Alive Day

by Tom Sullivan

  “I understand, Dr. McCarthy. Would you like me to call you back?”

  “No, that’s not necessary, Jamee. Just be sure that everything’s all right with him, would you? Thanks a lot.”

  Brenden hung up just as Kat came into the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “I heard you talking to another woman.”

  Brenden could tell she was smiling.

  “Caught again,” he said. “Can’t a guy get away with having an affair in this day and age?”

  “Not you,” Kat teased. “You can’t get away with anything. So what was the call about?”

  “Oh, I’ve been worried about Antwone Carver. You remember, the Marine with major spinal cord injury and PTSD that I’ve been treating? I just haven’t been able to reach him, Kat, and, well, I’m worried.”

  “The little voice?” she said. “The one you’ve always trusted?”

  “The very same one that told me I should marry you, dear.”

  “Ah,” she said, putting her arms around him. “The best decision you ever made.”

  NURSE JAMEE EDWARDS WAS married to a career officer in the Navy, and the military had been part of her life for generations. Her father and brothers were all military, and she cared for every one of these guys with a passion built on love and respect.

  As always, she knocked on the closed door and waited for a response.

  Not unusual, she thought. It’s still pretty early.

  Following protocol, she opened the door and announced herself.

  “Good morning, Corporal Carver. It’s Jamee Edwards.”

  Entering the room, she saw Antwone lying on his back, his face peaceful in . . . Oh no! Before she could think “sleep,” she heard his shallow breathing and rushed to the side of the bed. Grabbing his limp wrist, she took his pulse—faint and rapid. Reaching across the bed, she pulled the alarm for code blue and then raced for the door. Within a few seconds, feet came pounding down the hall as professionals gathered, working to save the life of Marine Corporal Antwone Carver.

  chapter sixteen

  Brenden felt a queasy concern rising in his chest when the telephone rang just ten minutes after he had talked to the nurse about Antwone Carver.

  “Dr. McCarthy, it’s Jamee. We have a problem here. Corporal Carver . . .” She paused. “I believe Corporal Carver tried to commit suicide.”

  “Oh no!” Brenden said, not hiding his emotion. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can, Jamee. What are they doing to him now?”

  “They’ve stabilized him, and now they’re beginning to intu-bate him. We’re fortunate that he’s young and strong. The emergency team feels they can pull him through.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Brenden said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Brenden hung up and didn’t even bother to change into his work clothes. He picked up Nelson’s harness and leash and headed out the door, still in his workout gear, to take an earlier ferry.

  HIS MIND WAS CHURNING—aching with thoughts of personal failure. He had failed Antwone Carver. He had pushed too hard. He wasn’t prepared to take on the problems of a veteran. He expected these guys to be able to cope with their disabilities the way he had. He wasn’t empathetic enough. He hadn’t wanted to be involved in the first place. Why had he not followed his own instincts? And now his patient was lying in bed, alive but broken, because he had failed. The blind doctor had been too blind to see the effect his personal agenda had imposed on Corporal Antwone Carver. The bottom line—he was completely to blame, and he would have to live with that the rest of his life, both as a professional and as a man.

  Arriving at the hospital, he and Nelson went straight to the fifth floor. Brenden was relieved to hear that Carver was conscious, though groggy and heavily medicated. The nurse in the room told him that Carver was under suicide watch, which Brenden knew meant he had restraints on his arms and an IV drip pumping fluids into him.

  Brenden found a chair near the head of the man’s bed, tied Nelson’s leash to the chair leg, sat down, and waited. If Carver saw him, he chose not to acknowledge the doctor’s presence, so Brenden just sat quietly, waiting, prepared to stay there as long as it took for the Marine to speak to him.

  Clinically, Brenden understood that it was critical for him to find just the right beat—the right note of communication—when Carver first spoke. The man had to know that Brenden was in his corner and wasn’t in any way blaming him for trying to take his own life. Forging a bond of trust at a moment like this could go a long way, Brenden knew, toward giving the Marine back his life. And so he waited.

