I am not sure if this was ever posted, so here goes. Quality is a dystopian short story born while having to make a hard choice at the Vets office. A hard choice that many of us have had to make when a pet that has become part of the family has reached a point where forcing them to live is selfish. Like I do in so many things, on my drive home I thought what if? What if it wasn’t a pet and it wasn’t a vet’s office…

Quality By A.L. White

The phone in the kitchen rang for the third time before Ann Masters answered it. Mark, who had been staring into the fireplace, mesmerized by the intimate dance the flames were performing, listened in. The hushed tone of Ann’s voice told him that he was the subject of conversation. It wasn’t the first time, lately there had been many such conversations. Mark didn’t know who was on the other end of the line. Life had been like this the past few months, so it wasn’t surprise, if he was being honest. He would wonder who was calling and why Ann’s voice always dropped down so low that all he could hear was a faint mumble. Then the thought would pass as quickly as it had come. After all of these years it never occurred to Mark that Ann was cheating. If she were, such calls would come to her cell phone, not to the land line. But truthfully, the notion barely registered for Mark; that just wasn’t who Ann was.
It was six months ago, maybe as short as three. Mark could no longer remember without concentrating. He knew that it happened on a Tuesday morning. He knew it like he knew the beautiful color of Ann’s eyes. Climbing out of bed that Tuesday morning the entire world around him had shifted, leaving him no way to maintain his balance. That was the first time, and he had shrugged it off as consequence of a nasty head cold. With time it began happening more often.
Once, he couldn’t say exactly when, while eating dinner, he had been telling Ann about the new technology being brought in at work. That was all he remembered until he heard Ann’s voice calling out to him. She was far away in another place or time. In Mark’s mind he had answered her each and every time she called to him but physically he had been unresponsive. Then, like waking in the morning, her voice grew closer and louder, becoming clearer with each frantic utterance of his name.
Ann insisted that he be looked at by the family Doctor who shook his head and sent them to a specialist. The specialist preformed tests that Mark knew were barely covered by their insurance, then sent them to another specialist.
“Honey, are you ready to go? Our appointment is at ten.” Ann asked.
His eyes felt heavy and Mark wasn’t sure that he had slept well. It felt like good day to sit beside the fireplace and read one of his favorite books, if he could manage. That’s how he’d spend it, if he had his choice.
“Do we have to go today?” Mark answered with his voice trailing off as he pictured another day filled with poking and prodding. Ultimately with little to show for it.
“You know that this is the last one you will have to go to.”
“How do we know that Ann? You keep telling me that and yet here we are going to another one.” Mark said. He could see that her eyes were welling up with tears. This had to be hard for Ann too. His license to drive had been revoked on doctor’s orders. “Black outs” or “episodes,” depending on which one was asked. There had been many doctors in the past year. Mark couldn’t keep them straight.
“Mark, please don’t fight with me today. You don’t even have your shoes on do you?”
“Ann, you know I have a hard time putting those shoes on now. Why did you buy them for me?” Mark asked.
“You needed new shoes. So I spent days looking for the perfect pair that you would not be able to put on yourself.” Ann replied, rolling her eyes.
“Ok, maybe it is me and not the shoes.” Mark replied laughing. It wasn’t hard to know with Ann when he crossed the line. He had spent much of their marriage on the wrong side of it.
They left the house with plenty of time to make the appointment. The traffic was light so the trip seemed abnormally short to Mark. He thought, with it being such a nice day, Ann might let them stop at the park on the way home.
On arrival the nurse brought a wheel chair for Mark. He acted like he didn’t want to use it, not wanting to show how worn out he was from getting into the car. A brief and feigned protest later, he sat down and was privately thankful they had brought it.
Ann helped him get his clothes off and change into the hospital gown. As was Mark’s custom, he sat in a chair next to Ann until Doctor Robinson entered and forced him up, onto the examination table.
“So Mark, how are you feeling today?” Doctor Robinson asked as if reading from an approved script.
“You know me, Doc. I feel ok, just tired all the time.” Mark replied.
“Dizziness? Black outs?”
“Same as always.” Mark replied.
The Doctor glanced over at Ann, directing his reply, “the same?”
“They are more frequent than ever. Mark thinks if he doesn’t admit that it’s happening then it doesn’t exist.” Ann replied, trying to keep her voice steady as the pit in her stomach grew knowing the choice she would soon have to make.
Doctor Robinson turned back to Mark and smiled. “Well, my friend, today we will take care of all that.” He wrote something on Mark’s chart. “I bet you will like that, after everything, won’t you Mark?”
“Doc, if you can do that I will do anything you want for the rest of my life.” Mark said, smiling at Ann.
“Mark, the nurse is going to come in and get you ready for the procedure. While she is doing that I am going to go talk to Ann. We need to make sure all of the arrangements are set for your care after you leave here.”
Mark nodded his head with understanding. As Ann left with Doctor Robinson the nurse entered.
***

