by Renee Dyer
We stay locked in each other’s gaze, holding hands, until a knock sounds at the glass slider to Brenna’s room. Dr. Wendell’s white hair pokes through the curtain as he says, “Good morning. I hope you’re feeling better.”
The moment with Brenna lost, I take a few steps toward Dr. Wendell and shake his hand. A nurse steps in with a tray of instruments and the room suddenly starts to feel too small. They want to take blood after checking her vitals. I try to hide my aversion to needles by saying nothing and randomly scanning the room. But the bucket of needles…and tape…and labels…oh, God. I may pass out.
I’m vaguely aware of myself as I sit in the chair, out of the way of Dr. Wendell. His happy demeanor permeates the room, putting everyone at ease. Brenna jokes, telling him he could have left the nutcracker at home. I’m in awe of my wife. Just twenty four hours ago, she went through brain surgery, and here she sits, laughing and being funny. When he makes a move to have her sit up, her eyes meet mine. Fear flickers there and I hate that I’m no longer holding her hand and helping ease any concern she may have. All I can do is smile and nod, telling her she’s got this.
Dr. Wendell and the nurse stand on either side of the bed, both with a hand behind Brenna’s back. I listen intently as he explains the nurse is going to slowly raise the bed and then they’ll help her sit forward. He tells her some of the normal reactions and sensations. Brenna stares at Dr. Wendell intently. So intently, in fact, I wonder if she’s listening to him or pondering how the hell she can escape this room. It takes all my power not to chuckle at the minx I know my wife can be. If she could get up and run, I’d have dibs on her making a break for it.
“Alright, Brenna. On the count of three, Erin and I are going to help you sit up. I need to see if you can support your head without the bed. We’ll be right here. Are you ready?” Dr. Wendell’s voice stays calm, and I’m grateful he doesn’t seem nervous.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” she asks timidly.
“Of course you do,” he replies, “but the longer you lay there immobile, the longer it takes to recover. You don’t strike me as the type to stay down for long.”
“Oh, I see how this is going to be. Flattery. Really, Doc? Okay. Let’s do this shit.”
There’s my Brenna. The thought isn’t fully out of my head before Erin is laughing. If only she knew who she is dealing with. The spitfire in that bed will keep her on her toes.
“One…two…three,” Dr. Wendell counts out. I close my eyes, afraid to see her in more pain.
“Whoo. Who needs drugs? Just get your skull cracked open.”
My eyes fly open in time to see her bring her hand to her face. Panic sets in and I jump from my chair, rushing toward her bed.
“Is she okay? Are you okay, Bren?”
With her other hand, she waves, but makes no attempt to remove her hand from her face. I don’t know what to do. She isn’t talking and Dr. Wendell isn’t saying anything either. He’s watching her, but I have no idea what he sees. Someone needs to tell me what the fuck is going on.
“Bren?”
“I need a minute,” she says, her voice shaking. Damn it! Why isn’t Dr. Wendell stepping in? Something is wrong.
“Babe, what’s going on? Please.” I’m not sure what I’m begging her for, but I know I need something. An answer. For her to drop her hand. Anything that tells me she’s alright.
“A minute, Nick. Back off,” she snaps.
Taken aback, I step away from the bed. Useless. I don’t know whether she’s in too much pain to explain to us, or she’s going to get sick, or…I just don’t know, and I can’t help. Dr. Wendell nods at me, but I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean. It’s only been a minute, but it feels like hours while I wait for her to speak.
“I’m sorry,” Brenna says weakly. Her hand drops and her eyes find mine. The pink in her cheeks is gone, replaced by a pale shade of white. She’s visibly struggling, but trying to fight through it. I know that look on her face.
Determination.
“Can you tell me what you’re feeling?” Dr. Wendell asks, his hand still behind her back.
“U-um, yeah. I got really dizzy. Kind of felt like it was coming in waves, but it’s mostly better now. And my head is throbbing…back here,” she says, pointing to the bandages at the back of her head.
