I reach into the pocket of my jeans, searching for more tissues, but instead I find a crumpled piece of paper. I open it and see Romans 8:28-38 written on it. Oh, right, the Scripture that Chase had told me to read if I got scared.
I look through the basket of Bibles and find one that looks like the one my parents have at home. I find Romans 8 and start reading. To be honest, it doesn't all make sense to me. But I do understand two things: one, that God can bring good out of any situation, and two, that He loves me – and He loves Chase. I am comforted by the words, mainly because I know they are God's words, but also because I feel as if Chase is speaking to me through them as well. He knew I'd need God's assurance during this time.
I sit for a while longer but I don't hear anything more. I just say quietly in my heart, Okay, God, I will trust You, but You have to help me. Please.
When I leave the chapel, I feel much more serene.
Chapter 14
When I wake up the next morning, I'm still pretty groggy. As much as I hate to admit it, I realize that I'm going to have to get some real sleep soon. I manage to stay at Chase's bedside until about dinner time, but I am easily convinced to leave the hospital for the night to go home with Mrs. Nichols to sleep. She hasn't left Chase's room much either, so we are both pretty exhausted.
Mrs. Nichols had asked her husband to relieve her, and my dad will be staying to watch over Chase as well.
I set my ringer on high and tell my dad, “PLEASE call me if he needs anything, okay?” He gives me hug and assures me that he and Dr. Nichols will take good care of Chase.
It only takes about ten minutes for us to reach the Nichols' gorgeous old colonial home. We enter the foyer and Mrs. Nichols immediately leads me up the staircase. I'm too tired to be curious about their house, which, at first glance, seems very lovely and inviting. At the end of a long hallway, she opens a door and flips the light switch. She doesn't need to tell me. It's Chase's room.
Classic reds and blues adorn the room. The wallpaper border has a generic sports motif; it's the only evidence that the room once belonged to a little boy. The rest of the room holds a more sophisticated feel. What I notice the most, though, is the scent. It's Chase. I feel an intimate connection with him, yet I know he is still so far away.
“The bathroom is across the hall,” she says. “Do you want anything to eat?”
“No, thank you. This is perfect,” I give her a small squeeze.
Although I'm about to collapse from exhaustion, I decide to grab a quick shower before turning in. I am thankful for the warm, cozy bed in the wonderfully fragrant room. The sheets are fresh, but the room smells like him. I only hesitate for a moment before I decide to search through his dresser. I find one of his undershirts and I fall asleep with it in my arms.
I wake up with a jolt and realize that I have slept for 12 straight hours. I want to get back to the hospital as soon as possible, but I'm distracted by a small collection of photos on the bookshelf next to Chase's bed. There is a family photo in which he looks to be about ten years old. He has an awkward haircut and a goofy grin, but I love it. Another photo showcases a sweaty Chase wearing a first place cross-country medal.
My eyes scan the room. I had noticed the trophies the night before, but now I move in closer to read the fine print on dozens of trophies from little league, soccer, cross country, tennis. From before his accident, of course.
I notice another small photo album behind the pictures, so I take it out and lovingly scan through the photos of my husband-to-be. There must be hundreds of pictures of Chase, at various ages, in a variety of sports uniforms that match the trophies.
I am caught off guard by pictures of him when he was 15, 16, 17 years old. They look different somehow and then I remember the obvious – they were taken before the accident.
No crutches.
Otherwise, he hasn't changed much. He's a little older now, a little more defined, definitely wiser.
I flip toward the back of the book and find some pictures of Chase in the hospital, bandaged and bruised, but all smiles. They must have been taken just before he was transferred into rehab.
I wonder if he will have to be in rehab once he wakes up. Will he be able to walk? Will he have to learn to do everything all over again?
What will our life together be like if my husband is confined to a wheelchair? Will he have to cancel his dreams of medical school? Will I be the one who has to work full-time to support him? What if he really can't have children?
