Morbid Mutterances of a Masculine Maniac

Welcome to the Agglomeration

I recently wrote a story for a short story competition being held at my school. I haven't thought of anything to blog about yet, so until I do, here's my story as a little something to get you through the day. Be warned, I believe 90% of you will hate this story. So read on at your own risk.

Terminal

Telling someone you love that they are going to die is one of the hardest things that you will ever have to do in your entire life. But what if you had the choice to keep it a secret? Would you be guided by your sense of morality or would you do what’s best?
That was the dilemma that faced Bryan Taylor as he stood in stunned silence in the desolate corridor directly outside Fawkton Hospital’s Intensive Care Unit. As he stood in contemplation, he remembered the events of the past 31 days.

One month ago, Bryan and his father, Lawrence had just been told that Laura Taylor’s pancreatic tumor had metastasized and spread throughout her body after traces of it had been dislodged and made its way into her bloodstream. Bryan had heard the words uttered in overly melodramatic episodes of ‘House’ before but never had the words ‘I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do’ ever instilled such a sense of emptiness and worthlessness into his very being. He didn’t know how he was going to break the news to his mother, he wasn’t sure how he would feel in the six months he had left with her, and he couldn’t bear to think what the future would have in store for him once she was gone.

After five long hours of discussion, he and his father had made a decision. They decided that keeping it a secret would keep their family together for just that little bit longer. It wasn’t as important that she had a right to know. They just wanted her to be happy. And so they didn’t tell Laura about her tumor. They didn’t tell her she had six months left to live. She was discharged, and given a final chance to leave a normal life. A life that wouldn’t involve constant chemotherapy and experimental treatments. A life that didn’t involve spending every second week in a hospital undergoing painful tests that always left her weak and nauseous. They would have a final six months of happiness. They would have a final six months as a family.

Even after the decision was made, Bryan seemed unsure if he had made the right choice. The thing people value above all else is hope, he reasoned. He knew that if they had told her, their ultimatum would’ve crushed all prospects she had left. She would never be happy again. She could never experience true joy knowing that her days were numbered, and that in a few months, she would fall into a deep sleep, one from which she would never wake. She would never smell the exquisite aromas or see the scenic landscapes that had enriched her life, nor would she experience the tender touch of her son and husband ever again. But also, as he knew too well, his mother had always prioritized them before herself. Her sense of empathy would never allow her to be happy knowing that the two people she loved the most would soon suffer a deep wound, one that even time might not heal. And so Bryan kept telling himself that this was the best option for her.

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the case. He was afraid of losing her, the one person that had always been there for him. He was selfish. It was him who wanted to be happy, to experience a final joyous six months before it could never happen again. In the very core of his soul, he knew that he was the weak one, that it was him that couldn’t accept this news. But he set these tormenting whispers aside, choosing to take what might be the final chance he had at real happiness for a very long time.

*

Thirty days had passed. Thirty days of bliss. Thirty days of undiluted, pure ecstasy. Savoring the warmth of his mother’s touch, her protective embrace and her very presence, they had gone on strolls by the countryside, they had lain on the beach, watching the radiant sunset, they had climbed to the top of the nearby hill and watching the distant lights glow in the dark of night. She had seemed suspicious of his newfound enthusiasm at first, but in truth she was just glad finally being able to spend time with her son after such a long period in hospital. Bryan couldn’t explain it, but those had been the thirty happiest days of his life. Yet there was still so much more he wanted to do, there was so much more he needed to do. Five months and counting…

*

Day 31. It was a Saturday night. Bryan had gone out to buy a bottle of milk from the corner store. He was going to make her pannacotta. It had always been her favorite. Then they were going to go on a cruise in the harbor. He had booked tickets for the two of them to enjoy a relaxing and tranquil night on the water. Still with these uplifting thoughts in his head, he opened the door to his home. He felt a sense of dread. A premonition that penetrated his utopia. The house was silent, save for the television, broadcasting a rerun of House. As he walked into the kitchen, he saw his mother sprawled on the floor, unconscious. Shocked, he dropped the milk, breaking the container and scattering its contents everywhere. Bryan frantically searched for the phone and dialed 911. As he waited for someone to pick up he looked at the screen. House was writing something on a board. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. The five stages of death.

*

Bryan was suddenly brought back to reality. His father and Dr. Hess were standing in front of him. He stood, expecting an explanation of what had happened. When it didn’t come, he began to feel uneasy. Silence. And then,
“I’m so sorry, Bryan. She’s dying”.

And so his month of happiness had come to a sudden and premature end. His mind was wracked with a sudden paralysis, a weakness that disabled his very consciousness. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend that this was happening. Frantic thoughts of denial exacerbated his lucid dreamlike state: This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. This is only a dream. This has to be a dream. He pinched his arm. Nothing. He pinched again, harder this time. Nothing. Nothing but pain. Nothing but everlasting pain. He fought back the oncoming torrent of tears. It couldn’t be over. Not now. Not yet.

