by Renee Dyer
“Alright, Doc, let’s do this shit.”
“One of these days, I’ll get used to your personality,” he says on a light laugh.
“Probably not,” I reply, shaking my head. “So, what do I have to do to get this thing outta my head?”
I listen as he explains the options. Novocain shot, we wait for it to go numb, and I end up with a bigger scar, or he can cut the stitch holding the tube in place, pull it out, and quickly stitch me up. It’s only two stitches, so it will be over quickly. Vanity wins out, and I tell him to go for it. I’m already freaked out by the scar on my neck and back of my head, so I want this one to be as small as possible. I’m tough. That’s what I tell myself.
Big mistake.
Snip.
That feels weird. Oh, the tube sliding out…ugh, so wrong. What is that trickling down my cheek?
“Oh my God! Is that brain juice? Do I have brain juice on my face?”
“It’s cerebrospinal fluid. I’m about to place the stitches, so you need to be still now.”
“Still? I want to vomit. You never said anything about brain juice on my face. Eww!” I’m being dramatic, but this is disgusting—and…OUCH! Motherfucking, cock sucking, son-of-a-bitch. Never get stitches—not even one—without getting numbed. How I don’t scream or punch Dr. Wendell is a wonder. I should win a damn medal. He should have warned me I would feel the needle scrape my skull. Shit! I’ll be adding this to the list of hurts my head has felt in the last six weeks.
“I’m impressed,” Dr. Wendell says. “I know football players who couldn’t have sat there and gotten these stitches without crying like a baby. Here’s a cloth to clean your face. Jamie’s going to clean up around the stitches and dress the area. I’ll go get your mom.” He smiles and leaves the room.
I’ve never wanted to hurt a man the way I want to hurt him. I’ll teach him about football players when I punt his nuts.
“Hey, baby girl.”
“Hi, Mom.”
“How’s it going in here?”
“I have brain juice on my face,” I answer, disgust dripping off every word.
“Well, that sounds lovely,” she says, scrunching her face and making me giggle. “Would you like some help cleaning it off?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. She just walks around Jamie and grabs the cloth from my hand. Relief floods me with the first swipe over my cheek. There’s a special bond girls have with their moms. Words don’t have to be spoken. Women understand that some things are too gross to bear on our own. We can react without overstepping boundaries and mend hearts that have been wounded, all with small gestures. Sometimes it’s the unspoken moments between a mother and daughter where the bond shines the strongest.
I thought I needed Nick here today, but I’m glad it’s my mom here instead. She and Jamie work seamlessly together. No words are spoken between them as they handle their separate duties. Jamie is gentle, dressing my stitches. Mom is examining, looking for any trace of the offending fluid—on my face, neck, in my hair. She makes repeated trips to the sink to rinse and warm the cloth. Everything she does is with meticulous care. I allow myself to get lost in having her here, taking care of me, being her little girl. For a few minutes, I forget I’m an adult. I let my problems melt away and just let Mom make everything better.
“I’m going to get your transfer paperwork all set. You ready to break outta here?” Jamie asks, her voice tinged with sadness.
I nod, feeling sad, too. I’m going to miss her and our American Idol chats.
The air in the room changes. It was all business a minute ago, now there’s tension. Mom looks out the window, her back turned toward me. Chills race up my spine. Nick. I don’t know why, but his name rushes to mind. Breathing becomes difficult, my chest starts to ache, and I find it impossible to focus on anything. My worst nightmare has come true.
She’s here because he’s decided he can’t do this anymore.
“He sent you to do his dirty work?” My voice is devoid of emotion. Without Nick, I’m not sure I know how to feel.
“What? Who?” she asks.
I feel myself starting to lose control. Anger blasts forward at the act she’s putting on. I didn’t survive the last several weeks to be lied to now. “Nick, Mother. He sent you here to tell me what he couldn’t. I felt it coming. Jesus Christ, I thought he’d have the balls to tell me himself.”
“Brenna, what the hell are you talking about? I haven’t talked to Nick since yesterday afternoon.”