The assault of questions on my brain makes me start worrying again. A ball of fear and nausea rises up into my throat. I start to feel the familiar dizziness and buzzing in my ears. I lie back slowly on the bed, close my eyes and take a deep breath.
I know that I will eventually have to process the anxiety-provoking thoughts, but I can't do it right now. Not yet. Right now, I just have to survive.
I take another deep breath, in through my nose, and slowly out through my mouth.
Courage. I choose to face today with courage.
I hear a knock at the door and Mrs. Nichols walks in without waiting for an answer. I'm glad I wasn't changing my clothes.
She gives me a brighter grin than I've ever seen on her face before, and then she says, “I made some breakfast and fresh pot of coffee. Why don't you get dressed and come on down?”
I quickly change and apply a little makeup. I'm glad that I had taken a shower the night before, although my hair is flatter than ever. I decide that I don't care and I rush down the stairs.
The kitchen and breakfast nook are warm and inviting, decorated in bright yellows and delicate blues. Mrs. Nichols has set the table and my steaming breakfast is waiting. About half-way through the meal, she somewhat shyly says, “I know you're eager to get back to the hospital, but I thought we could go shopping first. Just for an hour or two.”
I look at her and I'm not quite sure what to say. I don't want to hurt her feelings, I'm not quite sure what I would buy. I don't care about anything but being with Chase.
“I thought I could take you to look at wedding dresses. I...I know you will want your mom to help you pick one out, but I thought we could just look for a bit. I think it would be fun.”
I can't believe what she has just said. My eyes are tearing up and I smile, “Of course, that would be great.” I wipe a few tears away. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. I still feel a bit guilty that we deceived you about the engagement.”
Mrs. Nichols hastily gets up and hugs my head to her bosom. “You are so good for Chase. You make him incredibly happy. He can't do this without you.”
And I can't do this without him, I think. I swallow another lump of fear.
Chelsea joins us at the bridal boutique. Perusing wedding attire is an enjoyable diversion; it takes our minds off of the hospital drama for a while. But I soon become overwhelmed by the number of choices. So. Many. Dresses. I want to say that I'm finished after seeing about 50 dresses and only trying two or three of them. Putting on a bridal gown is nothing like throwing on a blouse at my favorite boutique. It's quite the ordeal, and requires the assistance of the sales attendant, as well as my mother-in-law-to-be.
I begin to tire very quickly and I'm about to suggest that I've had enough for today, when the attendant brings out one more selection. She says, “I think this is the perfect style for you.”
She convinces me to try this one last dress.
The gown takes my breath away. Even with my flat hair and weary eyes, it is stunning. I close my eyes and I can see myself standing next to Chase at the altar, wearing the simple a-line dress. The sweetheart neckline is just barely revealing and the halter covers just enough of my shoulders. The bodice has delicate bead-work woven into it, but the skirt is a simple, flowing organza.
Chelsea and her mom agree that the style suits me perfectly. It is elegant and simple, not at all ostentatious. They add that the creamy color will work nicely with my complexion.
The attendant briefly shows me a line of b
ridesmaid dresses that would complement my gown. I nod and tell her that I will have to come back another time to look at them in more detail.
We put the wedding dress on hold.
On the way back to the hospital, I find that my brain resumes the train of thought that had accosted me earlier in the day. What if the surgery caused further damage to his spine? What will our life be like if he's in a wheelchair?
I have to think through the possibilities. Of course, any disability – existing or further disability - will not affect my devotion to Chase. I know that much.
A wheelchair probably won't mean that medical school is out of the question, but it would definitely be more of a challenge. However, If medical school doesn't work out, Chase will be heartbroken. He's certainly intelligent enough to make a successful career out of his skills. If he doesn't have any brain damage.
I push the idea of brain damage out of my brain for the time being. I can't let fear overwhelm me.