I listen as he asks her a few questions, tries to gauge her level of pain, has her move her neck around a little, checks her reflexes, and shines a light in her eyes. I wince when he starts examining her, but Brenna is a champ. She doesn’t cower or make a sound. Her face pinches a few times, the only sign of how much she’s hurting, but she continues to answer his questions and perform like a trained monkey. It’s almost too much to watch. I tell myself she would speak up, maybe even reach a hand out and cuff him if he hurt her, but my mind knows the truth. Brenna hates to show weakness. To anybody. Even me.
I watch them lay Brenna back against the bed, feeling like I’m stuck in a fog. Sweat beads along my forehead and I’ve been tunneling my fingers into my thighs. Thank God jeans are a heavy duty material. Not touching her or offering her comfort while they cause her more suffering is taking a toll on me. Fucking sidelined. It’s ridiculous. I’m her husband, and here I stand, against the wall, every muscle in my body wanting to revolt, jump forward, and crush the people hurting my wife. I’m acting crazy. Somewhere in my mind, I think I’m aware of that, but the larger part of my brain can’t take watching this. I don’t know what they’re thinking and I don’t know if they know enough about Brenna to see what she’s hiding.
I want to fucking scream.
Needing to do something, anything, other than rip through my jeans, I jolt from the wall and begin pacing. I feel like a caged animal waiting for the door to open so I can pounce. God help whoever sets me off. I’m not the type of man to sit and do nothing when the woman I love is in such obvious discomfort. Why is this taking so long?
Another nod from Dr. Wendell…what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Does he know how to speak? Is he saying he understands I need to help her? Does he see how useless I feel? Is he trying to tell me he knows she’s hurting more than she lets on? I need more than gestures. Words. I need fucking words. Christ, even small children understand the importance of them. Why the hell can’t a damn neurosurgeon?
“Two nurses will be in every hour or so, as long as you’re not resting. They’ll help you sit up until you feel comfortable sitting by yourself. I’d like you to keep the bed as inclined as you can handle. I know this first attempt was a doozy, but the dizziness will start to clear and each time will be easier.” He sounds so sure. “You may even get to take a little walk today.”
I wait for a smart ass comment, but it appears Brenna has been tamed by the simple act of sitting up. Tears prick the back of my eyes, but I blink rapidly, preventing them from falling.
This is no time for falling apart.
I missed some of Dr. Wendell’s instructions while lost in my small mental moment. I try to catch up, but realize I’ll need to ask Brenna for a recap. Shit, I need to keep it together.
“The nurses tell me your nausea is better and you’ve kept your liquid diet down without any medication. I think you can graduate to toast for lunch. Maybe some real food for dinner if you handle that well. You’re doing great, Brenna. Do you have any questions for me?”
“Yeah. When can I lose this piss tube? It’s really uncomfortable.”
“Jesus Christ, Bren,” I blurt out. “Really can’t take you anywhere.”
“What? I could have called it a pee bag. How about a piss balloon? Oh wait, my personal favorite…urine purse. Any of those sound a little better? Less medical?”
Erin and I are still laughing as Dr. Wendell tells her the catheter can be removed as soon as she’s able to move around a little, possibly later today. He stresses he doesn’t want her trying to get out of bed alone, even if she’s not feeling dizzy and thinks she’s steady on her feet. I’m glad he says that. Brenna is
an independent little shit. I can fully picture her overdoing things. She’ll probably try some crazy ass stunt anyway. I can’t stop the smirk that jumps to my face.
“She’s something,” Dr. Wendell says, patting me on the shoulder on his way out.
“I wouldn’t have her any other way,” I reply.
Isn’t that the truth? She can infuriate me at times with her need to do everything for herself, even when it’s obvious she needs help, but I don’t want her to change. I’ve dated girls who were needy and they made me nuts. “Get me this”, “Help me do that”, “I can’t do this”—it was exhausting. I love that Brenna knows who she is and doesn’t need me to constantly confirm it for her.
