins and needles the entire time. When they called us to come down, I was astounded. They told me you wouldn’t be ready before noon, at the earliest. Have they told you how it went?”

“They haven’t said a thing, though they seem to be avoiding me, which makes me nervous.”

“Ah, that explains the foul mood,” Jane teased, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “There, that should make it better. Face it, a few weeks with us beats oblivion.”

“You’ve got me there,” he admitted.

Just then, the double doors swung open, and several figures entered the room. Phil couldn’t see them immediately, but Mathew straightened, staring at them.

“Gentlemen,” he said, nodding as they approached.

They ignored him, but Phil noted the men accompanying Rajai and David included William McCall, the hospital’s attorney. Only Rajai, David and two others wore surgical scrubs, the rest appeared to be administrators, probably lawyers, which raised suspicions of its own.

“I see you’re doing well, despite your fears, Mr. Walker,” Rajai said, beaming. William nudged him with his elbow, at which point the smile evaporated. “I’m pleased to inform you your surgery went well. There were no complications, and no cancer remains.”

“No cancer?” Jane gasped, clutching Phil’s hand.

“Wait, there was none, or you removed the tumor?” Phil asked. “Which was it?

The entire group grew nervous, as several glanced down, fidgeting.

“Does it matter?” Rajai protested. “You’re cancer free.”

“It certainly does,” Mathew said, moving forward, standing on Phil’s far side.

“I warned you the tumor wasn’t impacting my health. Yet you insisted on cutting me open after warning the judge I would start attacking people in the street if you didn’t. So was there any impact from the tumor at all? Surely something that size must have affected the surrounding tissue. Hell, David argued my entire brain was ready to shut down any moment because I didn’t have any spare brain cell remaining, so what the hell happened?”

David bit his lip. “It was a very ... odd surgery. After we made the incision, and cut through your bone, I performed a biopsy, which we rushed to the lab. Only ... they came back and informed us there wasn’t anything to test. After assuming the technicians misplaced the sample, we went back in, intending to take another sample and remove the tumor anyway while they processed it. However, the entire tumor was gone. What’s more, while it was pressing against your brain, compacting it before, your brain resumed its normal size and shape. The entire thing simply ... fell apart.”