by Renee Dyer
Her beauty makes me hesitate. The light on the deck illuminates her face and the cold air she’s breathing out appears to be forming a halo around her head. So many times her love has saved me, in little ways I hadn’t realized until this very moment.
I pull her back to me and zip her jacket a little higher. “Don’t want you catching a chill.” Her chin tilts up between us, and a smile I’ll be holding onto all day graces her beautiful face. Gratitude shines in her eyes. I don’t know whether it’s for the moment we’re sharing now or the fact that I’m sticking by her today, but I’m going to choose this moment. I don’t want to think about what we’re facing as soon as we get in the car, but I still can’t stop myself from reassuring her I’m not going anywhere. Bending forward, I lay my forehead against hers. “I’ll be waiting for you. Always.”
Before she can say anything, I place a soft kiss on her lips.
The cold February air quickly permeates our jackets, making us shiver. “Guess I can’t stall any longer, can I?” I ask on a whisper.
“Guess not,” she answers, her voice trembling.
Hesitantly, I let her go, but I walk her to the car and make sure she’s settled in her seat. We’re silent the entire way to the hospital. What is there really to say? A million thoughts roll through my mind, but I refuse to put them in the space between us. I need Brenna to go into surgery feeling confident. That means keeping my worries to myself.
Helen is already at the hospital when we arrive and I feel a sudden sense of relief wash over me. Just knowing I won’t have to go through any of today alone, makes it seem easier. I walk straight to my mother-in-law and wrap my arms around her. I know I catch her off guard, but she doesn’t call me out on it, and squeezes back just as tightly.
Brenna and her mom pull out their kindles and fall into conversation over what they’re reading. I chuckle at how animated they get over the stories they love. I don’t get it, but they seem to live through what they read. I play video games, but these two are much bigger geeks than I am. Watching them here, in this space I’ve been fearing, seeing them act like they always do, has me a little less afraid.
“Brenna St. James.”
Our heads pop up and tension fills the space as Brenna stands. She looks to Helen and me, forcing back tears.
“You can come with her for this part,” the nurse says.
I don’t need her to tell me twice. Hopping from my seat, I lunge for my wife’s hand, needing to assure her I’m with her to the very last second. I feel Helen smiling behind me.
We follow the nurse through the door and for the next forty-five minutes, Helen and I watch as they go through the motions of prepping my wife for the scariest day of our lives. I’m fine with them asking her questions, getting her weight, going over what she’ll need when she comes home, and changing into the Johnny. Especially that part, since her cute ass will be hanging out the back. What I can’t handle is the needles. Needles have always bothered me, and the sight makes me woozy. It’s pissing me off. I need to be strong for Brenna. She’s facing this with her head high, cracking jokes with the staff, while I bite down bile and fight the urge to run.
The anesthesiologist comes back in and we know it’s time for us to be kicked out. When he was in earlier to explain his part in today’s procedure, he let us know he’d be the one to clear the room. Seeing him now has me breaking out in a sweat.
I’m not ready to leave her.
I feel like I’m having an out of body experience as I watch him smile at Brenna and go over things with her again. He explains how the anesthesia will work. The countdown. How she’ll slowly nod off to dreamland. How he’ll be with her the entire procedure. I listen to everything he says, but my eyes flitter around the room rapid fire, watching the nurses marking down numbers from the monitors, matching Brenna’s information from her bracelet to her forms, checking last minute details. They’re like ants at a picnic. Organized chaos. Everyone is moving around so quickly. Except Brenna. She looks so calm. Her hands rest on her stomach, her eyes focused on the anesthesiologist. She nods at all the appropriate times and answers when she needs to. I don’t know how she does it. Even when she’s a wreck inside, she puts a smile on her face and charges into the unknown. I’ve always admired that about her.
“We have to make her sleepy now,” he says to us.
Swallowing loudly, I nod my head and step up to the bed beside Brenna. “I’ll be waiting for you when you wake up. I love you, babe.”
“I love you, too.”