“I’m gonna rest for a bit.” Her weary voice grips my heart, and I race to her side. “Slow down there, killer,” she giggles. “I’m not going anywhere. Just feeling a little tired. It’s not every day you get your head opened up.” Her tone is joking, but I see the exhaustion in her eyes.
“Your mom mentioned a few people want to come see you today. Do you think you’ll be up for visitors later? I can tell them to wait till you’re in a regular room.”
“It’s okay. Maybe one or two, if they don’t stay too long. You know how I am.”
“Yeah.” I shake my head. “You’ll feel the need to entertain. Someday, babe, you need to learn that you come first.” Her light huff has me wishing she was healthy and we were home. I want nothing more than to climb into bed with her. “Get some rest. I’ll go make calls in the waiting room.”
“Can you stay till I fall asleep?” She sounds unsure, not like the Brenna I’m used to. “I like your hand in mine. It feels like home.”
“Of course. Anything for you, Bren.”
Fingers locked together, my new favorite pastime, I whisper how beautiful she is while she dozes off. I watch Brenna sleep for a few minutes, her even breathing lulling me into a trance. Up…down…up…down, her chest rises and falls. It’s the most peaceful thing I’ve seen in weeks. Her lips are slightly parted and tiny wisps of air sneak through, each puff putting me at ease. I needed to see her like this—not hurting.
Gently, I place a kiss to her forehead, taking an extra second to feel her warmth against my skin. I would give anything to climb into that bed, snuggle up to her side, and give into my exhaustion. Instead, I whisper, “I love you. Sweet dreams, Bren.” Tiptoeing from her room, I’m careful not to make a sound. I allow myself one quick glance back, just one so my heart can see she’s still resting comfortably, and then I head for the waiting room, waving to Jamie on her way to the nurses’ station.
The rest of the day goes by much too fast. Helen comes back to the hospital with Brenna’s sister, Delilah. I take that time to slip out for a visit with our son. Who knew an hour with his giggles could make my whole world seem right again? Watching him run around the play area at the local mall, seeing him smile, knowing he isn’t affected by what’s happening to his mom, fixes me.
But it breaks me, too.
An hour isn’t long enough. I want to stay in this bubble forever. Pretend I haven’t lived through the last few weeks. I want to erase the day I received that call from Brenna. Forget that she had surgery. I sure as hell don’t want to leave here to go see her lying in a hospital bed, with all those fucking wires still connected to her. It doesn’t feel like my Brenna. My wife, the woman I love, would be here, playing with our boy. She’d be laughing and pointing out all the little things he’s doing. She’d kiss me, just a peck. She hates public affection, but sometimes would lose herself in the moment because she gets giddy over our family. I want us back.
Back at the hospital, Jamie ran up to me in the hall, excitement jumping out of her pores. Brenna stood up—with help, of course. It’s a huge step forward in her recovery. I missed it. It’s all I could think as she went on and on about how amazing my girl is. I nodded my agreement, but inside, I felt like a schmuck. I was enjoying myself, soaking in the love of our greatest accomplishment and she was here, probably pushing herself to her breaking point. Was she upset I wasn’t here? Would she resent me missing her hitting this milestone? My worry almost stopped me from entering her room. If Helen and Delilah hadn’t already left, I would have gone back to the waiting room and been the pussy I felt like being. Only knowing she was alone kept me moving forward. But I never should have worried.
Brenna’s spirit filled the room. I didn’t need to see her smile, or feel the strength returning in her arms when she hugged me. It was already in the air…she was getting better. Something changed from the time I last saw her. I could go through all the maybes swirling in my mind, give life to each one, but why bother? Her recovery is starting and I plan to bask in every glorious moment.
Chapter Seven
Brenna
From sitting to standing to walking the halls, things moved quickly. The next morning, I was moved to a regular room. Jamie was sad we wouldn’t get to goof off anymore, but she was happy I was healing. She stayed past her shift to say goodbye. Funny, how two days with someone can make you feel like lifetime friends.
