by Renee Dyer
“What?”
“I asked you how often I let our son watch TV. Not very. Had you have thought about that, you may have realized I wasn’t feeling well.”
Not feeling well. Christ, she’s been to the doctor and he has her on medicine. She needs to just deal with it already.
“What’s wrong now?” I ask impatiently.
“I have a headache,” she says, her voice still barely above a whisper. UGH! These fucking headaches! Enough already. For months, all I’ve heard about is her headaches. Can we get through one damn day where I don’t have to hear about it?
“You always have a headache,” I yell.
“Nick,” she gasps, “you know I have no control over them. I wish I did. I would never choose to live like this.”
I want to feel bad, but I had a shit day at work, and the neurologist said the medicine would make her feel better. I don’t know if the medicine isn’t working or if she’s overthinking her newfound condition, but either way, I’m starving and just want to eat dinner.
“Whatever, I’m going to make dinner.”
“I ordered pizza. It’ll be here in a few minutes.”
I head for the kitchen, wanting a beer to help me calm down. I get Brady a sippy cup of juice and set him free. His little feet pat across the floor, bringing a smile to my face. That is, until my eyes work their way to Brenna. She’s looking at me and I can see she’s trying not to cry.
“I’m sorry about the headaches. I’ll try not to complain about them so much.”
I can’t believe I was such an asshole to her. It didn’t matter what kind of day I had. My Brenna’s brain was working against her and I was pissed at her for having a headache. Now, I can’t get to her fast enough.
My twelve minute drive feels like it takes hours, but when I pull into my driveway, I suddenly wish I was anywhere but here. I’m scared to go inside and face my wife. I know she needs me, but how do I look her in the eyes and tell her everything will be alright when I’m afraid it won’t? How do I comfort her when I feel like I’m falling apart?
I’m not me without Brenna.
Staring at my house, I try to envision where she is inside; if she’s crying or planning what to do next. I can picture her doing that. Brenna is a planner. She needs things to fit in their place and know everyone and everything is taken care of. She makes it look so easy, but I know it’s not. When she’s not around, I can never complete all the tasks she does. I try, but fail epically.
Thinking of how she must be torturing herself with the details has me sucking in a deep breath. I swallow my fear and open the car door. Stepping back into the cold air is the jolt I need to propel me from zombie crawl to track star sprinter. I race into the house and close the frigidness behind me, wishing I could trap my fear out there, too.
I quickly kick off my shoes and drop my coat on the floor. Silence hangs heavy in the air and I stand paralyzed for a minute, debating what the best course of action is. Do I walk in and ask her to tell me everything? Maybe just pull her into my arms and let her tell me at her own pace? Shit, this is so much harder than I’d imagined when I left work.
I stand in place, hoping she’ll call for me, but her words don’t come. Knowing the longer I stay away, the bigger an asshole I become, I finally force myself to move. My legs feel like they’re weighed down with cement. Every step is harder than the one before and I start to wonder if I am strong enough to face her.
Do I really have a choice?
I promised her forever, and I meant it. There have never been conditions on my love and I don’t plan to put any in place today.
Squaring my shoulders, I take the last two steps into my living room and find Brenna on the couch. She’s curled in on herself, knees pulled all the way to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. Her head is resting on the cushion and if not for seeing her blink, I would have thought she was sleeping. She looks so tiny.
“Bren?”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t acknowledge me. I kneel in front of her and realize it was a mistake. Her normally smiling, hazel eyes are blank, and it crushes me. Physically, my wife is in front of me, but she’s not really here. She’s lost somewhere inside her mind.
“Babe, talk to me. Please.” My voice trembles and I work to keep the tears at bay.
Aside from her occasional blinking, she remains motionless.
“Come on, Brenna. You’re scaring me,” I say as I reach out and shake her side.
Slowly, she tilts her head, looks at me, and a single tear falls. I watch it drop from her eye, trace a path along her cheek, and pool on the fabric below. I’m not sure why I’m so entranced, but when I glance back at her, she’s staring at me—still lifeless.
“I’m so sorry, Nick.”
She doesn’t have to say anything else. I pull her into my arms and hold her close, letting her cry until there’s nothing left.
Chapter Three
Brenna
I know I should be paying attention to what’s happening in the room around me, but I can’t seem to focus. Poor Dr. Wendell. I don’t think he knew what he was getting into when he agreed to meet with all of us. I tried warning him my mom and mother-in-law would have a lot of questions. I guess I should have been more specific. He blocked off an hour for us. I should have known that wouldn’t have been enough time. We’ve been in here for almost two, and my mom was still reading from her notebook, spitting questions rapid fire. I give Dr. Wendell mad props. He has answered every inquiry with unwavering patience and compassion.
Nick and I have sat back and allowed our mothers to run the questioning show. I think we’re still in shock. In four days, I’ll be having surgery. We’ve made sure everything is set at home, but we haven’t really talked about it. We’re doing everything we can to skirt around our feelings.
