“That’s it, wake up, Connie. Open your eyes. Look at me,” the nurse commands.
This time I’m able to open my eyes at her command, but the brightness in the room glares, making my eyes hurt, my head aches with throbbing pulses. I close my eyes again. “Where am I?” I manage to ask, my voice a croaking bullfrog. My throat is dry. The nurse must know it because I feel a straw tickle my lips.
“Here sip,” she says. Cool water bathes my mouth and throat.
Then I remember Jared. “Where’s Jared?” I ask. He was driving. I remember now. I remember the car swerving to avoid hitting a bicyclist in the road. Then the loud crunch of metal and breaking glass, screams, and people rushing to help. What did we hit?
“He’s in ICU,” the nurse tells me. “Is he your boyfriend?”
I think about that for a long time. I don’t know, I think, but I don’t say it out loud. I take so long thinking that the nurse thinks I’ve fallen back to sleep. I let her think so because I’m too tired to talk and I don’t know what to say.
It feels like months that I drift in and out of painful sleep, letting the nurses and doctors take care of me, letting sleep overtake me like fog rolling in from the sea, relieving me of pain, of worry, of every unhappy memory, though in fact, it’s only days until I feel alive again. Then, amazingly, the pain is gone, all of it; the twisted, psychological pain born of hatred for Alex and Sandy, as well as the burning, aching, physical pain from the accident. Even the deep felt grief from the loss of my dream babies has vanished.
It’s such a weird sensation, this absence of pain, that I don’t quite trust it. I sit up in my hospital bed and test it out. I breathe deeply, wiggle my fingers and toes, and shrug my shoulders. Nothing hurts inside or out, this total absence of pain giving me a new lease on life, a second chance to live, to feel happy again.
I’ve been dreaming about my parents. “Get up! Get going!” my mother said to me as plain as day, the dream seeming so real. Silly, but it comforted me. “I’ll paddle your butt!” Daddy said, but I heard laughter in his voice.
My parents died together in a car crash three years ago. It nearly devastated my sister Serena and I. We were both blindsided with rock bottom, searing grief that threatened to never end, their accident so horrific. It was incomprehensible that Serena and I became orphans in that one instant in time. Adult orphans, though I remember feeling like a child needing my parents so. In the end we lived through it, recovered, and moved on.
Suddenly I miss my sister terribly. I desperately need to talk to her, to tell her where I am, how I got here, how deeply alive I suddenly feel. I vow to call her, and glance around looking for my cell phone, wondering if it survived the crash with me, but before I can find it, the nurse, Regina, comes into my room, interrupting my thoughts.
“How’s Jared?” I blurt, momentarily forgetting about my phone, because he is forever on my mind, the kind nerd who befriended me when I felt so lonely and lost. It seems an eternity ago, though really, only days.
“His injuries are much worse than yours,” she says. Her voice emanates sadness. I can see she is truly a caring person, and a very good nurse, which helps me to believe that Jared is also in good hands. Soon I’ll be able to see for myself. I like Regina and trust her compassion. Maybe we can become friends. I think I’d like to have a friend who truly cares like Regina does.
“You’re almost ready for discharge. Dr. Matthews will be here soon. I think he plans to let you go home in a couple days,” she continues.
Home. I think about what that means. Right now home is in a small apartment in San Jose, far away from anyplace I’ve ever known. I try it on in my head, visualizing the white walls and cold rental furniture. At first the concept of home seems lost, but then I imagine scattering colorful belongings around the rooms. I imagine buying colorful wall hangings like I saw at the art festival. I think about putting a chair out on my deck overlooking the grounds around my apartment, maybe some flowerpots on the deck. In my imagination, I see myself sipping coffee in my new chair, relaxing with a Kindle book. Yes, I think home may possible here.
Before she leaves, Regina finds my pocketbook in the small closet and hands it to me. My cell phone is in the compartment where it’s supposed to be. I had turned it off to avoid calls from my sister, so it’s remained fully charged. I click it on and see that Serena has left eleven messages. Rather than listen through them, I push auto-dial and in seconds I hear her voice.
“Serena, it’s me,” I say, and my sister breathes such a sigh of relief that I have to pull the phone away from my ear.
“Connie, where are you? I’ve been a worried wreck. Don’t hang up on me, I promise not to say another word about Alex. I only care about you.” Serena is rambling so much I can hardly get a word in edgewise to reassure her that I’m not mad anymore. Oddly, I’m not.
Finally I get my turn to talk. “I’m in San Jose, California. Well, actually, at this moment I’m in Mountain View, but I’ll be home to my apartment in a couple days. I’m in the hospital.”
“You already have a job?” Serena asks.
“Well, no, not exactly. I’m a patient. I was in a car wreck,” I say, squinting my eyes and holding my breath. I know my sweet, older sister is going to have a cow. Instead the phone becomes deadly silent. “Serena, are you there?” I ask.
“What happened?” she asks in the tiniest voice. “I knew something terrible had happened, worse than the breakup with Alex. Tell me.”