“Stop lying!” I cry out. “He’s always here. Everyday. But today, he doesn’t show up. Come on, Mom. I’m not stupid. I’ve felt him pulling away. As soon as I started getting better, he knew he could make that decision. He knew I had you. Just tell me the damn truth!”
“Sweetheart, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nick didn’t send me here.” Her eyes speak the truth, but my heart can’t hear it.
“Then where is he? Why hasn’t he called, Mom?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers, pulling me into her arms.
Jamie picks that moment to walk in with my transfer papers. I can’t get through one emotional moment before I’m thrown into the next. I have no idea where my husband is and now I have to say goodbye to the woman who became a fast friend. Tears keep trying to break through, but I force them back. I refuse to cry.
Being released from ICU is supposed to be a reason to celebrate.
Nick
Excitement bubbles through me. Brenna was moved to a regular room this morning. I wish I was there when it happened, but I had stuff to take care of. Regular room means no more tube in her head. I wonder if Dr. Wendell remembered to bag up the tube for me. I know she thinks it’s weird that I asked for the staples, but she creates masterpieces in her scrapbooks. Someday, she may want these things to make realistic pages. I could be wrong, but just in case, I figured, why not ask?
I’m not going to miss this hospital. If she does well, she can go home in two days. Shit, I’m counting down the hours. The last few days, spending extra time with Brady has been heaven. Lazing around with him, coloring, playing with his flashcards, it made me feel normal again. I needed that. Needed to recharge. I hadn’t realized how burnt out I was. Being here with Brenna for hours and working from home every day has been sucking the life out of me. I hope she understands why I needed the time away.
Like a teenage boy, I shuffle down the hallway, nervousness fluttering in my stomach. Seeing Brenna today feels like going to meet her for our first date. I have no idea what to expect. I should have called. Every step echoes a warning. An uneasiness settles. Dust floats by, caught in the light of the open doorways. Two beds line the wall. The sheets are white. So white.
My life has been messy for weeks, hectic and all over the place.
Room 423.
Seconds feel like hours, standing at the door, finding the strength to walk in. No one is walking by, making me feel guilty for not immediately entering. It’s nice to have a moment to breathe. The door is real, hinges and a door knob, not like the ICU. I should knock, but I don’t. In case she’s sleeping, I decide to quietly enter. The curtain is drawn, blocking me from seeing her. Three steps in, I pull the curtain back and peek in.
Her bed is raised to a seated position and her arms are crossed in her lap. Her head is facing the window, but still looking down. From here, I can’t see where the tube was. She blinks her eyes, showing she’s awake, but makes no move to turn her head my way. Maybe she didn’t hear me enter.
“Hey, Bren.” Slowly, her head tilts my way. Red-rimmed eyes meet mine and the pain there slices my heart. Her sadness is quickly replaced with a smile when she sees Brady in my arms. My reason for not coming earlier. “I brought a visitor,” I manage to squeeze out.
“Hi, baby boy,” she says, pushing herself up more on the bed, her bandage now showing, bright white against her head. One of the nurses braided her hair again.
I place Brady on the floor. “Go see Mommy, buddy.”
&n
bsp; “That’s not Mommy.” His little voice starts to waver and he runs behind me.
“Brady,” I soothe. “Come here, buddy.” My eyes find Brenna’s. She’s trying not to cry, but the anguish she feels is all there. She hates everything that’s happening, that has happened. She motions toward our son and I nod, turning my back to her. There’s no win for me here. Both of them need me. His brown eyes peer up at me, wet from crying. Dropping to my knees, I pull my little man to me and wipe his tears. I lower my voice and ask him what’s wrong. In his tiny voice and his way of talking, he tells me he’s scared. The woman in that bed doesn’t look like his mommy. He’s only seen her a few times over the last five weeks. I’m scared he’s forgotten who she is.
Can a nineteen month old do that?
I hug him tightly and glance back at Brenna, who is wiping tears from her cheeks. It’s killing me that I can’t comfort them both.