I bend down and place my lips on hers. If there wasn’t a room full of people, I would kiss her like I’d never see her again. But, I will see her again, I tell myself, over and over. I pull my lips away and lay my forehead to hers, allowing myself to smell her shampoo one more time, praying it isn’t the last time. My mind wars with what I know can happen and what I pray doesn’t. “Have a good nap, Bren,” I joke, trying to hold back the tears wanting to break free.
I walk from the room, unable to be the third party in Helen’s moment with her daughter. I’m afraid I’ll breakdown, and Brenna doesn’t need that. Murmurs reach me from behind the curtain, but I zone them out as I lean against the wall, thankful for the support. Without it, I may crumble into pieces. With closed eyes, I pray for the millionth time, asking God to bring my wife through this day safely.
“Nick?” Helen’s voice shakes me from my prayers.
I look at my mother-in-law, at the tears pouring down her face, and for the first time today, realize I’m not the only one suffering.
“Want to go get some breakfast?”
It’s the lamest thing I could ever say, but it garners a small chuckle from her. She nods, and I put my arm around her shoulder. We start to walk toward the exit as she wipes under her eyes.
8:43 a.m.: Breakfast didn’t take nearly long enough and sitting in this waiting room is already grating on me. Helen says they probably haven’t even started yet because of all the prep they have to do. Seriously. What the hell do I do now?
9:29 a.m.: Who knew I’d ever hate playing video games? I want to punch the phone through the head of the guy on the other side of the room who keeps talking obnoxiously loud on his cell. Can he not see the sign on that wall that says, Cell Use Restricted? Why don’t the damn nurses enforce the rules? If I don’t get an update on Brenna soon, that guy may be shitting ringtones come dinnertime.
10:37 a.m.: That nurse better be coming to talk to us. That’s right, keep walking this way. Yep, this way. This way. NO! Goddamn it!
10:41 a.m.: “Mr. St. James, Brenna’s surgery is going well. They’re almost done. We’ll be out soon to let you know when she’s going to recovery.”
11:15 a.m.: These letters don’t even make sense anymore. How the hell am I supposed to find the words when I can’t focus enough to see the letters? I need to see Brenna. Throwing the word search to the floor, I begin to pace…and pace…and pace. Moving will make the time go by, right?
“She’ll be okay, Nick. My daughter is strong.”
I look at Helen and try to smile, but can’t muster the strength. This wait is killing me. I sit back down, lay my head against the wall, and close my eyes, not wanting Helen to see how worried I am.
Finally, at 11:52 a.m., a nurse walks our way. I’m humming with energy when she tells us Brenna is in recovery. The news that she’ll be in a room soon and I’ll be able to see her has me coming out of my skin. I need to move. I need to…shit, I don’t know what I need to do. Will she still be her? Will she be able to walk? Have her memory? Cognitive abilities? So much can go wrong…Jesus, Nick, why are you thinking this? Brenna made it. I feel the tears wetting my cheeks before I realize I’m crying. I don’t know if I could explain the relief I feel.
My wife is alive.
Helen is hugging me and I don’t try to stop her. Hell, I take comfort in it. Our girl is in recovery. I want to shout it to everyone waiting in this room for their loved ones.
“I told you she’d be okay. My girl is a f
ighter.”
“I should have listened.”
“Yes, you should have,” she jokes.
We fall into a comfortable silence while we wait to be brought to the ICU. Neither of us bothers with our devices. Anxiety over seeing Brenna keeps us fidgeting, unable to focus on the simplest task. I always said that woman could knot me up, a contortionist would have an easier time coming undone. It’s been over four hours since I left her, since I turned my back and put her life in the hands of people I don’t really know. My mind comprehends that they weren’t operating on her the entire time, but it doesn’t stop me from fearing the worst. Every minute away from her has had me envisioning awful outcomes. I just need to see her, hear her breathe, touch her face…I need to know Brenna is still with me.
I quickly jump from my seat, nearly barreling into the nurse. Someone should have warned her I’ve been on edge. She tells us Brenna is still out of it, but her words fall on deaf ears. She informs us of the bandages, tubes, and wires, but I don’t care what my wife looks like. She’ll always be beautiful to me. I just need to get to her.