I know Nick is hurting. I’ve heard him crying in bed when he thinks I’m asleep. I’ve wanted to roll over and comfort him, but it would have only made things worse. Nick doesn’t believe men should cry. I don’t know why. Maybe he thinks it makes him look weak. Maybe it’s a gender thing. I’ve never been able to get him to tell me how he came to this belief, but as I listened to him try to muffle his sobs, my heart shattered for the strong man lying behind me, broken.
As they all talk about my brain, I’m thinking about how hurt Nick is. I’m thinking about how we should be trying for a baby. That was the plan. We always said we wanted another child when Brady turned two. He’s eighteen months now and there’s no chance of me getting pregnant anytime soon.
Hell, I don’t know if another child is ever going to be in the cards for us.
How can my brain hanging out of my skull by less than ten millimeters cause this much distress? I mean, it’s barely over nine millimeters. Those things are tiny. Yet, this small piece of me has thrown my entire world off axis.
“You’re sure there’s no choice but for my daughter to have surgery?”
I hear my mom ask the question, but I block out the answer. She’s asked Dr. Wendell this at least five times already, and he’s calmly explained why surgery is necessary each time. Mom knows my symptoms are getting worse by the day, but I can see she’s praying someone will say her baby doesn’t have to go through this.
Her fear becomes more evident the longer we’re here. She’s been wringing a tissue in her hand, her body at full alert. Every small noise causes her to jump, and her overly rounded eyes can’t seem to fully close when she blinks.
I wish I could take this away for her.
My mother-in-law, Janice, sits ram-rod straight, meticulously taking notes. I know it’s because she’s worried and needs to keep busy. She ran out of questions and the truth of what’s happening is becoming too much for her.
If I could make myself feel today, I would walk across the room and hold her hand, but I need the numbness to survive. I need to block out the reality of what’s going to happen to me, or I may never make it through.
“What happens if her symptoms skyrocket before Tuesday?”
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” I ask with a smile on my face, though I want to be anywhere but here. Nick and I agreed I would only work part-time until Brady is in school, but working at a home improvement store is not where I saw myself.
The customer smiles and gives me the typical answer. I start to ring in the overloaded cart, all the while making small talk with the gentleman who thinks I care about the new mud room he’s building. I don’t know how I always get the talkers. Nick says it’s because I’m hot, and I laugh at him whenever he says that.
“The trick to framing is using two by sixes,” he says, trying to impress me. “You want your frame to be nice and stu…”
His words fade in my mind as panic starts to overwhelm me. Something is wrong with my eyes. My focus shifts and in one second, everything goes from clear to nonexistent.
“I c-can’t see,” I blurt out.
That’s not accurate. My world hasn’t gone black, just blurry. There are bright lights everywhere, but I can’t make out any images. No longer is the gentleman with the long, in-need-of-a-washing hair, standing there. His cart of building supplies doesn’t register in my vision. I reach out, feeling my cash register, but it doesn’t break through the lights that have taken over. Panicked, I thrash my arms, hearing things falling to the floor.
“I can’t see! I can’t see!” I shout, tears rolling down my face.
Someone’s hands grab my arms and I freak, trying to rip free from their grasp.
“Let me go!” I scream, flailing wildly, my head swinging side to side, trying to make sense of what’s happening.
“Brenna, it’s Caroline.”
“Caroline?” I squeak.
“Yes. I need you to calm down and tell me what’s going on. I’m going to help you back to the break room. Can you walk?” Her voice is soothing.
I nod my head.
“Felicia, take over here please.”
Caroline gives my arm a slight tug and I follow her verbal and physical cues until we reach the break room, where she then helps me to sit.
“Just breathe, Brenna,” she says. “Can you tell me what’s happening?”
I tell her what’s going on the best I can, but how do you explain the sudden loss of your vision? I want to scream, but remain sitting quietly. She keeps a hand on mine while I slowly work through my thoughts. Over the course of our conversation, the lights start to dim and a gray film replaces the brightness. Her face begins to form in front of me.
“I can see you,” I sigh. “Kind of.”
I place my head on the table and let my tears pour freely. Her hand rubs gently over mine.
“I’m sorry for what you’re going through, Brenna.”
The episode lasted about twenty minutes, but it seemed so much longer. Caroline wasn’t comfortable keeping me at work, and I can’t blame her. I’m a walking time bomb. She wanted to call Nick to come get me, but Brady was sleeping and he’d be a bear if woken up. I don’t know how I convinced her I was alright or kept her from calling an ambulance, but whatever I said, she believed I was feeling better. She even let me leave on my own.
It was a lie. I was shaking, in no condition to drive home, but with Nick already a mess about my upcoming surgery, I didn’t want to tell him right now. Waiting until I got home to talk to him seemed like the best option…and I hoped I’d luck out and he’d be asleep.
Who knew ten minutes could be such hell?
“Brenna, do you have any questions for me?”
I look into Dr. Wendell’s smiling face and I want to say, “Yeah, Doc. Why the fuck is this happening to me? What the hell did I ever do wrong to deserve this?” Instead, I say, “No. I think you covered everything.”
