Promises Made- Promises Kept

by Jaclyn Rosamond

  ‘Right, love. You should feel less pain.’ She came closer to my face. ‘My name’s Melanie, and I’m your night nurse. You’re in ITU for a few days. It’s been touch and go for the last thirty-six hours.’’

  My eyes went wide as she said this. I’d been out that long?

  ‘You’ve been in a bit of a bad way, I’m afraid, but the worst is over. Now, all you need to do is concentrate on getting better.’

  Desperate for details, I opened my mouth, but couldn’t raise a clear thought. The morphine took hold and I drifted away again.

  The next few days passed in a blur. My parents, pale and anxious, visited every day. The doctors told me I’d broken my right leg and right wrist, plus a vein in my left leg had been torn by a section of the dashboard twisting and tearing all the way up my thigh – that explained the blood transfusion. I’d needed three units of blood. That’s a lot of blood loss. My face had taken a beating from the airbag, saving me from a serious whiplash injury, but my chin, nose and lips were grazed and dozens of tiny abrasions around my lips and cheeks stung. My eyes had puffed up from the impact, ringed by huge black bruises, accompanied by dark bags under my eyes, my lips had swelled up like I’d over-indulged in collagen, but on the whole my face was mending more quickly than the rest of me.

  Of course, the police came for a statement when I was coherent enough to give one. I asked about the other drivers. For insurance reasons they couldn’t give me details, but neither driver had died, although the one I hit was fighting for her life. I wondered if either of the drivers were in the same hospital, or even if the woman I’d hit was also in the same ITU.

  The fire brigade had cut me from the wreckage of my car and that the door of the car I’d slammed into had been so damaged and the car so bent they’d used the Jaws of Life to cut her car apart before they could safely remove her from the debris. Later, a nurse found out through her own sources that both drivers were in another hospital.

  The man who’d hit me remained in a critical condition after being flung on the hood of his car. Both drivers faced negligent driving charges and, if the woman ever recovered, she faced loss of license for her part in the accident.

  Knowing no-one considered me at fault lifted a burden of guilt. The police couldn’t give out further information. Relief that neither driver lay only a few beds away from me helped me sleep.

  I had no energy to give more than a fleeting thought to the other drivers’ fate. My own injuries occupied my waking hours and the only time my face wasn’t in a permanent frown was when I slept. Sleep was sheer bliss. It kept me from thinking and it was pain-free. Enforced inactivity gave me plenty of time to think and was in no way beneficial.

  Eventually I began to absorb events outside my shrunken world. I asked my parents to phone the Travel Nursing Agency and explain that, yet again, I was cancelling my upcoming assignment. The agency people were very understanding, going as far as to send me a funny greeting card, with the sort of humor only a medical professional would appreciate. Andy and Brigid laughed.

  Despite cracked lips, I was able to smile and was grateful for the agency’s support, as well as their generous basket of out of season fruit. They assured me once I recovered, I could contact them at any time and renew my contract.

  That was too hard to even think about. I wasn’t even sure I’d ever be well enough again to stand on my feet all day. At least, not in the foreseeable future. It was strictly one unending day at a time. Sometimes it felt like one endless minute at a time.

  After five days in ITU I moved into a private room on a medical ward. Recovery began. Brigid popped in for a few minutes every day during a break. She was refreshingly honest about my injuries – something the doctors seemed to think should be hidden from me. For fuck’s sake, why? I’m a trained professional, I’d worked at this hospital for years. Some of the doctors knew me, but their determined obfuscation only worried me more, so as I say, Brigid was a breath of fresh air.

  Once out of ITU, Shona and Martin were my next visitors.

  ‘You look like a train wreck,’ Shona announced, sitting down with an unhappy thump.

  ‘Thanks. That makes me feel so much better. I thought maybe I looked like a plane wreck, but a train is so much better.’ I managed a feeble smile.

  ‘God, girl, you had us worried.’ She picked up my left hand and stroked it carefully. The drip had gone, leaving only darkening bruises on the back of my hand. ‘That looks painful.’ She touched the bruise, fingers gentle.

  ‘I suppose it is worse than a broken arm and leg,’ I agreed.