  Eventually Antwone spoke in a whisper, forcing even Brenden, so sensitive to sound, to put his head close to his mouth in order to hear.

  “Why didn’t you just let me die?” the man croaked. “Why didn’t you let me take the coward’s way out? That’s all I deserve.”

  Brenden took a deep breath. “We didn’t let you go, Antwone, because the people who love you think you have a lot to live for, and we know our lives are better off with you in them. That’s how I feel. And most importantly, I know that’s how your wife feels.”

  “You talked to Darla?” the man croaked. “You told her?”

  “Yes, I did, Antwone. I told her you had an incident.”

  “An incident?” the man said, his voice a little louder. “I tried to kill myself, man. That’s not an ‘incident.’”

  “I told her we would be able to stabilize you physically over the next couple of days.”

  “Is she coming up here?” Carver asked, angry.

  “No. Not now,” Brenden said. “I felt that had to be your decision, so I asked her to remain in San Diego. At least for now.”

  “Thanks,” Carver mumbled.

  “Listen, Antwone,” Brenden said, “when you got hurt in Iraq, even though you were—what’s that word you guys use?— shredded, you made it. And now it looks like you’re going to make it again. The point is, it doesn’t seem like it’s your time. I think you have a lot to do in this life, and I want to help you get on the path to doing all those things. After you’ve rested for a couple of days, let’s talk about it, okay?”

  No sound came from the man in the bed, so Brenden tried again.

  “Antwone, there’s something I want to tell you—if you’re up to listening to me.”

  “I got nowhere to go, man,” Carver said. “My legs don’t work, and I’m tied to the bed, so there’s nowhere to go.”

  Brenden turned to Jamee, the nurse he had spoken to after Carver first attempted suicide. “I need a few minutes alone with Corporal Carver. As his psychiatrist, I’ll take complete responsibility for being here alone with him, okay?”

  “I don’t know, Doctor. Given the current protocol, I don’t know if I’m allowed to—”

  “I said I’ll take complete responsibility. I just need a few minutes. Ten minutes, tops,” Brenden told her.

  “All right, Doctor,” she said, still hesitating. “I’ll be back in ten.”

  Brenden turned back to the man in the bed. “Antwone, do you remember I told you about how I went blind? About the fall I had on a mountain?”

  Brenden heard the pillowcase crinkle as the man nodded his head.

  “Well, when I woke up and found out I was blind, I figured that was the end of the line. I didn’t want to live anymore because there was nothing to live for. Back then I had a girl. Her name was Lindsey. And the truth was . . . Well, the truth was, she couldn’t handle my blindness. As far as she was concerned, my disability got in the way of her life plan, and so our relationship ended.”

  “See, man, that’s what I’m telling you,” Carver said.

  Brenden interrupted. “That will not be Darla, Antwone. She loves you. We’ll talk more about that in a while. But for now, let me tell you a little more of my story.

  “So I went home, and for a long time I just stayed in my room, feeling really sorry for myself. Eventually my mother talked me into going to rehab and then to the guide dog school, w
here I got Nelson.”

  “He’s a good dog,” Carver said, looking at Nelson lying on the floor next to his master. “He’s really a good dog. I never liked dogs, you know, but Nelson, he’s special.”

  “That’s right,” Brenden agreed. “He’s special because he loves me. There’s a lot to be said for love, Antwone. A lot to be understood about the power of love. It forges a loyal and unbreakable bond between two people—or between a man and his dog.”

  “So anyway, I went to the guide dog school and got Nelson, but when I got home, that’s when Lindsey—the girl I was in love with—that’s when Lindsey quit on the relationship. It was pretty tough when it happened. I went to her apartment and found her with another guy.”

  Carver whistled between his teeth. “That’s hard, man,” he said. “That’s really hard. So what did you do?”

  “Well, I went out and got loaded. I mean, really drunk. And then I wandered around with Nelson in the middle of the night, until I came to a street without any traffic—at least not at that moment. I walked right out into the middle and just sat down.”