“We go home now, Daddy?” His tears soak into my shirt and I want to tell him no. I want to say he has to go hug his mom, but I’m terrified the damage I’ll inflict. He was a total momma’s boy before this happened. To the point I used to get jealous sometimes of the closeness between them. I feel like an asshole now for ever feeling left out. I’d give anything to give Brenna back what she and Brady had.
Before I can get a word out, Brenna’s voice fills the space around us. Rock-a-bye Baby is the song she sang to Brady every night as she put him to bed. Listening to her sing it now is haunting and hopeful. I peer down at Brady and watch as his eyes widen and he peeks around my arm. He doesn’t let go of me, but he watches her sing. His tears begin to slow and I thank God for giving me the most amazing woman in the world. As the song finishes, I sit in silence, waiting to see what they’ll do.
“Would you like me to sing it again?” she asks.
Brady nods.
“Would you like to come sit here,” she pats the bed beside her, “and sing it with me?” She’s beaming, and I can’t help but smile, too. “Daddy can sing with us, too.”
His grip loosens as he starts to pull away. I watch for a second in awe of my wife while our son walks toward her bed. There are no words to describe the joy in my heart as he climbs up and sits at her feet. He giggles when she ruffles his light brown hair—hair Brenna says is kissed by the sun. It’s so close in color to hers, but his curls are all me. I stay kneeling, watching the moment unfold. My heart expands with happiness as my wife shows our son the magic of love. She motions for me to join them. Together, we sing three more rounds of Rock-a-bye Baby.
I’m finally getting my family back.
Brenna
Regular Room – Day Nine
“Whatcha reading?”
I look up at a nurse I haven’t met and blush. “Vampire porn my mom gave me.”
“Ooh, sounds like my kind of read. What’s it called?”
“Dark Lover by J.R. Ward. It’s not really porn. Just some really hot scenes. I can’t believe my mom reads this.”
“Why not? Us old ladies aren’t allowed?” she laughs.
I have to stop and think about it before answering. She does look to be about my mom’s age. “Um, I guess you’re women, too,” I answer, feeling uneasy with the conversation.
“Ha! Damn straight. That’s a great series. Keep reading. Those are some of the hottest reads out there. Let me know before you get kicked out of here today if you want some more suggestions. Is your hubby going to be here soon to take you home?”
I nod, unable to form words.
Home. A week ago, it seemed like an impossibility that I would ever get there. Today, the impossible has become possible. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.
But, I’ve passed all their tests. I can walk around the unit with no help from the therapists. The waves have calmed. I’m almost completely off the painkillers, even though that wasn’t a deal breaker to me getting out of here. I’m eating full meals. No fevers or infections. And the biggest hurdle—no hydrocephalus. I know there’s still healing to do at home and I have to make sure I don’t overdo it, but I’m ready to get back to being me.
I want to sleep in my bed. Watch my TV. Hell, wash dishes. It’s funny how even things you despise doing become something you miss when you suddenly become incapable of doing anything. I look forward to being able to sweep the floors and fold laundry. Dr. Wendell told me it will be another four to six weeks still, but I will get back to normal. I’ll go back to work. I’ll start making big dinners again. Play with Brady. I can’t wait until I can pick my son up. There are so many things I took for granted.
I’ll never take anything for granted again.
Nick
Today is perfect. Brenna was released. I’m driving her home. Delilah came over to help my mom and I get the house all clean and set up the Welcome Home banner. Brady and I bought flowers. Not that there haven’t been flowers and gifts delivered like crazy the last couple days. Helen went to pick up dinner. I just need to get Brenna there to see it.
I hope it’s not too much for her.
She holds my hand in the car. Just having her here, next to me, without her crying out in pain over every bump…it starts to heal some of my broken. She chats about the nurses. The funny ones. The sweet ones. She scowls about the cranky ones and I laugh at her pinched up face. Brenna is coming back to me.
I help her out of the car, afraid she may get dizzy. I love that she doesn’t fight me and slides her hand through my arm. Together, we walk into the house, and I get a front row seat as her hazel eyes widen and her lips quirk into a smile so large, it stretches her cheeks. She looks from side to side, taking in all the flowers and gifts, stopping on the banner from Brady. A small gasp falls from her lips and she looks at me, love shining in her eyes.
