This is a slightly different story than my usual. It would fit in the Consequences category under Loving Wives, but it is really a different type of story. I'll still put it under LW, but judge for yourself.
Edited and improved with comments by LadyCibelle.
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I was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital, trying in vain to control my emotions. They were on a roller coaster and I was getting sick from the ride. My son was in the operating room and whether he lived or died was out of my hands. His chances could be better but that was also out of my hands. All I could do now was wait and pray. The hospital minister sat with me and did his best to reassure me, but that was only part of my problem. He asked me if I wanted to talk or confess and I nodded in the affirmative. I looked over at the far side of the room where my wife sat alone and made up my mind. I told him I had a story I needed to tell someone. He pledged his silence and I began.
My name is Michael Durant and I have a secret. It's one I'd kept from everyone except my wife and I had just told her days ago. It's a secret that affects my thinking in a lot of ways and I've tried over the years to try to minimize its affects on me but in the past month, it's been very difficult. It may be that what I do because of my secret will destroy my life and all I hold dear but I'm really trying to not let it do that. Since we're talking about it, I might as well tell you what it is, but I have to do it my way. You have to swear to me that you'll never repeat it to anyone, especially not to my son. Promise me!
I come from a fairly normal family, raised in a typical home in the Midwest and living a perfectly normal life. My dad Walter was a millwright in a steel mill and had over twenty years seniority. He was a big man but always seemed like a giant teddy bear, he was so easy going and kind to us kids. Alice, my mom was a stay at home mom, raising us kids and keeping our home safe and happy. I was the second child in a family of four; two boys and two girls. Molly was the oldest and Kate was the youngest. My brother George was a year younger than me and Kate was three years younger than him. We got along fairly well with just the normal spats and such.
I remember mom was a pretty woman, always nicely dressed and friendly. There were a lot of women who stopped by when I was growing up and our house was always filled with family. Mom had a sister Lucile who was married with two kids of her own and although dad was an only child, his mother and dad stopped by often, at least until they moved to Florida when I was nine. So our house was never quiet and never empty. At least as far as I knew.
Things changed when Kate started school. Mom was finally alone in the house during the day and she started to go out more and more. She said she was meeting with other moms to plan school activities and stuff like that. I didn't much care since I was gone anyway. The evenings continued to be a family affair with all of us sitting at the dinner table. That was the only rule that dad insisted on making us follow. We had to be there for dinner regardless of what else was happening. I had to turn down some school activities that required me to be there late and so did Molly. But neither of us really minded.
Then the unexpected happened: when I was nine years old, I got sick. It was a kidney problem; both kidneys were affected and it got worse and worse until I was put on dialysis. The doctors told my mom and dad that if I didn't get a kidney transplant, I was going to die. The obvious choice of a donor would be a sibling and George and Molly were the obvious choices as candidates. Kate was almost too young at five, but George was eight and Molly was eleven. Mom and dad talked it over and decided to let George and Molly get tested. They were both willing so the tests were taken and we waited for the results. That's when things got really strange.
Mom came in a few days after Molly and George were tested to tell me that neither was a candidate. She was crying and I tried to tell her it would be OK but she just cried harder. She didn't stay long and when she left she was still crying. It scared me a little because if she was that upset, it didn't look good for me. I was beginning to worry now that I might die and for a nine year old, that was scary stuff. I wasn't doing real good when dad came in to see me. He told me the same thing mom did but he told me that there was a good chance that I could still get a kidney from the national registry. He also told me that all my relatives got tested just to see if they could help either me or someone else so all in all, he said it was a good thing that I was sick if our family could help someone else. That was dad.
I asked him why mom was so upset but he said that it had nothing to do with me. She was upset about something else and he didn't want to talk about it. He did say that he would be coming in less often since his work schedule was being changed. That didn't worry me because it happened before. He talked for a while longer then he left.
I did get a kidney and the transplant was scheduled that same week. I had a chance to see my brother and sisters and we talked a little before the surgery. One thing I did learn that surprised me was that dad was not staying at home right now. He and mom said it had to do with dad's schedule but Molly told me privately that mom was crying a lot at night and she didn't think it was because of me. She said she didn't know what was going on but dad seemed to be yelling at mom a lot. I asked her if dad was actually shouting and she said he was. That meant it was something big. She said she would keep me posted and left.
It was hard for me to concentrate on anything except what was happening to me so I forgot about mom and dad as the day of surgery arrived. I was wheeled into the operating room, moved over to the stainless steel table, fortunately covered with a warm sheet, and then after a few words of nonsense from the doctor, I faded away.
I woke in the recovery room, groggy and feeling nothing. I was moved into a private room with glass walls and connected to some machines and a bag of saline solution. The nurses would come in occasionally and inject something into the port of the IV drip and it must have been for pain because I felt nothing. It was the following day when I actually rejoined the world of the living. Now I was uncomfortable but still able to talk and understand what the nurses and doctors were saying. Everything went well they said and I would be able to get up in a day or so.
Mom came in to see me, smiling and holding my hand and telling me that everything went very well and the doctors were pleased. She talked about home and the kids and how they were doing. She told me about fixing up a room with all I would need when I came home. She talked about everything except dad. When I mentioned him, her smile disappeared and she said very quietly that he would be in when he could. She only stayed a few more minutes then left, saying she would be back later.
Over the next few days, mom and dad both stopped to see me, although at different times. Both seemed fine but neither talked about the other. As things developed and I got better and able to come home, I began to wonder if my illness had caused problems between mom and dad. It grew in my mind until I was positive that they were upset because of me. At nine, I still thought my impact on the world was greater than it really was and if they were fighting or arguing, it had to be my fault. I was positive when the day came for me to be discharged and only dad showed up. He said mom was at home waiting for me and making sure everything was OK but I knew it was because dad wanted to pick me up and she wouldn't come with him. It was because of me!