My new room was nice, big windows with lots of light and a rocking chair next to the bed. My favorite thing, though, was the closed in bathroom. In ICU, the toilet was out in the open. Who wants to pee when someone can walk in any second? I no longer had to ask for help moving around, but they brought me a walker. In my mind, I envisioned myself looking like a little old lady walking behind it. It was better than being walked everywhere by the nurses, but I was ready to go on my own. Nick kept telling me to take it easy. Every time he said it, little dots of anger flashed in my mind, speckles of heat danced across my vision, and I had to remind myself he was on my side before I said something I’d regret.
Janice brought Brady to visit me the second day. His little footsteps could be heard in the hallway. I knew I missed him, but I hadn’t realized how deeply until, stomp, stomp, stomp came filtering into my room. Four days without seeing him felt like months. Like a hurricane, he blew through the curtain, already babbling, running for my bed, before my mother-in-law could stop him. I laughed seeing the panic on her face. There was nothing I wanted more than to have my little boy in my arms.
She caught him right before he got to me and helped him onto the bed. He looked at the IV connected to my arm, his little face turned up in puzzlement.
“That gives Mommy medicine,” I say, smiling at him.
“Hurts?” he asks, a frown drawing his brows down.
“No, baby. It doesn’t hurt.”
“You go home now?”
My heart stops for a second, breaking a little at the innocence in his question. I wish I could tell him I was leaving with him, but I’m not going home until tomorrow, and he won’t be coming home for a few more days. How do I explain that to an eighteen month old? I never want him to think I don’t want him with me.
“Soon, baby. Mommy will go home soon, but not today. How about you cuddle me a little more?”
With Brady snuggled into my lap, I lay back, taking in a few moments of utter joy. Janice tells me all about their days together, her pride in him overflowing through her words. Nick and I have told her he’s intelligent, but she’s seeing it firsthand. The way he sits for hours with flashcards, wanting to play with blocks and shapes. Toys don’t hold much interest to him. I love hearing someone else talk about their excitement while listening to him practice his alphabet. She can finally see I’m not nuts when I say he has all his letters memorized—upper and lower case. I’m constantly in amazement at what his mind can comprehend and store. Someday, he’s going to do great things.
Amy-Lynn popped in that same night, her normal buoyancy escaping her at the sight of me. I thought I was looking better, but the tears in her eyes had me blinking rapidly. If I cried, I knew she’d cry, and it would just get ugly. So I smiled and motioned toward the rocking chair.
Close to two decades, she has stuck by my side, our friendship stretching back to high school. No secrets between us. Even now in our
thirties, we giggle like teenagers when talking about guys and love dressing each other up. Sometimes I think we’ll never grow up, and I cherish the thought. It’s a timeless friendship and without it, I wonder if I’d have grown into the person I am today. She’s held me up when I was weak, showed me I was stronger than I thought, and helped me get back up when I’d fallen. It was how I knew she would visit. No matter how overbooked her work schedule, Amy-Lynn had never let me down, and there was no way she would start with me in the hospital.
“Where’s that fine ass man of yours?” she questions with a smirk, walking toward the rocking chair. “Nice digs ya got here.”
“Went to meet our neighbor.”
Her “what the fuck?” look has me ducking to hide my grin. I can’t believe she thought Nick would be hanging out, goofing off. “A few of them pitched in and ordered us meals from Dream Dinners. He had to meet them because they have to be frozen.”
“I love that place. Ty and I have ordered from them a couple times just to make our lives easier. We get so busy and having a full meal prepared ready to just come out of the freezer is so nice sometimes.”
I nod, knowing how crazy her schedule is. Two kids, unbelievable work hours, and her daughter in dance classes. Makes me glad I work part-time and Brady’s a boy. I’ll take sports over tiaras and hairspray any day.
“Speaking of your life, how’s Tyler? He still working almost as much as you?”
“This time of year…yeah. Sometimes, more. Can’t wait for the warm weather so life can slow down a little.” Silence fills the room for a minute, both of us lost in our thoughts. I want to ask how Tricia’s lessons are going, but she looks so peaceful rocking back and forth, I keep my lips pressed firmly together. I’m afraid to interrupt her moment. She doesn’t get them often.