Once the door had closed behind them Doctor Robinson ushered Ann over to a side room across the hall. Sitting in one of the hard robin’s egg blue chairs, Ann placed her purse on top of the table next to an ash tray.  She cast a quick glance around the room. It was about the same size of her walk in closet, with a single picture hanging on the yellowing white walls. She thought of the plush inviting office in which she and Mark had first met Doctor Robinson. That office had projected hope and the possibility to do anything. This room-turned-office told her that all had been lost.
“Have you thought about our last conversation, Mrs. Masters?” Doctor Robinson began, taking a seat across from Ann.
Tears began to flow as Ann could no longer hold restrain them. “You’re sure that there is nothing more that can be done for him?”
“How old is Mark?”
“He will be fifty-five on Monday.” Ann replied
“Mrs. Masters, I can do whatever you ask me to do. Remember, I have shown you all of the charts. Mark is now five years past what was expected for a man like him, possibly ten years past one in his type of employment.”
“Because the government charts say he should have already died—we just say oh well? Just end his life? Just take my husband away? My children’s father away?”
“We are talking about quality of life, Mrs. Masters. Mark can’t even take himself to the restroom. Those are your words, not ours.” Doc replied. “The insurance will no longer cover your husband by law. You are, however, more than welcome to cover the expense yourself. The law permits that I or any other medical professional can render care to a patient beyond expectancy, provided that the patient can be taken care of without being a burden on the system.”
“Doctor, you know that I have already spent our retirement funds getting mark this far.” Ann replied her voice trailing off. She often wondered if there was an option to do it over again would she choose the same? The answer was yes if it gave her just one more moment with Mark. One more dinner in the family room, one more pointless argument over what movie to watch, or one more look at his face with that silly grin he made when he thought he had done something that would please her.
“Does Mark know that you have nothing to fall back on, Ann? Does he know your life expectancy is ninety-three but will be cut short now, when you are homeless?” He asked, not looking at Ann but focusing on the single piece of paper he lifted from Mark’s file. It checked it over and slid it across the table in front of her.
“I would never tell Mark that!” Ann replied in a harsh tone. The emptiness she was feeling inside began to grow. She was torn between doing the right thing for Mark and betraying all that she had ever loved.
“No, you wouldn’t would you? Mark would sign that paper in front of you before he let you have that type of an outlook for the future. Yet, here you sit, debating to let him go peacefully, or cause him to suffer needlessly.”
“That isn’t fair,” Ann replied.
“It is fair and it is accurate! “ Doctor Robinson replied, raising his voice beyond what might be considered professional and slamming his fist onto the table. “You want him to stay for you, not for himself. It is accurate and, quite frankly, it is selfish of you.”
Tears were steaming down Ann’s face as she reluctantly reached out and shifted the paper in front of her to sign it. “How is this done?” she asked. She tried to read over the document but in her emotional state the words looked like meaningless symbols bunched together without meaning.
“We will give Mark an injection that puts him to sleep first. Then we will give him another that will stop his heart.”
“Will Mark feel anything?” Ann asked.
“No, he will slowly fall asleep. You can be there, if you like. We find a lot of family members like to be there embracing their loved one during the transition. I think it helps with closure and I whole heartedly recommend it.”
“If I choose not to?”
“You are under no obligation legally, or socially, to be in the room, Ann.”
“I do not want to watch my husband be killed!”
“That is your choice and it is ok, Ann. Please stop by the cashier on your way out and pay for the procedure. We will not continue until I have received notice that payment has been made.”
Ann felt all of her muscles tense as she lifted the pen. She clutched it so hard that her fingers were turning pale from the lack of circulation. She scribbled her name on the line below the Doctor’s and two hospital witnesses. She placed the pen gently back on the table while her mind tried to come to terms with what she had just done. As Doctor Robinson stood and reached for the paper, Ann slapped his face and left the room.
The hall seemed colder and clinical to Ann as she stepped into the glow of florescent lights. How many passing by her had made the same decision that she was forced to make today? How many would make that choice in the upcoming months or would agonize, as she had, in the middle of the night watching their loved one sleep?
She wondered if Mark would ever forgive her for making the decision without him. Would she ever forgive herself? She was nearly to the cashier when the Doctor came up behind her and grabbed her arm. The pain from his grip brought Ann back to reality as he swung her around to face him.
“I am sorry I slapped you Doctor, honestly.” Ann apologized looking around to see the reactions from the others in the hall. Now more than ever Ann wanted, needed, to feel like she was a part of them instead of an outcast that had just signed her husband’s death warrant.
“No need to worry about that, Mrs. Masters. I am used to it. I wanted to remind you to also decide, and pay for, what you want us to do with the remains.”
“What do you mean decide?” Ann asked.
“We can have Mark cremated with others and buried in a common grave, or we can cremate him independently and return the ashes to you. It is your choice.”
Ann felt a lump grow in her throat and she fought the urge to vomit
She looked away from the doctor and saw Mark was being wheeled out of the examination room, to be taken to the procedure. He appeared lost. His tear wet eyes, appeared afraid and alone. His gaze pierced deep into her soul, crying out for her to come to his aid the way she had the past six months. At that moment Ann knew Mark understood what was happening. Maybe not in the few seconds before his gaze met hers, but the sorrow in her eyes had betrayed it and he knew now. He was calling out to her, silently with his pained, unwavering stare. Then the nurse turned the corner and he was gone…

Quality Copyright © 2016 A.L.White. All Rights Reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever, without written permission of the author.