Outside the door, the nurse turns to us and for the thousandth time, tells us we need to make sure we are as quiet as possible and not to push Brenna into overdoing it. I feel myself getting angry with her. Exactly what does she think I’m going to do? Scream at Brenna? Ask her to have sex? My wife just had brain surgery, all I want to do is kiss her cheek and hold her fucking hand. Let her know I’m here and I love her. I simply nod at the nurse, afraid of what I’ll say. Somewhere in my mind, I understand she’s just doing her job, so I step back as she opens the glass door and pulls the curtain aside.
Stepping into the room, I see a tiny figure amidst a sea of wires and monitors. Somewhere under those blankets is my wife. My breathing increases, and my heart rate speeds up.
I was wrong. I’m not ready to see Brenna.
She looks so small. Weak. Not like my wife at all.
Run away. The thought hits me like a Mack truck.
The woman in front of me, the one surrounded by chaos, can’t be my Brenna. Brenna is soft and loving. Like my favorite t-shirt, comfortable and fits me perfectly. Everything about her calms me, but nothing about her is calm now. Her face doesn’t look peaceful. Not like when she sleeps at home. It keeps scrunching and little moans drop from her lips. I want to scream at the obvious pain she’s in, but the nurse’s annoying ass warnings keep firing back at me. Fuck! What am I supposed to do here?
It doesn’t feel like I’m walking on my own feet as I make my way to her bed. Actually, it doesn’t feel like I’m in my own body at all. It’s like I’m watching a TV episode unfold before me. Wife comes out of surgery. Husband approaches her bed. Husband takes her hand. Wife opens her eyes. Love shines between them. Only, she doesn’t open her eyes. Her hand lies motionless in mine. I knew she’d be in and out of consciousness, but I was hoping to see her awake when we came in.
I needed to see her eyes. Hoped to see her smile.
“Aw, Bren. This is not how it was supposed to be.”
Chapter Five
Brenna
Pain. All consuming, making it impossible to move, impossible to open my eyes…pain. Inside, I’m screaming, “Who took a fucking nutcracker to my skull?” Outside, I’m motionless. Paralyzed by fear. Afraid of the agony the slightest movement will cause.
Oh God. Something must have gone wrong. There’s no way I should hurt this badly.
“When…think…open…”
Words flitter through the anguish filled haze I’m trapped in, but they don’t make sense. I want to reach out to whoever is talking, beg him to help me, but my mouth won’t work. I can’t find the connection between my brain and vocal cords. Instead, I lay mute, praying someone can read my thoughts. See the torment I’m going through. Help alleviate the thunder storm booming in my skull, causing me to seek refuge from the non-stop throngs of slamming torture.
Time passes. At least, I think it does. I’ve slipped in and out of consciousness behind my closed lids, trying to hide from the poking and prodding I know awaits. It scares me. They’ll want me to talk, pick up my head, interact. I never thought myself a wimp before, but, lying here now, I will gladly accept the title. I’ll be the queen of the wimps if it means I never have to feel another thing.
Other than that warmth around my fingers. What is that?
Twitching my fingers, I try to figure out the pressure holding them in place. It’s familiar to me, but I can’t place it. Anger starts to push through the pain. Why am I so confused?
Lights filter through my fluttered vision. Bright. Too bright. Blinking rapidly, I try to fight off the onslaught of sights and sounds. Monitors beep and flash all around me, making my heart race. The beeping on the monitors increases, too, creating a staccato in time with the thumps in my chest. Panic sets in. Why am I hooked up to so many machines?
Somebody help me.
“Hey, babe. It’s nice to see your eyes open.”
A male’s smiling face appears in my vision. His hand rubbing my arm. The word “babe” rolls through my head. That’s what he called me. Tears spring to my eyes and run down my cheeks. I try not to be weak, but the confusion and pain have broken me down.
“Shh. It’s okay, Bren. I’ll get a nurse.”
No! I don’t want him to leave. It feels better with him here. I just need a second to figure things out. Just one minute for the fog to lift. Gripping at his shirt sleeve, I hope he sees how lost I am.
“What is it, Bren?”