  “You what?” Carver said. “You sat down in the middle of the street? Why?”

  “What do you think?” Brenden asked.

  “Really?” Carver said. “You too? You wanted to end it?”

  “I wanted a car to come around the corner and do it for me,” Brenden said. “Life had no meaning. I had no meaning. I just wanted it over with.”

  “What happened? How come you’re still here?”

  “Because of Nelson,” Brenden responded. “He wouldn’t let me stay there in the street. He kept pulling on my arm, trying to pull me to the sidewalk. Eventually he got so aggressive that he bit through my clothes and made my arm bleed. Then he laid down beside me. I tried to command him to leave, I pushed him away, but he wouldn’t budge. I got the message. Nelson wasn’t about to let me die. He loved me too much to let me go. He would die with me before he’d leave me. His willingness to sacrifice for me changed my attitude.”

  And now Brenden took a real chance.

  “Antwone,” he said, “that’s the way Darla is thinking. She loves you. She can’t let you go. If you end it, you end life for her. Oh, sure, she’ll keep living, but she’ll never be the same person, I promise you. She’ll never be the same, and I know you would never do anything to hurt your wife. You’re too good for that.”

  Brenden could hear the Marine crying.

  “I mean it, Antwone. I know you’re too fine a person and love Darla too much to do anything that would hurt her.”

  “What are you, crazy, man?” Carver said, still crying. “She’s my life. Darla’s my heart. Darla’s everything.”

  “I know that, Antwone,” Brenden said. “I know that. And so we have to work together to make sure that Darla never, ever gets hurt—and to make sure that you two can have a life together.”

  In a small voice, the Marine said, “You really think that Darla and I can have a life, Dr. McCarthy?”

  “Yes, I do,” Brenden said. “I believe you and Darla can have love and life, a satisfying marriage, and maybe even children. I think all of that is possible, but we have to begin putting the pieces back together. So you just rest for a couple of days, and then we’ll take a fresh look at it, okay?”

  “Okay,” the Marine said shakily. “Okay.”

  As Brenden moved toward the door, guided by Nelson, Carver stopped him.

  “Hey, Dr. McCarthy?”

  Brenden turned. “Yes, Antwone?”

  “Doc, remember I told you in the Corps, we have a thing called an ‘Alive Day’?”

  “Alive Day,” Brenden said. “Yes, I remember.”

  Carver went on, “Well, it’s when you’ve been hurt—you know, in combat—but you’ve made it; it’s the day you know that you’re alive. Here’s the thing, Doc. Maybe I’ve had two Alive Days: one over there and one today. Maybe I have to think about doing something with that kind of luck. You know what I mean?”

  Brenden nodded, turned, and left the Marine alone to think about it.

  chapter seventeen

  Over the next three days, Brenden wondered what state of mind he would encounter when he and Antwone Carver had their next session. He was encouraged to hear from the on-duty nurses that Carver was taking his meds, and this time he wasn’t trying to hide the pills.

  That’s a positive, Brenden thought. But medications were only part of a life picture. Would Carver be able to navigate the complications of his disability? Would he be able to accept a renewed relationship with his wife? Could he ever get over the self-pity and self-loathing that were such a struggle for many disabled people?

  As Brenden waited with Nelson for the Marine to roll into the office, he found his own anxiety level was surprisingly high. So he sat in his office chair, working to slow his breathing and gather his thoughts for the session.

  This would be a day, he felt, that he would be leading Carver. He knew about the pitfalls of disability. He knew about many of the options for newly injured vets, and more importantly, he knew how critical it was to turn desolation and isolation into engagement and participation with the world at large.

  Nelson heard Carver’s arrival outside the door before Brenden did, and as the man wheeled in, the big dog was right there to greet him. There was no hesitation on Carver’s part to share affection with the big animal. Brenden filed that fact away under the category “hopeful.”

  “How are you, Antwone?” Brenden asked. “Are you feeling better?”

