GIFTED

The Mills’ residence is a spacious four-bedroom, three-and-a-half-bath, two-story Tudor style; their home for two years now. It sits on a cul-de-sac within a posh, newer neighborhood in the suburban area just South of St. Louis, Missouri. It is way more house than Kevin and Sherry need at the moment, but it’s meant to be “grown into.” From the outside looking in, their lives seemed to be perfect.

Kevin Mills is a handsome, athletic and earnest man of thirty-two years. He graduated from a four-year nursing program (one semester early), with honors. He felt a calling, early on, toward a career in healthcare, specifically the field of organ transplant. This passion grew from watching his closest childhood friend succumb to a viral heart disease at the young age of sixteen, after languishing on the heart transplant list.

His nursing career began as a critical care nurse in a Level-One, Trauma Intensive Care Unit; the largest of its kind in the state of Missouri. As a Level-One ICU, they see the worst, of the worst. The deathly ill and mortally injured are brought here for advanced healthcare. As a corollary, the best, of the best, are chosen to work in this fast-paced and high-stress environment.

Kevin was the tip of the spear working in the ICU. He was drawn toward those patients who survived the nastiest of accidents and had the most complex of injuries. As a result, he was frequently chosen to care for those unique patients who would occasionally go on to become organ donors as a result of their devastating injuries. It was his previous life experience that fueled his desire to help make the best out of these particular situations, for everyone involved.

His abilities to critically think through complex situations and to skillfully manage his patient’s care (with the precision that rivals any of the physician interns) were readily recognized by the organ procurement coordinators that frequented the Trauma ICU. For that reason, Kevin was recruited to join their specialized team. Four years later, he is now a nationally-credentialed and well-respected leader at Missouri Donor Network, the Organ Procurement Organization that services the state of Missouri. The nature of his job is not necessarily physical. It’s not like he’s working the pavement of the Missouri highway system in the blazing hot August heat. The most physically demanding part of his job would be staying awake for twenty-four to thirty-six hours at a time when working on a donor case – still no easy chore. What makes his job especially hard is the pressure of knowing that every little thing you do, every decision you make in the management of an organ donor, can affect the lives of so many people. One organ donor can save the lives of up to eight different people and positively impact everyone around them. For this reason, Kevin, and those who do his job are under an intense amount of pressure to get it right, with no mistakes. Lives are on the line every time that pager goes off.

Sherry Mills is a tall spectacle of class and poise. She hails from an extremely well-healed family on the West side of St. Louis County. She learned, from her father, the principles of hard work and from her mother she learned the value and importance of family. Sherry’s beauty is a point of pride for her and she uses it to her advantage as a pharmaceutical sales representative. With her looks and charming personality all packaged up in a business suit and an oversized Louis Vuitton bag on her arm, she could sell garlic to a vampire.

They were earning more than enough money to support a family. Their careers were in place, the house was in place but still no family of their own. They agreed, in the beginning, that they should wait until they had purchased a house rather than starting a family inside their little one-bedroom apartment in downtown St. Louis. Sherry had been patient for the first two years of their three-year marriage. However, this past year, she had been pushing harder and harder on Kevin to agree that now was the right time. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have a family, he wanted to very much. The issue that stood in the way was Kevin’s work schedule. In the business of clinical organ procurement, the concept of a “9 to 5er” simply doesn’t exist. The hours worked are random, long and very unpredictable. It wouldn’t be uncommon for Kevin to get called to work on a case in the morning and not return home until the afternoon of the next day. His was a grueling schedule with no consistency.

When the controversy surfaces, and it does regularly, Sherry commonly reminds him of the many missed Sunday dinners with her parents, birthday celebrations and the occasional holiday. The proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back occurred this past October 31st. Halloween has always been her favorite holiday, ever since she was a young girl. Sherry loves to ghoulishly decorate the house and dress up in a scary witch’s costume - wart nose make-up and oversized pointy hat included - to hand out candy to the neighborhood kids. Like most things in her life, only the best will do – big candy bars for everyone. In fact, she pushed for the house they live in with that date in mind, it’s perfect because of its prime location on the circle and the neighborhood full of kids. Her house would be the favorite house among the kids in costume each year, and she saw to it.

