Part 1: The source of Teresa’s heartache

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Her body is hunched over, after weeks of holding her son’s small and frail hands in her own. She’s tired, run-down, and miserable. But thinks she should talk about her day with him. Say something, anything. So that when her son opens his eyes, he will know she’s been waiting for him by his side. But her mouth feels dry and any movement right now would be too draining. In truth, her hope is thin. At first her thoughts were, ‘any day now.’ Lately she’s been thinking, ‘not today.’ She should be crying for her boy, but the reservoir of tears she thought would never dry; are gone. 

She remembers the first week the thought of her son never waking, crossed her mind. She couldn’t stop crying, every worst-case scenario swam through her head. She cried until she was hyperventilating. The last time that happened, she was probably 5 years old. Just like her son is right now. In a moment’s peace when she thought she could catch her breath again, even another person’s kindness would trigger her to tears. That was what the nurses and staff at the hospital were, they were all kind. Her wish to be consoled by them was overpowered by the reminder that their kindness, derived solely from the fact that Henry had a heart issue. 

‘It’s so sad that a beautiful boy, who hasn’t yet lived a full life is here in a sterile, white room. Hooked up to machines keeping him alive. Being cared for by faceless healthcare drones doing their rounds and a single mother in misery.’  The thought would turn her into a blubbering mess again.

At first the staff held her hands and patted her back. They held her close to their chest and gave her kind words, as she wept for Henry. But he didn’t get better and she was at the hospital more and more. The hospital staff, saddened by the boy’s condition and his mother’s loneliness in this pursuit, reached the limit of their emotional support. Slowly, they began to avoid her during her scheduled visits. At first she tried to meet their eye, not wanting to be alone, as she had been since her husband’s death. But watching the hospital staff turn from her, to work on something that urgently needed their attention; hurt her more than she thought it would. 

She thought it might have been her fault. Did she have to be so depressing, when her son’s condition has been the same for weeks? Maybe she should have tried harder to remember the names of the nurses, janitors, and volunteers that tried to console her. The least she could do was ask about their lives once in a while, even if she didn’t really care on the inside. That’s not quite right. The least she could do was stop crying whenever they spoke to her. Well her face wasn’t tear streaked anymore. But it’s too late for that now. So instead, on her visits to bring Henry cute stuffed animals and bright balloons; she keeps her head low, so as not to bother the staff anymore with a silly woman’s sadness. 

Her neck has become tired from holding herself up in the uncomfortable hospital chair. For the hope that still remains in her, forcing herself to sit in the small bed-side stool has become habitual. Although the plush couch in the hospital room is only a few feet away, she doesn’t want to be too far from Henry. She couldn’t forgive herself if he were to miss her face in a brief moment of consciousness. She wants her son to see her holding all the world’s happiness, just waiting for him to join her.

But looking now at his sallow eyes and hollow cheeks, today won’t be the day she gets to see his lovely eyes again. She lays her head, too heavy for her body to hold up anymore, down onto the side of his bed and dreams of a healthy and happy Henry. 

In her dream, he is laughing and running; a symbol of strength. She is laughing too, something she had forgotten felt so good. He smiles at her, sweating slightly from their game of tag. And the sun is bright, hanging behind his chestnut coloured hair. But even in her dreams the brightness of the sun frightens her. It threatens to take Henry away, so she reaches out, trying to grab his arm. When she reaches him, his plump and fleshy arm deflates in her hand and he is limp lying across her lap, too sick to stand, to play, to laugh. He looks as tired and weak as he does lying in his hospital bed. 

‘Is this it?” She thinks.

“Are these my two choices? Happy and healthy in a place I can’t reach, or sickly and weak beside me?’ She forgets these thoughts when she wakes.

She opens her eyes, and the room is shrouded in darkness. It's late and she’s been sleeping for hours, but she feels more tired than she did when she came in. Visiting hours are over, but even so the attendants haven’t come to approach her. She tucks the stuffed bear under his arm before gathering her jacket and purse to leave the room. She passes an elderly gentleman on a ventilator, and a young comatose man on her way out. This is a room for patients on life support. She’s noticed not many have visited these two. She feels guilty to be pleased by the privacy their aloneness gives her. She shuts the door quietly and leaves the room.