My sister has never been one to listen, but I can tell she wants to listen now. “It’s a long story,” I begin, and then an hour later, after telling my tale, my listening sister has become my new best friend.
“Honestly, Serena, I feel a new person today. I have a new lease on life. It’s like life has given me a second chance to be happy. Somehow, surviving this accident has erased all the petty little unimportant worries from my consciousness. I couldn’t care less about Alex or Sandy now. Even my dream babies are gone, may they rest in peace. They were never real, just my heartfelt wishes.” I brace myself for at least a little twinge of grief for my babies. Oddly, it doesn’t come.
“What about now, though? With this new guy, Jared? Is he your boyfriend now, or what? Is he why you feel so good?”
“Honestly, I really don’t even know him. He’s pretty messed up in ICU. I haven’t even been able to see him yet. I don’t know anything about him, if he has family or anything. I just know he was nice to me and didn’t take advantage of me when I was half crazy. He easily could have, you know. He’s decent, and I like that about him. Oops, here comes my doctor, I’ll call you back tomorrow,” I say.
“I’m coming to San Jose. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll take care of you,” she says before hanging up.
Dr. Mark Matthews examines me. “You’re almost good to go. We’ll keep you another couple days to make sure.” Then, before he exits my room, he turns to me and says, “I understand you’re a nurse and new to the area. I have an opening for an office nurse in Neurology. Call my office next week if you think you might be interested.”
“Thank you, but I’ve always worked in Pediatrics,” I tell him.
“No matter, we can train you if you’re interested.”
I can hardly believe my good fortune. A job offer already. It sets me to thinking. I thank him and let my mind roam to new possibilities.
Chapter Five
“Oh good, you’re awake,” Regina says. “I brought you the information you asked about. I have the job application from personnel and the list of openings. Sara Ianovich, the nurse recruiter, says she’ll come up to talk with you later this morning.” She drops the manila envelope onto my bedside table along with a full bag of IV fluids. She listens to my lungs, adjusts my oxygen flow rate, glances at the needle in my wrist, and then in one fluid movement reaches up and changes the near empty bag with the full one. She works smoothly and efficiently while talking to me.
Once I learned how short staffed the nurses are here at
Pacific West Hospital, I knew I wanted to work here. As much as I appreciate Dr. Matthew’s offer of an office job, acute care is really my first love. Changing from pediatric care to adult care appeals to me, though. I’m pretty sure I can get hired here. Regina’s helping me.
An hour later, I’m playing job scenarios over in my mind when Sara Ianovich, the nurse recruiter, comes to my bedside. She’s a tall, smartly dressed woman, attractive with short dark curls interspersed with gray. She pulls up a chair and conducts an employee interview right at my bedside. Talk about a go-getter, now that’s efficient. Her voice is focused and strong.
They must be really short staffed because I’ve never had an interview like this before, but Pacific West Hospital is one of the places I had emailed my resume to last Saturday morning from Starbucks. I’d forgotten.
“I’ve already called New Haven General Hospital for your references, they’re perfect.” She hands me several papers, the first outlining the union wages paid to nurses at Pacific West. My eyes bulge to see those numbers, so much more lucrative to work here than New Haven General! The next paper is one I’ve already seen, from Regina, the departments that have immediate openings for staff nurses. “Take your pick,” Mrs. Ianovich says.
I’ll be medically cleared to return to work in two weeks. I feel my heart beat pick up. The thrill of returning to work pulses through me. I’ve missed working. I crave the thrill of being in control again. I can almost feel the anticipation of my hands racing to perform a task, the sense of pride from doing it well. I smile and feel my eyes light up.
“I know you’re used to working Pediatrics, and we have openings there, but if you’ve ever thought about changing your specialty, here’s an opportunity. We have openings on almost every floor.”
My head is bobbing up and down like a ball on a spring. I desperately want to change specialties. I want to give up taking care of sick kids and work with adults instead. I don’t know where this new resolve has come from, but it feels right. Maybe it comes from releasing my dream babies into the vaporized mist.
I hear myself speak. “Yes, I think I’d like to work here on Medical-Five.”
“Welcome aboard,” she says. “I’ll put you on the schedule for three weeks out. That should give you time to fully recover and adjust to the new changes in your life. You’ll start with four weeks of orientation working with Regina here then. Call me anytime between now and then if you have any questions about anything,” she says, concluding my interview.
I feel so happy, rejuvenated, and alive for the first time in weeks. I have a job, a change of specialty, and I’ll be working with Regina during my orientation, a chance to make a new friend. My sister is coming to visit me, too. She’s planning to be here tomorrow morning with my car to take me home. I can hardly wait to see her and tell her my news.
Regina comes in as soon as Sara Ianovich walks out. She offers me a pain pill, which I almost refuse until I remember how much I like feeling pain free. I wonder if this good medication is behind my sudden elation. Whatever. I swallow my pill, thankful for any form of help life throws my way. I tell her that I’ll be working with her on Medical-Five in three weeks. She squeals her happiness and gives me a “thumbs up.” I love the feeling of girlfriend camaraderie.
“I’d like to go to ICU to see Jared,” I tell Regina the next time she comes into my room.