  “I guess so,” the man said, embarrassed. “Yeah, I’m feeling better. I’m taking my meds now.”

  “Yes, the nurses told me,” Brenden said, not wanting to give the impression that he was checking up on the Marine.

  “I don’t really know what good a bunch of pills will do,” Carver said.

  “Remember what I told you the other day? It’s one step at a time. You know, getting to the top of the mountain and then looking down on the world below and thinking, Wow, I really made this climb! Antwone, today I want to talk to you about possibilities, things you can look forward to when you get out of this place.”

  Carver sounded that one-note laugh of disgust that Brenden had heard before.

  “Yeah,” he said, “and I’ve got a bridge you can buy cheap.”

  Brenden chose not to acknowledge the shot.

  “I want to talk about what the law provides, what your service to your country guarantees, and what you can expect out there when you deal with the public.”

  “Oh, you mean when they pity me or think I’m a freak?”

  “I don’t think that’s being fair to people, Antwone,” Brenden said. “A lot of us think you’re a hero.”

  “But you still pity me, right?”

  “No. That’s not how I feel about you,” Brenden told him.

  “Well, you’re a freak too,” Carver said. “It sucks, man. I mean, I avoided the gangs in the hood, and now I’m in a big gang, a gang of losers.”

  “There’s power in that,” Brenden suggested. “A lot more power than you might expect. Have you ever heard of the Americans with Disabilities Act?”

  “Why would I know about that?” Carver asked.

  “The Americans with Disabilities Act,” Brenden explained, “provides all kinds of support for those of us with disabilities. It guarantees that we cannot be discriminated against because of our disability when it comes to jobs or housing. Along with the ADA, there’s something called the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act, which provides every child and adult coping with disability the chance to gain an equal and appropriate education under the law. This all connects to your rights as a GI. Remember, as a Marine, the GI bill is still in place, so you can pursue any field of interest and have it funded, Antwone. That’s a lot better than most people have.”

  “You know, Doc,” Carver said, “you don’t know much about anything. I’m still black, and now I’m disabled. That’s two strikes, and then there’s sex. Looks to me li
ke that’s strike three. I’m out.”

  “Wait a minute,” Brenden said, turning his face directly toward the Marine. “There are too many people in the world using their labels as an excuse to feel sorry for themselves. You’re black. I’m blind. He’s gay. She’s divorced. We could go on and on, applying our stereotypes to get out of taking responsibility for our actions. Here’s the real secret, Antwone. When we apply a label that limits us, the only person who pays the price is us. If you live life on the sidelines and refuse to play the game, the only loser is you.”

  “Thanks for the halftime speech, Coach,” Carver said, “but you’re not black, and you’re not in this chair.”

  “And you’re not blind,” Brenden told him. “I’m not trying to tell you I understand all of the things you’re feeling, but I do know it’s important to not allow your disability to dominate your potential to find your ability. There’s a whole lot you can do, Antwone. A whole lot of things you can be. But it’s all on you.”

  “That’s right,” the Marine said, getting angry. “That’s right. It’s all up to me.”

  “Antwone, there’s another part of the secret I want you to learn,” Brenden said. “I believe that you can turn being black and being in a wheelchair and coming from a rough background from disadvantages to advantages. I told you about some of the laws surrounding disability, and you know about stuff like affirmative action and racial profiling. The point is, anything we view as a negative can be turned into a positive if you want it enough.

  “Take my blindness, for example. I mean, being blind has some amazing advantages. I’ll tell you something. I’ve never met an ugly person, unless they wanted to be. And I’ve enjoyed a world of senses—smell and touch and taste and sound—that most people never take the time to appreciate. I was telling my kids about that just the other day.

  “I know my wife, Kat, is a beautiful woman, but that’s not why I love her. I love her because she’s beautiful inside. And my children, I think they’ve benefited because I’m blind. I’m looking forward to you meeting them because they’re really sensitive kids, and they don’t have any built-in prejudices when it comes to getting to know someone.”