“Have a good night Teresa. We’ll see you tomorrow.” A nurse says. Her ID badge reads Rachel, attending nurse. But Teresa doesn’t notice. It’s as if Rachel hadn’t spoken to her in the first place.

“It’s quite sad you know.” Whispers Madaline, a senior nurse in the specialty wing of the hospital; for patients requiring life-assist machinery.

“Teresa's husband died in a hit and run accident a few years after Henry was born. Stayed in this hospital. Now her son at only five years old is hooked up to ventilation after a heart attack. Didn’t end up waking up after being stabilized. Now we’re just...waiting.” Madaline whispers, solemnly. 

Rachel turns to look in the direction of Teresa’s exit, and aches for the woman she doesn’t know. 

“I’ll go clean him up.” Rachel says motioning towards her equipment.

“She just received the withdrawal forms from the doctor,” Madeline continues. Rachel halts in her steps to listen

“Advises to think about the next steps. It’s coming up to a month now, and her insurance is running out. She won’t be able to afford continued care. Dr. Evan’s tried to focus on the quality of life of course, what with brain functioning being affected by long term comatose state and all. But Teresa knows it's about the money. Refuses to take him off life-support. It’d be respectable if it weren’t so stubborn. She’ll run herself out of a home if she continues, and where will she be left off then?” Madeline says, signing out of her work station and getting ready to go home after her eight hour shift.

“She looks like a wealthy woman. She can’t afford it?” Rachel asks.

Madeline pauses to think for a moment, “Last I know, she worked in risk assessment at a large insurance company.”

Rachel closes her eyes and resigns in the news, before she continues on to the supply room.

Teresa looks out the window of the city bus, the lights of the city blurs in her view. All she can think about are the continued-care withdrawal forms that weigh heavily in her purse. 

At home, she places her keys in the bowl by her entrance door, and drops her coat onto one of the two kitchen chairs set up at the dining table. She doesn’t have much of an appetite these days, and has lost the twenty pounds she struggled to lose after Henry’s birth in the span of a month. Tonight as well, she won’t be eating dinner. 

Teresa changes out of her dirty and sweaty clothes from the day into nightwear and brushes her teeth. Her own sallow eyes and hollow cheeks reminds her of Henry. She isn’t surprised by her appearance anymore, instead she takes comfort in it. She undoes the plait that hangs down her back and crawls into bed. In three hours she’ll need to wake up and head to work in the retail warehouse, unloading product from the trucks.

Her dreamless sleep is interrupted by an alarm that feels much too early to be ringing. This repeated routine has left her feeling unrested and lifeless lately. But still she continues. She pulls the sheets off her body and slides out of bed to get ready for work. The night bus comes much less frequently at these odd hours, once every hour. It’s important she doesn’t miss her bus, as she can’t afford to lose her job again. Her performance had suffered and her excuses became tired. Liability is the top concern and point of business at Rickman and Leesons insurance. The company Teresa used to work at. Her performance after the death of her husband had been acceptable. The company was understanding, and Teresa had bounced back within an appropriate amount of time. In truth, her husband’s death was more surreal than anything else. The time after his death felt like he could have been on a business trip. Teresa was just functioning. 

However, after Henry had his heart attack and become comatose, Teresa was alone. She began making avoidable mistakes at work more often, and had emotional outbursts in her professional work environment. Well, she had become a liability to Rickman and Leesons, and they had to let her go. Afterwards, she was no longer eligible for the health benefits and insurance coverage that the company provided.

After her unemployment, Teresa worked a string of retail and food service jobs that she was overqualified for. But the problems she faced performing risk assessment, followed her there too. References started to run thin, and those that she could count on for a referral letter stopped messaging back. 

Teresa absolutely could not be late for her job at the warehouse. Despite her role, her status at the company gives her eligibility to an health benefits package that she can’t afford to lose. So there she stands in the early morning cold, wearing a designer coat from her previous life, waiting for the sporadic night bus to arrive.