The Broken Chain

by

Ed Zaruk


The first phone call she expected, accepting the news stoically. The second call, coming right after, swept memories long ignored into the present. Elaine had wanted to be a good mother to her son. He looked just too much like his father, a man she loved and wanted to spend the rest of her life with. He wasn’t handsome, but when she was in his arms, she had felt secure. That feeling evaporated the day he walked out of her life with another woman. From then on, resentment toward the little boy sat with her every time she fed him in his high chair. Lonely nights all too soon began ending at the bottom of a bottle.
Looking back on it now brought feelings of shame as she remembered times, after paying the babysitter and saying she’d be late coming home, never did. As little Mark entered the terrible threes, his constant irritations broke her self-control and she began beating him. One winter night when ambulance attendants responded to a 911 call, they found her sitting at the kitchen table, head on her arms, sobbing in a drunken stupor. Her son lay on the livingroom couch, bruises swelling purple, his right arm bent at an awkward angle. She remembered going crazy when they tried to help her up. Fighting them off, she ran from the house into the cold night, and kept running until her legs would carry her no more. She never saw her son again.
Now came a voice from the past, talking to her from the other end of the phone line; a line spanning forgotten years. “I’m Mark, your son.”
In that moment those lost years played like a movie in fast forward: her sinking into the abyss of despair, nights never home, waking up one morning beside a pool of vomit that didn’t make it to the toilet. Compelled by disgusting puke left to harden on the bathroom floor for months, she turned her life around, put herself through college, and became a Registered Nurse. Caring for others healed the wounds. Going to bed satisfied, and sleeping the night through were treasures she valued most. Until three months ago when the pain started. Mark’s call only added to it.
“I’d like to come and see you, Mom.” His words carrying forgiveness and love.
Why now, a voice cried in the back of Elaine’s mind. Speaking softly into the phone, she said, “I’d like that.”
They set up a time and two weeks later, Mark walked through the door of her hospital room. Gone was any resemblance to his father, or perhaps it was just that she’d purged any memory of the man from her life.
“Hi, Mom,” he said, leaning down to lightly hug her as she lay in the bed.
“My, son.” Elaine raised a weak arm to brush thin fingers through his black hair. While doing this a woman moved up beside him.
“This is Sylvia, my new wife.”
Elaine didn’t need any further explanation. She knew the girl. How had it come to this? she thought, only catching bits and pieces of the conversation about buying a small farm and having a big family. As her memories stepped back into the operating room, a battle began raging between her mind and heart.
The only doctor available for the emergency operation in their small town that night had been called from a private party, and came in smelling of alcohol. God knows she knew that smell, and hated it. Bringing it to his attention brought a sharp rebuke and his six- foot one height made it clear her concerns were unwanted.
Evidence of the ruptured appendix was everywhere when he made the incision. After removing it, the doctor began rummaging around, scalpel in hand, mumbling. When he cut through an ovary, Elaine called him on it. With eyes of malice, he stared at her in an intoxicated fog, then cut the ovary free. Elaine reached out and grabbed his hand still holding the bloody scalpel. While struggling with her across the table and yelling, his superior strength prevailed and the knife carved up more of the patient’s reproductive organs. It took the intervention of the anesthesoilogist and another nurse to drag the struggling man outside. Elaine did what she could to repair the damage, but inside knew the girl would never be able to have children.
That woman, Sylvia, now related through marriage, stood beside her son, wanting to be the mother of her grandchildren. Elaine felt the heat of a tear slide from one eye. Professionally, her mind wanted to reveal the truth, something that carried a very high risk of breaching their reconciliation. Her heart won out, preserving the new relationship that was destined to end quickly. She was dying of cancer.

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 07.09.2009

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