Floating (20 page)

“What the fuck does that mean? Doc, is my boy going to be okay?”

Clearing his throat the doctor goes on to explain. “That’s a complex question, Mr Burke, and I will answer as best I can. Give me a minute to explain his condition and outline the treatment. If you have anything to ask after that, you can feel free to do so then.” Tank growls from the doorway alerting me to the fact he’s still here. Not that I thought he’d be anywhere else. It’s just good knowing he’s got my back again.

Nodding at the doctor and waving my hand for him to continue, he does, “PKD is a condition that affects the kidneys causing cysts to grow and multiply, impairing the kidney’s ability to function. In Kellen’s case, the cysts have grown to a size where they are not only impeding the normal workings of the kidneys, they are causing severe pain.”

I grunt a muttered, “No, fucking shit,” but say nothing else, for now.

“Unfortunately, it is not only one kidney that is suffering from PKD. Both of Kellen’s kidneys are at various stages of the disease, in turn, we need to treat immediately. Reduced function of the kidneys for an elongated period of time can have severe consequences, so we must act swiftly to mitigate the damage, as best we can.”

Again, I don’t get a chance to speak before Ronnie pipes up and asks, “In Kellen’s case, what is the treatment you’re recommending, and how quickly can you start?”

Her eyes have misted over as we let the doctor’s words sink in. They begin clear as Kellen turns more fully into her embrace, tears being replaced by resolve.

“Mrs. Burke, in cases that are less severe and usually only involving one kidney, the recommendation is dietary changes and possibly medication at the outset. In patients with significant involvement of only one kidney dialysis is considered the appropriate course of action. However, in this patient…”

Ronnie stops him mid-sentence. “His name is Kellen, Doctor Bellingfield. He’s eight-years-old, and goes to school at Blackwater Elementary. He loves dogs, Spiderman comics, hates vegetables, drinks too much soda, and sleeps like a log. His name is Kellen, not the patient.”

My mouth tips up in an involuntary smile, it’s brittle and feels strange, but it’s there nevertheless. I didn’t expect to be able to smile while my boy is laid up in a hospital bed, but I suppose if anyone can make that happen, it’s Ronnie. Ronnie standing up for my son, knowing those details about him, and making the doc see he’s not just a number or a file, causes warmth to fill my veins, and the sun to peek from behind the heavy layer of clouds.

Clearing his throat, the doc tips his head to Ronnie in understanding, and what looks to be remorse. “I apologise Mrs. Burke. Kellen’s case is different from the other scenarios, I just explained. In his case, both kidneys are compromised to the degree that the only viable option is for us to do a transplant.”

From behind me I hear Tank, “Jesus fucking Christ.” Ronnie is stroking Kellen’s forehead again, whispering into his ear. I’m fucking shell shocked. There’s no other way to describe it. A fucking kidney transplant? My boy is eight fucking years old.

The doc shuffles some papers between his hands, and appears to be the reading notes in Kellen’s chart. “I have contacted the donor registry and have been assured Kellen’s name has been placed as a priority one recipient. That means as soon as a kidney is available, we will be able to perform the surgery immediately.”

My hands form fists, and I’m barely able to control my rising temper. “And how fucking long does that take? Does he have that kind of time?”

He manages to keep his cool throughout the rest of the explanation. I suppose he has to tell parents shitty news daily. “Mr. Burke, unfortunately the timeline on these things is almost impossible to predict. However, in the mean time we would like to test you, your wife, and any other family members or friends, that may have the same blood type in case we can find a localised match. That would make the process significantly faster.”

Tank claps a hand on my shoulder and leans down, “I’ll go make some calls, yeah? Get everyone here. We’ll line them up and get them tested ASAP, Brother.” Turning to the doc, he straightens and adds, “Pathology, yeah?” At the doc’s nod he says, “Right, you tell whoever the fuck you’ve gotta tell, thirty odd bikers, plus their women and families, will be outside that fuckin lab within the hour. Work out a way to process those kind of numbers doc, cause you’re about to be overrun by fuckin volunteers.” With that, Tank leaves to make the calls that will bring an army of support for my son.

With only Ronnie and I left in the room the doc smiles, and pats Kellen’s foot, covered by the white hospital blanket. Kellen doesn’t even stir having fallen into the first deep sleep since he was admitted hours before.

“Obviously, we would like to test the both of you first. The highest likelihood of a match lies between the biological parents and the child.”

A hiss escapes Ronnie and I can tell what she’s thinking before she speaks.

“Kellen’s mom is my twin, Doctor Bellingfield. She’s not available for testing but we are identical. Is there a chance that I might be a match, even though I’m not his mother?”

She’s pleading him with her eyes to give her good news, and when he smiles warmly at her, I know he will. “Certainly. In the case of identical twins, your DNA is an exact replica. If Kellen’s mother were to be determined a match, so too would you.”

Ronnie sighs in relief and nodding she lays back down. “Good, good. That’s excellent.”

I have one last question before we get this shit started and begin testing on every man and his dog. Even if I have to find some extra fuckers to drag in here myself to ensure Kellen gets what he needs, I will.

“You find a match doc, can you do the operation here? Kellen’s got lots of family that’s going to want to be here for him. I don’t want to have to transfer him elsewhere, if we don’t have to.”

Nodding in agreement the doc replies, “We are equipped to handle the transplant here, Mr. Burke, I assure you we have everything in place to deal with Kellen’s condition. In fact, I am the consulting Nephrologist for this entire area. I consult here twice a week and happened to be doing rounds when your son’s case came in. I have been assigned as his treating physician and will make the necessary requests to have the surgical theatres available, as soon as we find a donor.”