He makes his way around the room as I think how that wasn’t the only night last week I had symptoms at work that freaked myself or my co-workers out. I’m surprised I still have a job.
Dr. Wendell walks our curious group to the waiting room and assures me he’ll take good care of me. I smile and tell him I’ll see him Tuesday. What a stupid thing to say. Why am I treating surgery like I’m meeting a friend for lunch?
Walking through the waiting room, another spell hits. It’s not a room spinning dizziness. It’s more like a head rush, like when you stand up too fast. Problem is, it happens to me no matter what I’m doing. I don’t get a chance to grab for anything before I start to go down. Nick catches me by the waist and holds on until I feel steady. Then we head for the door, me with my face turned down in embarrassment.
I hope surgery fixes this shit.
Chapter Four
Nick
Surgery day has arrived, and I’m climbing the fucking walls. Brenna and I dropped Brady off with my mom last night. Thank God for her and Helen. I don’t know what we’d do without our mothers. Having them take care of Brady while Bren recovers makes this a little easier. She can’t have a toddler climbing all over her and that boy loves using Mommy as a jungle gym.
I thought Brenna was going to lose it when we left him last night. It isn’t the first time he’s stayed with my parents, but under the circumstances…well, who knows how things will turn out? Neither of us is saying that, but we’re both thinking it. It’s her fucking brain. Any number of things can go wrong.
Even though we have to be there at the ass crack of dawn, she chooses to take a shower and I’m sitting here with too many thoughts running rampant, most of them negative. I know I should think about how great it will be if the surgery is a success, but I’m a logical person. I have to think through every scenario. Too many variables could leave me without my wife. She could stop breathing. Her heart could stop beating. It’s unlikely, but what if it happens and they can’t resuscitate her? What if she has a brain bleed? If her brain starts to swell for any reason? If Dr. Wendell’s hand slips? The wrong medication could be administered. She has allergies. She could go into shock. What if they fuck something up, and she’s knocked out, unable to tell them she needs help? I won’t be in there to speak for her.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Her voice breaks through the downward spiral I’m barreling into. I glance up at her and smile. “Just thinking about how beautiful I thought you were the first time I met you.”
I know I shouldn’t lie, but I need her to stay focused on herself. I can’t have her going into surgery worrying about me.
“You could have fooled me with how much you talked to me.” She chuckles.
“That’s why I couldn’t talk to you. You intimidated me.”
Her smile lights up her face. For the first time in weeks, the worry disappears and I see the Brenna I’ve always loved. If I had known making her feel better would be this easy, I would have told her sooner.
“What had you so intimidated? The five feet or those extra two inches of me?” she jokes.
“All of you. Girls like you never pay attention to guys like me. Ya know, short, skinny, exuding geek appeal…I didn’t think it was real.”
She shakes her head. “You underestimate your sexiness, Mr. St. James.”
“Oh yeah? Want to do something about all this sexiness?” I ask, waggling my eyebrows.
Her laughter echoes throughout the living room, filling me with peace. It’s the best sound I’ve ever heard.
“If I didn’t have this pressing engagement to get to, I would so be on that.” She winks and walks past me, smacking my ass on the way by.
Her passing mention of the surgery breaks me from our playful banter. I’m taking those few minutes, her laughter, and locking it in my heart to get me through the many hours until Dr. Wendell tells me it’s done an
d everything went smoothly.
“Did you eat?” she asks from the kitchen.
“Nah. Not fair for me to gobble down food when you have to have an empty stomach. I’ll get something with your mom while we’re waiting for you.”
Speaking of stomachs, mine twinges with unease, thinking about the hours we’ll be sitting, waiting for any word, hoping things are going well. Why the hell is this happening to her?
“I’m sorry, Nick. For all of this.”
I look up to see her standing in the opening between the two rooms. Tears mist her eyes and I hate knowing nothing I say can take away the worry we’re both feeling. On shaking legs, I walk the few feet over to her and pull her into my arms. Her eucalyptus conditioner invades my senses, calming me like nothing else could. It’s the normal I need. I stand with her, breathing in the familiar scents, memorizing how she feels in my arms, and praying to God he brings her through this day safely.
“Never apologize to me for this again. Do you hear me, Brenna? You did not ask for this.”
She tilts her head up and wet, red-rimmed eyes greet me. A slight nod is all she gives to tell me she understands.
No more words need to be spoken. We step apart, but I grab her hand, sending her every bit of strength I can. I see her physically stand taller and pride wafts through me at my tiny warrior. In this moment, I know she will come back to me. It doesn’t matter what the doctors face in there today, Brenna’s spirit will always bring her back to me.
“Let’s do this shit.”
Laughter rolls from my chest before I can stop it. Man, how I love this woman.
“Yeah, Bren, let’s do this shit.”
I smile at her, grab her bag, and head for the door. No matter how much my heart feels like it might explode knowing in about two hours she’s going to be wheeled away from me, I can’t stop smiling at the sassy woman before me. I don’t know where she gets her strength from, but I thank God for it every day. Without it, I would have lost it long before now.
“Hey, Bren?”
“Yeah,” she says, smiling back at me.