As they were dressing for the occasion that night, Kevin’s pager, that obnoxious noisemaker, chirped; she immediately knew her evening was going to be ruined. He was asked to go to work on his day off due to a heavy caseload. Most people would have said no to that request, however, Kevin’s career and his commitment to saving lives took priority over costumes and candy. That particular night he went on a local donor management case. She didn’t see him again until the morning of November 2nd.

Sherry realized, and later insisted, that if they were to start their family it would not work with him having that job and those hours. She was firm on this, and it became a point of contention that caused many fights. Their “perfect little home” was beginning to feel like a big empty house for Sherry.

It was early on a cool winter’s evening. The sun had disappeared behind the earth a few hours earlier. Kevin was making his way back home after one of those marathon cases. As he pulled his 5-series BMW into the driveway, he noticed that the lights were out downstairs but caught a faint glimpse of light through one of the upstairs windows. Kevin said in a subdued voice, to himself, “I’m in the doghouse.”

He, wearily, entered the front door of their well-appointed home and walked past the ten by fourteen wedding day portrait that greets all their visitors. He announced his entrance, “Sherry, I’m home!”

Normally, the first to greet him would be their yappy lap dog, whom Kevin secretly despised. His eight-pound body frame certainly didn’t fit the name that they had compromised on, Thor. If Kevin has his way, their next dog will be an Old English Bull Dog, pushing eighty pounds; to be named later, by compromise, of course.

Silence. No yappy dog. Kevin thought this was peculiar but pressed on. He continued to make his way through the dark spacious first level declaring his arrival in a confused but playful voice, “Hey babe, where are you?”

Kevin noticed the illumination of the hallway at the top of the stairs bleeding down into the living room. He climbed the oversized stairs and turned the corner to see the French-style doors to their bedroom wide open and the lights on. As he entered the room, he said, “Sherry, are you up here?” Her absence and the sight of the open dresser drawers, the open closet doors and articles of her clothing scattered about the usually clean and organized room could mean only one thing. He exclaimed, “NO, NO, NO! She didn’t!”

Sherry was gone.

Kevin rapidly made his way down the stairs, through the living room, and into the kitchen. He flipped on the lights to their gourmet kitchen to reveal exactly what he was afraid of finding one of these days, the envelope. It was addressed simply to “KEV”. He snatched it from the granite countertop of the large island and ripped it open. When removing the hand-written letter, a sonogram image of a fetus fell onto the counter. He picked it up and examined it. “What is this,” he wondered aloud. He, then, turned his attention back to the letter.

It read:

“Dear Kevin,

I know what you’re thinking. But, no it’s not ours. My YOUNGER sister is now expecting their second child. This is supposed to be happening for us.

Just over three years ago, we vowed to each other in front of our families and God that our relationship and marriage would always come first. We agreed that starting a family was what we both wanted. You have not held up your end of that agreement. I’ve grown tired of taking a backseat to your career.

I’m sure this comes as no surprise to you, as we have been arguing about this for months. I am leaving you. I even told you how I would do it to get your attention, which obviously didn’t have an impact on you. I HAVE OPTIONS!

Know that I am heartbroken by this! I do care about you and about us, but we need this time apart.

So, you don’t worry about where I am, I’ll be at my parent’s home. Please don’t try to contact me, it

will just muddy the waters. I need time and space. Please respect that.

Yours?

Sher”

“What the hell does she mean by options?” he said aloud. Shock took over. His knees buckled and he spun at the waist so that his back was able to slide down against the island, to the floor. He dropped his head into his hands and began to cry. The house was silent except for his grief.