There’s not a lot more to say. We know what’s wrong with my boy, and what we have to do. The outcome is yet to be determined, with or without a donor kidney, it doesn’t look good. Without finding a match soon, Kellen’s prognosis is even worse. All I can do is wait and hope. Both things I’m currently in short supply of.

Afterwards, Ronnie and I are tested along with Tank, Priss, Cage, Steel, Pipe, and Priest. Kendall is exempt, as it is too close after her giving birth to Wheels to be able to donate if she ended up being a match. Interestingly enough, Lou can’t be tested either. Steel approached me looking nervous as fuck, confessing he’s knocked his woman up again, meaning she isn’t a candidate, either. I can’t help but laugh at how bad my brother feels. I still can’t work out if he’s more upset Lou can’t be tested, or that he’s knocked her up, and now she wants to kill him. Regardless, the laugh I have at his expense feels good. It lightens my mood, even if it is only temporarily.

There isn’t any need to test further anyway. Ronnie ends up being a perfect match. Preparations begin immediately to perform the transplant, as soon as possible. I feel like the whole thing is going way too fast for me to let the ramifications of what this means to sink in. Talk about feeling torn in half. My son is going into one operating room and my woman into another. No man can be in two places at once, it’s physically impossible. Trust me if I could manage it, I would.

Turns out I don’t need to worry about that. Between me going to sleep on the cot in Kellen’s room the night before surgery, and checking on Ronnie that morning, she succeeded in convincing Tank to act as her security guard. I’m not pissed; I’m fucking livid. When Tank tells me I’m not allowed in Ronnie’s room, I seriously want to kick the shit out of him. If I was a stupid man, which I’m not, most days at least, I would take a swing at the big motherfucker, but I don’t. I can’t promise the wall outside her room in the hallway will survive unharmed, though.

Tank does his best to explain, as does Priss, that Ronnie just needs some time to get herself together before surgery. Apparently, Ronnie isn’t scared, she hasn’t cried, and she’s more than ready to get this over and done with. This in no means gives me any measure of relief. I’m sure anyone put in my position or a similar one, will agree that not being able to talk to the one person that means the world to you before something like this, is paranoia inducing. Questions like: Will she make it out okay? What do I do if something happens to her? and Does she know I love her?  All go through your mind, mixing dangerously with everything else you’re feeling too.

The risks and complications are explained to me by Doctor Bellingfield. He is lucky I don’t jump across Kellen’s bed and strangle the fucker. Violent urges seem to be my go to method for coping at the moment. Rejection, haemorrhage, infection, adhesions, bladder weakness; the list goes on. He may have said a lot of them are uncommon or rare, but that doesn’t mean shit to me. There’s a remote chance one or both, might not make it out of surgery. That thought is more than I can bear.

God, or whoever the fuck willing, recovery time for Kellen will only be about two weeks until he’s feeling a fuck ton better. Ronnie will take longer, probably around four weeks, and that’s only if everything goes to plan. Still, that is significantly better than what I initially thought. I mean shit. The two of them are having organs removed. In Kellen’s case both his kidneys are being replaced by one of Ronnie’s. I have it in my head that it will be months of recovery to look forward to. Thankfully, the doc put an end to that line of thinking.

Sandra and Dave, Ronnie and Verity’s parents, showed up three days before the operations were scheduled, to check on their daughter and grandson. With them they brought the knowledge Verity has known about Kellen’s condition since before he was born. Apparently an ultrasound at twenty weeks showed Kellen’s developing kidneys already bore the trademark cysts of PKD. She was offered treatment straight after his birth, but for some reason none of us could figure out, she declined. PKD can be inherited in some cases, and Verity herself had suffered with a mild form KPD when she was younger. Verity’s KPD was cured quickly and permanently, using the non-invasive method of diet only.

Knowing that Verity was aware, this whole fucking time that Kellen was sick, and not once seeking help, brought me to an entirely new level of rage. It became all consuming, unignorably violent, and engulfed everything in its path. I needed an outlet. So Tank gave me one. Fighting it out with Tank in the ring that night, left us both with a few bruises, feeling worse for wear, and me at least, exhausted. I can’t thank the big man enough for knowing exactly what I needed, in order to relieve some stress, and for not pounding me into the mats, too badly.

Watching them wheel my son away looking so small and frightened on the hospital gurney makes my feelings of helplessness return a thousand fold. I thought it was bad before, that has nothing on this. I’m assuming no parent has an easier time of it, but placing your child’s life in the hands of virtual strangers, trained or not, is not easy. More than that, it goes against every cell in my body trained to protect the ones I love. It takes trust, too. Trust, I simply don’t have.

Exponentially worse than all of that…

Finding out Ronnie has been discharged into her parents’ care three days post-op, leaving without so much as a goodbye, guts me. Ronnie left the hospital. She left Blackwater. Fuck, she left me. She’d just fucking left, period.

It ended up being six months before we saw her again. In that time, there were a lot of changes for our friends and family. There is one thing that will never change, though. No matter the time or distance she puts between us; my love for her is unconditional, unwavering, and always will be.

In that time, life kept going. Everything kept moving forward. Tilly turned sixteen, Lexi six, Anna one, and Kellen wasn’t far off his ninth birthday. Wheels was crawling, and Lou was nearly fucking insufferable in her seventh month of pregnancy.

Unexpectedly, fuck knows how, he won’t share the details with us, Pipe ended up with Selena. They started living together within two weeks of becoming official. I still think it looks fucking odd seeing a thirty-five-year-old woman with his forty-eight-year-old ass, but whatever floats their boat. They seem pretty fucking happy, so that’s all that matters.