“You told me she had six months. You told me we had six months.”
“We were wrong. She might have six hours. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? You couldn’t care less”, Bryan yelled. He felt himself channeling his feelings of despair and hopelessness into anger. “You doctors, you tell us that you’re sorry, you tell us that you know how we feel, but you don’t. You have so many patients, do you expect me to believe that understand how we all feel?” You expect me to believe that my mother was your priority? You missed something. You must have!”

Bryan couldn’t control himself any longer. He allowed his rage to take control of him. Without being fully aware of it, he punched Dr. Hess in the face and knocked him down. He moved in for another strike, but his father restrained him before he could the blow connected. Dr. Hess stood up, wiped his bloody mouth and looked straight at Bryan. At first, Bryan thought the doctor was going to return the favor, but instead he just stared at him. Through him. Into his soul.
“I do understand, Bryan, more than you know.”
Hess turned to walk away but Bryan restrained his anger and pleaded desperately, ‘Wait. I’m sorry. Please, isn’t there something you can do for her? There is so much that we haven’t done. The London Philharmonic is touring this weekend. The one thing she had always wanted to do was attend one of their concerts. Please, isn’t there some way you can just give her a few more days? One more week. I just want one more week. Please!’
Hess paused and looked back at him with an expression of pity and regret.
“I really am sorry, Bryan”.
Then he walked off.

*

Bryan entered the room where her mother was resting. He took a seat next to her and gently placed her hand in his. He looked at her face for a long time. He almost couldn’t recognise her. The vitality, the comfort, the warmth that he had grown up with was gone and replaced with a feeble and pallid expression. He had been crying the entire time but Bryan stemmed his tears when he saw his mother’s eyes flicker open. She was weak, and although she tried to speak, her vocal chords denied her this luxury. All she could manage was a faint smile.

Seeing her in this frail condition overwhelmed Bryan with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Mum. I should’ve told you. I should’ve been honest with you. You’re dying and it’s all because of me. I was selfish. The only person I thought of was myself, and now I realise how much that has hurt you and Dad. I wish I could do this all over again because now I know what I should’ve done. I just wish I could’ve made the right decision. Look how pathetic I am, look how hopeless I am. I’m useless to do anything to help you. I can’t save you!”

Bryan felt his mum’s hand squeeze his gently. He stopped, knowing that she couldn’t bear him to see him like this, wracked with guilt. If his mother wouldn’t cry now, neither would he. They would get through this last phase together. For five hours they sat together, silent save for the regular beeping of the pulse monitoring machine. Then he heard a soft, struggling and barely audible voice whisper words that would trouble him for many days:
“
We never had enough time, Bryan, but this is it. I love you, son.”

As soon as the last word left his mother’s mouth, her hand loosened and fell limp. One long sustained tone filled the room. It was over. For what seemed like eternity, Bryan focused on her lifeless face. He felt empty and hollow, devoid of emotion. Then he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw his father, with tears trickling down his face. He stood up and they embraced while medical personnel entered the room and escorted Laura’s corpse to the morgue.

*

10 Days later

The funeral was over. Eulogizing his mother had been the most painful and emotionally heart-wrenching thing he ever had to do. But it was also his form of acceptance, his way of moving on, his way of recognizing the influence his mother had had on him, but also looking forward toward the future. Soon, the church was empty, save for Bryan and his father.

“You did well, son. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you Dad, but the person I’m really proud of is Mum. She was so brave even in her final hours. I don’t know if I could handle it as well as she did if I found out that I would die in 6 hours. I’ll really miss her.”

There was a minute of silence, a final commemoration for Laura Taylor. When the time had elapsed, Lawrence turned to Bryan, looked him in the eye and he asked, “Did your mother say anything to you before she died?”

Bryan felt uneasy. “Yes, she said that we never had enough time. I guess at the time I was too traumatized to give it much thought. But I have been thinking about it, and it doesn’t make any sense to me”.

Lawrence sighed and then replied in a regretful tone, “Your mother and I haven’t been completely honest with you. I promised her I wasn’t going to tell you, but seeing you up there today, it made me realise we should never have kept you in the dark.”

“Kept in the dark about what?”

“You told me that they were the 30 happiest days of your life. Do you think you would’ve felt the same way if you had known she only had one month left?”

“No, probably not.”

“Neither did we.”

A surge of finality rippled through his body. There was no shock. No denial. No anger. Only acceptance.

On a last note, I apologise for the formatting of the story. Word and Blogger don't seem to get along very well, like chocolate cake and cough medicine. I'll leave it to you to decide which is which. Judging on the content though, I guess the formatting could very well be the least of your worries.

Till next time, may you agglomerate all your premeditated contemplations.