“This is…it’s…I…I don’t know what to say.”
“You already did, Bren. Welcome home.”
“Mommy!”
Brady runs in. Before anyone can stop him, he collides with Brenna’s legs. “Oomph. My goodness, you’re getting big,” she says. “Did you make me that beautiful sign?”
“Yep!” he yells, excitement overflowing. “Want to play flashcards now?”
“I really do,” she answers.
I can’t move as Brady takes her hand and walks her to the living room. My mom, Helen, and Delilah stand still, too. The house is silent except their voices going over the alphabet. It’s their thing. And it’s perfect.
Chapter Ten
Brenna
Warmth spreads and fans out. Ripples circle. Bubbles float. Stainless steel gleams. Giggles sound out. Who knew washing dishes could bring such joy?
It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve been home and Nick has finally stopped hovering enough to allow me the small grace of doing the breakfast dishes. Actually, he headed into work for a meeting and has no idea I’m washing them. I wanted to act like a child, fist pump the air, and do a victory cry when he left. It’s been smothering having someone at my beck and call even though I keep saying I’m doing better. I’m ready to start doing things for myself.
The first few days home were shaky. I had a couple setbacks. I’ll admit, they were my fault. Feeling better for the first time in nearly a month and a half, I pushed too hard, and I started feeling the ocean in my head again. Panic set in fast. Dr. Wendell did a scan faster. No hydrocephalus. Just lots of rest. A day, maybe two later, I was back on the road to recovery. If I thought Nick was watching my every move before, it got much worse. “Don’t walk too fast. You can’t pick that up. No bending.” Ugh! It was making me crazy.
I have two hours…two hours to do what I want. Brady and I are going to have so much fun. Eighties rock blasting in the background, little man on the chair next to me, our hands dipped in the water, dish washing commences.
Bubbles fly through the air. I have them in my hair. Brady has them on his nose. His belly laughs cause me to laugh. It’s the most fun I’ve had in longer than I can remember. There are no more than ten dishes, but it’s heaven to have t
his play time with my little guy. He hums while throwing the suds into the air, making a mess all over the counters. His energy is infectious. I wash a dish and hand it to him to put in the other sink. Each clean dish earns me a splash from him. By the time I finally get the final dish rinsed and onto the counter to dry, we’re both soaked and need to change clothes.
Brady helps me dry the counter and wants to play chase to his room. His giggles echo through the hall as I pretend to run after him, the pitter patter of his feet sounding off the hard wood floors. I’ve missed our time together. I help him into dry clothes and tell him to pick out something to play with while I change.
Back in the living room, I’m not surprised to find Brady in the middle of the floor with his flashcards spread out around him. He sees me and shakes a box of cards. My chest fills with pride over my smart boy. He could pick any toy in our house, but he always wants to do this. I sit beside him and snuggle him, careful not to lift him. His hair tickles my nose and I chuckle at the sensation. “What flashcards do you want to play today, buddy?”
“Letters!” he shrieks.
“Letters again? Not shapes or colors?”
“We do those later.”
“Okay. We can do those later.”
I grab the cards, making sure they aren’t in order, and start showing them to him. He never misses a beat. Each time, he tells me what I’m holding up, a smile gracing his adorable face. We go through the cards until I start to get sore and have to get off the floor. The look of disappointment he gives me breaks my heart. I used to be able to stay down here triple the time. Baby steps, I tell myself. I’ll get back to where I used to be. For now, I need to be happy with the small moments.
Brady helps me pick up. It’s morning snack time, so I cut him some apple slices and give him his juice. He wants to play the I Bite, You Bite game he made up, so he takes a bite of his apple slice, then feeds me. Each time he laughs when I act like I’m a monster gobbling up the goodies. His eyes sparkle with happiness and I can’t help but wonder if he’s forgotten the weeks he was away from us. I see what he retains of his flashcards, but I want to believe he can choose to forget the sad memories. I want him to only remember now. Remember the fun we’re having.