  She grinned at me. ‘Right. Trust you to deflect.’ She glanced at the door. I turned to see Martin hovering.

  ‘Come in, you big Aussie wuss.’ I arranged a small smile, trying to protect my healing lips from cracking again.

  They only stayed for twenty minutes, but that first visit exhausted me. I lay there that night, struggling to get to sleep. Eventually, I floated into a restless sleep, and my last conscious thought was to wonder if Mum had managed to get through to Cal and let him know what had happened.

  When she bustled in the next morning, I remembered to ask her.

  ‘Oh, yes, darling. I called and his girlfriend answered it. She said she’d pass on the message to him. She sounded very concerned and told me she’d written down all your injuries. She said there were too many to remember off the top of her head.’ Mum’s face crumpled in distress for a few seconds.

  ‘Don’t, Mum.’ I tried to lift my hand up to her, but it felt like a lead balloon.

  She took a moment to straighten her face, before turning to me with an anxious smile. ‘Is that Cal’s girlfriend? She said her name was Jade.’

  I nodded, unable to speak, a huge lump in my throat. I knew Jade would never pass on the message. I was no threat to her, none at all. I’d seen the livid, jagged scar on my leg gouged by the splintered dashboard. I had forty-three sutures in situ. All of them carefully tied to minimize the scarring, but they couldn’t minimize the ugliness. It would take a special kind of man to look past my scars. And now all the emotional crap.

  I swallowed the constriction in my throat, wondering why he remained silent for so long. Couldn’t he be bothered to find out why I hadn’t texted him?

  Mum chattered on. I heard nothing. I just lay there, quiescent. Until that moment I hadn’t known I’d clung to a tiny seedling of hope. Desolate and hopeless I said a final goodbye to Cal.

  With a girlfriend like that, a future wife, I’d be unlikely to hear from him again. Inside, I mourned his loss, while my soul shriveled to a shadow.

  I couldn’t picture my life ever being normal again.

  In the space of a year I’d lost my home, my husband, my garden, some friends, my growing friendship with Cal, even Bianca, my job and potentially my future work, my health and my self-confidence. I could see no way up, just the hard slog of regaining my health and fitness, with the possibility that I may never be as strong as I had been. I wallowed in waves of despair, an unyielding tide of hopelessness.

  It was my blackest moment. My darkest hour, and, like a flood releasing, tears fell fast and furious down my face. I had no energy to brush them away.

  Face anguished, Mum jumped to her feet, wrapping me in her arms, her tears mingling with mine. Burying my face in her shoulder, I cried great wracking sobs of loss and pain, wishing I’d died in the accident, then feeling all sorts of horrified guilt at how my family would have felt if I had.

  Half an hour later, exhausted and numb I drifted into a dreamless sleep, assisted by a hastily prescribed sedative. Mum stayed with me, holding my hand when I woke, drinking endless cups of disgusting hospital coffee, supplied by the kindness of the volunteers and nurses. When that horrible day finally came to a close, I lay in my bed, restless and sad.

  One day I was sure I’d feel better, possibly even normal again, but I couldn’t see that far ahead at the moment.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Another two weeks in hospital cra
wled by. Inactivity made me want to scream. Fatigue gave way, replaced with increasing energy I couldn’t use. My body’s aches and pains were no better. A long road to recovery lay ahead.

  I fixed my eyes on my unspoken goal – to reach the level of health I’d enjoyed in Chicago. I’d been at my fittest – and happiest – there, but my shattered wrist worried me. Full recovery remained an unknown. More surgery loomed.

  As for my emotional wellbeing, I had nothing positive to hold onto. I’d tried watching TV for hours each day. Television held no charms. That I knew the names of the characters in East Enders re-runs and The Bold and the Beautiful did me no favors. I couldn’t concentrate long enough to read more than a couple of paragraphs in any book or magazine, and, with only one useful arm, they ended up on the floor more often than not.

  Frustration, pain and a gnawing sense of hopelessness dogged me. I was essentially helpless, unable to use crutches, unable to propel a wheelchair for the same reason. After successive nights of wakefulness and failure to thrive, my specialist prescribed ongoing sleeping pills, which helped me sleep, but I felt even more of a failure. So much had gone so abysmally wrong in my life that my self-esteem sat handcuffed in a dungeon, with a notice over the door painted in blood ‘Abandon hope all ye who enter here’.

