An Adult

After hearing the doctors last words, "Your father is very sick, he may not survive, I am so sorry." I just needed to get out of the hospital !
My mother left me to make a few phone calls and I was gone. I dashed through the emergency room doors out into the parking lot, not sure what to do- all I knew was I needed to get out of that room.
I walked to the sidewalk about 50 yards from the entrance and saw a women there talking on her phone and smoking a cigarette.
I walked up to the woman and with my voice shaking I said, "Do you mind if I had one of those?" I asked gesturing to the lit cigarette dangling between her first and second fingers.
The woman looked at me and I could tell she knew how shaken I was, "Sure, honey," and she opened her pack of Cool Light 100s and held them towards me.
I went to pull a cigarette apart from the pack and noticed my shaking hands, I looked up at the woman who was waiting with a lighter already lit. I smiled gently, put the cigarette in my mouth and leaned into the flame.
I heard footsteps behind me and saw my mother approach. She looked from me to the cigarette and back again.
I felt horrible, "I'm sorry Mom," I said, "I just needed one."
"Oh, don't worry about that," She said waving her hand toward the cigarette in my left hand, "just meet me back in there when your done, OK?"
"Sure."
I had been trying to quit smoking since the spring when I had developed a bad case of Bronchitis. Eventhough I was only eighteen I had been smoking for five years already. I wasn't a heavy smoker, I took in maybe 10 to 15 a day, but it was still smoking, it was enough and I knew I needed to stop. But those thoughts were far from my mind, all I cared about was feeling better and calming down right then, right there.

Walking back into the Emergency Room waiting area I saw a different doctor talking to my mom, I slowly approached them and listened.
"We'll be sending him to St. John Main in a few minutes, just as soon as we get an ambulance to transport him, he'll be monitored the whole way and the ER at St. John is waiting for him with a trauma room all ready. They told us their top neuro-surgeon has been notified. You guys can follow the ambulance, I'm sure you want to stay near him."
"Thank you," my mother said.
I just stared at the doctor. I find it amazing in those circumstances how we thank the doctors for telling us such horrible news, granted they save lives and most deserve respect, but I couldn't muster a "thank you" at that moment, all I could think about was throwing up.
I glance behind me to see the lacerated head guy speaking to a nurse.
"Thank God he's going to be OK," the guy said, "I was so worried, I'm still in shock I think, I just felt so bad for hitting him," He said pulling his girlfriend under his chin and closing his eyes.
I hung on his first sentence, "Thank God he's going to be OK," "Thank God, he's going to be OK."
He's not talking about my father, I thought.
I wished he was.

The ride to St. John hospital seemed like the longest of my life. My mother drove behind the ambulance staying within a car length.
"I called your Grandma, and your Dad's family is going to meet us there," She said.
I nodded. We rode the rest of the way in silence.

Upon arriving at the hospital my mother and I parked in the structure adjacent to the West Deck of the hospital near the Emergency Room and made our way through the Emergency Room doors for the second time that afternoon.
Time seemed to stand still somehow. Every step I took seemed like it took hours, every noise was magnified, every smell stronger somehow. Even my mothers words seemed slow and intentional like a record being slowed to a crawl. I had to concentrate more on everything I did, opening the car door, fastening my seat belt, even walking took the greatest of concentration.
When we walked through the doors my mother told the attendant who we were and we were immediately escorted into a small private room.
The room held a small round table with four plastic chairs. Against opposing walls were two blue, plastic-like sofas and a TV stood on a stand in the corner of the room. The room was void of any decorations, magazines or hospital signs.
This is the room they tell people they're family member died in, I thought, this is the room where hearts are broken and lives destroyed.
To this day I can not see a room that reminds me of that room without feeling nauseous.
I took a deep breath and sat at the end of one of the sofas and stared, shocked, scared, sick but mostly re-playing the past two hours over and over again in my head, trying desperately to wrap my brain around the whole thing.
If it wasn't a car accident, I thought, what the hell had happened?

A doctor entered the room ten minutes after we were escorted inside, "Miss West?" he said looking directly at me.
"Yes," I said jumping to my feet.
"We are still waiting for the neuro-surgical team," He said, composed and calm, "they will be here very shortly, once they arrive they will be able to tell you what we plan to do and give you more information on your father's condition."
"Thank you," I said oddly reminding myself of my mother an hour before.
"Um, I don't mean to be harsh," the doctor began, "but you are his ex-wife, am I correct?" he asked my mother.
"Um, yes," my mother said, looking to me, slightly confused.
"And your his only child?" The doctor asked looking back to me, "And your eighteen?"
"Yeah," I said, instantly scared.
"Since your father has become incapacitated and you are his next of kin, we are going to need you to sign for all medical procedures," the doctor stated, "and when you leave the hospital we are going to need all of your contact information to call you in case anything happens."
I looked at my mother and I could see her face drop a little.

That was it. That was the second my life changed forever. I would come to know exactly how much those words changed my life in the years to come. In that instant I became responsible for my father's life, when for the last eighteen years my parents were responsible for me, in an instant, the roles were reversed.
I felt the responsibility like a weight barring down on my chest.
Your eighteen now, I thought to myself, this is what its like to be an adult