“Let me check with his nurse to see if he can have visitors. He might already be at his limit. They only allow two at a time and only for five minutes every hour,” she says. She exits my room and leaves me wondering more about Jared, who his visitors might be, what kind of family and friends he has living nearby. I hardly know him, but I miss him terribly, and worry about his condition. I really need to see him.
Regina comes back into my room minutes later pushing an empty wheelchair in front of her. “I can take you to see Jared now. So far he hasn’t had any visitors at all. His nurse said that, like with you, there was no emergency number to call. Maybe you can give them some information about his relatives. So far, he hasn’t regained consciousness.”
“Not at all?” My heart races at the thought that Jared hasn’t awakened yet. And that he’s totally alone. The reality of how seriously injured he is suddenly penetrates the gray matter of my brain. I think of my parents again, how my mother died instantly, but my father lingered painfully for hours after the fatal impact. My God, I don’t want Jared to die!
My heart is still crying for him when Regina pushes me in my wheelchair off the elevator and down the long hallway where she activates the button to open the automatic doors leading to the Intensive Care Unit. Here patients lie in goldfish bowls tethered to humming machines under the watchful eyes of specially trained caregivers. At first I don’t recognize him. Then Regina pushes my wheelchair in front of the small, still body of a man, his head wrapped in white bandages, with machines all around, medical machines that even I don’t know the names of.
The tall, broad shouldered, green eyed, and brown haired man who used to be Jared is gone. Instead I look into a humming bed that holds a small, broken person, eyes closed, head shaved where bandages don’t cover. A machine breathes for him, regulating the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest. Plastic IV bags hang from poles with tubes dangling from pumps bringing fluids and medicines into his veins. A sheet covers his body, but I see that one leg is encased in a cast and elevated on special pillows. I can’t take it all in, it’s all too much.
Jared’s nurse is a tiny Asian woman named Jenny who looks very young to me. Her eyes are expressive and kind. Her hands adjust the knobs on the ventilator with such familiarity that I know Jared is being well taken care of. She speaks to me with precise English and just the slightest bit of an accent, very articulate and professional, as she tells me about Jared. I try to understand everything she says, but even as a nurse, a lot escapes me. I catch the drift that he had bleeding and swelling into his brain and a shunt had to be surgically placed to reduce the pressure. Dr. Mark Matthews, the Neurologist, is his primary doctor, and he’s listed Jared’s condition as grave. My mind flits to a cemetery and I picture Jared’s gravestone. Tears spring to my eyes and Regina pats my shoulder.
“Can you tell me the name of his next of kin?” Jenny asks.
I shake my head. “I only just met him,” I confess. “We were on our first date.” I feel ashamed that I can’t help Jared during his time of need. After all, he reached out and helped me with my loneliness when he saw my pain. My heart is breaking and tears cascade down my cheeks as Regina pushes my wheelchair back to my hospital room.
When I get to my bed, Regina watches me pivot from my wheelchair and then she adjusts my bed for comfort.
“I wish I could say something encouraging to soothe you, but I only know as much as you do. I have to give report now. It’s change of shift, but I’ll come see you after I clock out,” she says, and I feel the budding comfort of new friendship developing. Then I notice an irregular envelope on my bedside table. It hadn’t been there before.
I open the clasp and see that it’s from the police department. It contains a copy of the accident report and the business card of an officer asking me to call him. I hear jingling inside the envelope. Gentle shaking and keys fall into my lap. Jared’s keys. The policeman has made a mistake. Jared’s name and home address are on the tag. I count five keys, which include his car keys for sure, but one looks like a house key. I clutch the keys to my heart. I think I’ve found a way to help Jared. At least I can get into his house, maybe find an address book and notify the important people in his life. Tomorrow, after Serena comes to take me home.
Chapter Six
Tick-tock, tick-tock. This time it’s the wall clock in my hospital room that demands my attention. I’m so ready for discharge. Like a good girl, I’ve eaten my whole serving of bland hospital oatmeal, the half banana on my tray, and wolfed down the watery reconstituted orange juice. Regina has removed my IV and gone over my discharge instructions. Where is Serena?
Could she have gotten lost on her way to pick me up?
I’m so ready to go, except I can’t get dressed until she brings me some clothes. I’ve had enough of this drafty, backless patient gown that leaves my butt uncovered. I glance over at the bag marked patient belongings on the side chair. I don’t remember coming to ER, the wailing ambulance or anything about them cutting off my clothes so they could examine me, but my ruined outfit is neatly folded inside that white bag. It gives me a hollow feeling to know I could have died. Jared still might.
I think about the accident and my phone conversation with the policeman yesterday afternoon. He wanted me to validate the bicycle rider’s account but I couldn’t. It all happened so fast. I don’t remember anything, just seeing the flash of silver handlebar, feeling the forceful thrust, and then hearing a cacophony of noises. When Jared swerved to avoid hitting the bicyclist, the report says the car crashed into a telephone pole, then flipped over hitting a metal gate on the side of the road.
When You're Expecting Something Else Page 3