  I’m not a Catholic, not even remotely religious, but I felt I was being punished for sins I didn’t know I’d committed.

  I over-dramatised my life, painting the blackest picture and slid into deepening despair. I needed professional help. I rejected any thought of taking prescription antidepressants.

  Discharge from hospital to my parents’ house was the only option I had. I thanked whatever deity existed Mum and Dad were there to help with my recovery. They kitted out the downstairs guest bedroom and ensuite to suit my needs. I came home to a room full of flowers, magazines, books, a new TV – which I gave the evil eye – and a small fridge for drinks and chocolate.

  Mum wheeled me into my new quarters, pointing out all the new features.

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ I gave her a pale smile. ‘This looks cozy for the next few weeks.’

  My appetite had taken a back seat in hospital and I’d lost even more weight. My parents were worried. They’d discussed replacing the mirrored wardrobe doors with plain wooden doors, but decided I’d recover more quickly if I could see daily changes in my appearance.

  I hadn’t seen my face in a mirror for several days following the accident, but Shona, at my insistence, reluctant, but compliant, had taken a photo on her cell phone on her first visit. She printed it off and I had that to compare with how I looked now. Mum stuck it into the mirror frame as a daily reminder of my improvement and nipped off to make decent coffee.

  My face resembled a fright mask in the photo, although apparently a huge improvement on my appearance in the hours following the accident. Perhaps it was as well I hadn’t seen my face at that time. The skin on my chin and nose were still tight and pinker than usual as they healed, but that would normalize and there’d be no permanent scarring. My nose hadn’t been broken in the crash. I might have considered plastic surgery for that.

  My reflection gazed back at me. I looked shell-shocked. My eyes were huge and vulnerable, my skin so pale it was ghostlike, weight loss rendered me too skinny, my hair looked bedraggled, and the casts on my arm and leg reminded me how helpless I’d become. I needed to put on at least a stone in weight, except the idea of food made me nauseous. If my appetite didn’t return soon, I’d force myself to eat every mouthful on my plate.

  Wriggling forward, I pulled up my nightdress to look at the scar on my left leg. The sutures had been removed a few days ago. Over time, the angry red would fade to a pale pink silvery line.

  The cast on my other leg covered a healing compound fracture of fibula and tibia. I wouldn’t see the scar on this leg until the cast was cut off. It too would fade, but must be more serious. Coming to terms with permanent scars filled me with vague hopelessness.

  My right hand and arm were not as lucky. The impact of the airbag had flung my arms backwards off the steering wheel, snapping and fragmenting my right scaphoid and ulna at the wrist as my arm hit the side window. Bone fragments had been removed and the remaining bones scraped and smoothed to facilitate healing. A titanium plate and screws held together my wrist as the bones knitted and regrew. The plate should be removed at a later date and I’d need the help of a physical therapist to regain full movement and flexibility in my hand and arm.

  Mum came in with coffee as I examined my leg scar again.

  ‘Dad and I are happy to pay for plastic surgery for that, sweetheart.’ She threw an anxious look from my scar to my face.

  I thought about that for a moment. ‘Thanks, Mum. But the idea of unnecessary surgery doesn’t grab me. Anesthesia makes me groggy and unbalances my system. Unless I absolutely have to have surgery, I’ll let it go. It’s not pretty, but it will fade. I’ve seen worse and this really does seem a small thing to live with. I guess I’m lucky to be alive.’ I said this with a smile, and for the first time I meant it.

  Hand on heart, I no longer wished I’d died in the accident.

  Although, I still felt hollow inside, like I’d been scarified.

  In the distance the phone rang and Mum hurried off to take the call, while I sat sipping my drink, allowing my thoughts to drift hither and thither.

  The physical therapist’s home visits were scheduled to start next week. Once the casts come off, intensive therapy will be needed every day to rebuild wasted muscles.

  In all this time I hadn’t forgotten Cal. His deafening silence hurt like an unhealed wound. I’d said goodbye, but still smarted from no contact.

  Find out if he’d bothered, or leave it alone? Mum’s return decided me.