I try to talk, but my throat is so dry, nothing comes out. Licking my lips does nothing to pull the sandpaper from my mouth.
“Why don’t I tell the nurse she’s awake and you stay here with her? Glad to see you’re finally awake, sweetheart.”
My mom’s face comes into view. Mom…Nick…surgery. It’s why I’m in the hospital. Why I’m in all this pain. There’s a memory I’m trying to grasp of doctors, nurses, being woken up in a different room…it’s all at the edge of my fuzzy mind. It’s why I didn’t want to wake up before. I need Nick to tell my mom not to get the nurse. I need a little more time before they inflict more pain.
“N-Ni-ic-ck.” It takes several tries, but I finally squeeze his name past my lips.
“Don’t try to talk yet, okay? Let’s wait for the nurse.”
His hand, rubbing back and forth on my arm, is the only thing keeping me from screaming out. Splintering pain rockets through my skull. Bone cracking…crushing pain.
One hand slowly slides up the bed, tentative in its trail, petrified of what it will find. Drawing strength from Nick’s soothing touch, I continue to let my own hand traipse up next to my head. Cautiously, I touch my hand to my hair. Bandages, softness, and hard edges greet my fingers. I start to shake as I further explore, sickened by what the hardness in my hair must be. Is it blood…or worse? Brain juice. Bile fills my throat and I have to forcibly swallow it down. Several deep breaths later, my stomach is still roiling. No one warned me about this.
A swishing sound draws my eyes toward my feet. Mom walks in with a petite woman in purple scrubs. My favorite color. Why am I thinking that right now? I could barely remember my husband a moment ago, but I remember I love purple?
“Hi,” she says sweetly. “I’m Jamie. How are you doing?” she asks as she makes her way to my side.
“H-u-u-u-rt-t-t-s.” It’s the only word I can force past the desert in my throat. I hope it conveys what she needs to know.
“I imagine it does. Probably feels like you’ve been hit by a train.”
I try to nod, but I’m not sure my head moves at all.
“I bet you’re thirsty, too.”
More than I can explain. “Y-e-e-es.”
Keeping a smile on her face, she pulls a package from her shirt pocket. “We’ll be swabbing inside your mouth with these for the next few hours. It’s not the same as drinking something, but until we know you won’t get sick, it’s the best option. It will help with some of that dryness.�
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She places a handful of pink barbell looking things on the table next to Nick and walks a few feet away. I try to focus on her as she puts gloves on, but having my eyes move this much causes a new throbbing to begin. It shouldn’t be possible to feel more pain over what I’m already experiencing, but every move I make, even the slightest twitch, causes agony.
Jamie walks back to stand by my side and her friendly smile helps me feel at ease. Even with my muffled mind, I notice she’s young—seemingly, too young to be here. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a tight bun, showcasing a pretty face with no makeup on. I want to tell her I’m impressed she can go to work without feeling the need to get made up. It’s something I’m far too insecure to do.
“Okay, Brenna. I need you to open your mouth for me. It might make you feel a little sore, but I’m going to take care of that in a minute, too.”
Her blue eyes fill with what looks like sympathy. I like her. Doing as she asks, I crack my lips apart and start to open my jaw. Oh, motherfucker, all that’s holy, son of a bitching-shit-fuck-whore—a little sore? Can you say understatement of the year? Of a lifetime? Fuck! A sledgehammer to the head would have been a more apt description. Tears fall freely, cries gurgle from my throat, and I’m powerless to stop any of it.
Don’t move, Brenna. Just let her do her thing. It will all be over soon.
I try to talk myself through the torment. Try to tell myself it won’t hurt to close it. Every molecule of my body is already lit up in suffering.
“Is she alright?” my mom asks from across the room.
Jamie answers calmly, “Today will be the worst. Cutting through bone is very painful. On top of that, they cut through all those muscles in her neck. You often don’t realize how much you use those muscles, and all they’re connected to, until they need to heal. Right now, she’s dealing with spasms. They will start to calm. We have her on morphine and I’m about to give her some control over that.”
She pulls the swab from my mouth. “You did great, Brenna,” she says, patting me on the shoulder. “Close your mouth slowly.”