  ‘Mum,’ I said, when there was a lull in the conversation. ‘Did you ever hear back from Cal, you know, my friend in Australia?’

  Mum started, a guilty flush coloring her cheeks. My heart did a skip of apprehension.

  ‘Yes, we did. Oh, darling, I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. He called a few days ago, let me think.’ She sat remembering. ‘Yes, it would have been nearly midnight on Tuesday here and late Wednesday morning, Australia time. It’s now Friday. I’m afraid I was very rude to him.’

  ‘What?’ I said, dismayed. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, I felt he’d been extremely rude not to have called after I left the message with his uppity girlfriend. I was cross with him and said you’d nearly died, but were on the mend and had a long road to recovery ahead of you, and that perhaps he could be more considerate in future and call at a more convenient time.’

  ‘What did he say?’ I said, confused.

  ‘Well, I didn't give him a chance to say anything, dear, I just hung up.’

  ‘Mum!’

  Shit, what must he have thought? I stopped that protest in mid-thought. After all, he hadn’t called again, had he?

  ‘Oh, well, I’m sorry, Rose, but if he’s anything like his snippy girlfriend, I’d say it’s a friendship not worth pursuing.’

  She was clearly riled up, but I was puzzled.

  ‘I thought you said she was concerned about my injuries.’

  ‘Well, I thought so, too, but then she called me, to tell me not to bother Cal again. She said it wasn’t appropriate for him to have a female friend like you in his life.’

  ‘Oh. Wow.’ I didn't know what else to say. Jade had called and told my parents I had to back off. Anger simmered. How dare she?

  ‘What a bitch!’ The mirror reflected two bright splotches of anger slashed across my cheeks. ‘I bet she didn’t tell him about the accident.’

  ‘My thoughts, too.’

  ‘He didn’t call again?’

  She shook her head.

  I needed time to process this alone. I pleaded exhaustion. My brief burst of energy had propelled me into an ambulance to get me safely home, now it had evaporated. Mum helped me into a clean nightdress and together we worked out how to ease me into
bed.

  ‘Wake me for dinner, Mum. I’m totally knackered.’

  Alone, tears of sadness trickled unheeded into the pillow, soaking my hair. I felt a sense of loss so intense that I could hardly breathe. Cal had told me he wanted a soulmate again. I didn’t feel he’d chosen well.

  Not my business. All of us make fools of ourselves.

  After navel-gazing about Cal’s dubious choice for about an hour, I drifted into an emotional vacuum. A quick knock on the door and Mum walked in, switching on the wall lamps.

  Blinking in the sudden glare, I shaded my eyes. She looked flustered, until she saw my face.

  ‘Rose,’ she said in alarm. ‘Oh, darling, you’ve been crying. My poor darling.’ She enfolded me in an awkward cuddle, perching on the bed. ‘I know this is a bad time, but you have a visitor.’

  Horrified, I froze. ‘No.’

  ‘A very insistent one.’

  She glanced at the door and I looked up to see a shocked Cal, white as a sheet, standing in the doorway.

  My heart leapt. A jumble of emotions skittered through me. Mum scrutinized both of us and quietly left the room, patting Cal’s arm on the way out. I was so muddled I wanted her back, but I’d lost the power of speech.

  Cal was across the room in seconds, assessing how best to hug me.

  ‘Rose, what happened to you?’ He wrapped strong arms around me, pulling me into a careful embrace. ‘My God, I nearly had heart failure when your mother said you’d nearly died, and then hung up on me without an explanation.’

  I gave a small hiccup against his chest, hearing the thud of his heart in my ear. My body relaxed for the first time in weeks, months even. He was still my friend.

  ‘Sorry, Cal, sorry,’ I whispered.

  ‘Don’t be sorry, Rose.’ He rested his cheek on the top of my head. ‘I got on the first plane home, wondering all the way what your mum wouldn’t tell me.’

  I sniffed and took a few shaky breaths, unable to speak. He waited, stroking my lank hair, mumbling nonsense in his deep, rumbling voice. Soothed, I stayed where I was, content to let the reason for his presence unfold. I gave Jade the most fleeting of contemptuous thoughts. Despite her, he’d come to see me. I hoped she wasn’t lurking in the hall.