Chase has the ambition to be successful, for sure. He wants to provide for me, for our family. I'm sure it will be frustrating for him if he can't do that the way that he wants to. Chase will follow his heart to the best of his ability. I will follow mine. My heart won't be changed by Chase's health, nor will be my commitment to him. My heart is with Chase, one hundred percent.
Once we're back at the hospital, I rush into the room and my heart falters a little because he looks exactly the same as he did when I left him yesterday. In the excitement of choosing a wedding dress, Chase had awakened in my mind and was enthusiastically helping me to plan the wedding. I try not to let my disappointment show too much and eagerly inform him that I have found a wedding dress.
“It's perfect! It will knock your socks off,” I assure him. “I bet you thought I had left for good. Not a chance, mister. You are stuck with me now!” I swear I see the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth, but I chalk it up to my own exhaustion.
I also think that I catch a small smile playing on Dr. Nichols' face.
As evening approaches, I plug in the CD player that I brought from Chase's room and I pop in some music. I turn the volume down low and snuggle up next to Chase again. I move his arm gently to drape it over my shoulder and then I bury my face in his side.
Fear is waiting to overtake me. I decide that I will indulge the fear, just for a little while. I feel like I can face anything with Chase by my side. My anxiety begins to flow freely in the form of tears and sobs. I quietly whisper, “Please wake up, Chase. Please.” My dad rubs my shoulders and strokes my hair until I cry myself to sleep.
Chapter 15
I wake up in the morning feeling a little more hopeful after my cathartic crying session and another good night's sleep.
My dad is leaving today. I give him a giant hug and thank him profusely for bringing me to Chase. I ask him to tell everyone that I'm okay and that Chase is going to be okay.
Tell them I don't know when I'll be home.
A short while after seeing my dad off, Dave pops in for a bit, this time with a lovely raven-haired girl at his side. “Kate, this is Scarlett. She grew up with us.”
“And?” Scarlett nudges him in the ribs.
“And...” he pauses for dramatic effect, “I asked Scarlett to marry me on Saturday.” They are both beaming wide.
“Oh, Congratulations!” I squeal and hug them both at the same time. Mrs. Nichols joins us with hugs and greetings.
“Chase told me about you, Scarlett,” I smile. “I'm glad to finally meet you.”
Dave finally pulls away and tells us, “We came by to tell Chase the good news.” I love the way Dave talks to Chase as if he were perfectly alert.
“Chase, buddy,” Dave greets him, again giving him a real handshake. “Came to tell you that Scarlett and I are getting married. Yeah, I know you're laughing inside because you always told me that she was into me, but I was too dense to realize it. Well, you have a knack for these things, man. You finally convinced me to ask Scarlett out, and then you convinced me to marry her.”
When I give him a confused look, he continues talking to Chase. “You knew Kate was the one and you proposed to her before she could get away. It took me far too long to make Scarlett mine, and I'm not waiting any longer.”
Scarlett and I both have tears in our eyes when Dave is done with his speech.
“Thanks.” My voice is barely audible.
I can't help but stare at Scarlett while Dave keeps chatting with Chase. She's not at all what I had imagined. I had thought she would be a tomboy after Chase told me how she tormented him. Maybe that used to be true, but now she's more like a cover girl. Her jet-black hair is stunning, and her eyes are the kind of blue-green I would imagine to be the color of a tropical ocean. Her complexion is pale and perfect, and I'm sure that every man she meets notices her unbelievable curves. I can't imagine why Chase didn't fall for her. She seems perfect in every physical way.
More than that, she has been such a good friend to Chase. She helped him through the hardest time in his life. She led him to God. How could he not find all of that attractive?
I decide that it doesn't matter. I'm in love with Chase and he's in love with me. Now Dave and Scarlett are getting married. I'm starting to grasp that God must have a way with orchestrating such things.
Scarlett shifts while I'm still staring at her. “Kate, can I come and take you out to lunch soon? I'd love to get to know the girl who stole Chase's heart. Plus, I can't handle these two by myself!”
“That would be awesome.” But I pause. “I hate to leave him.”
“How about if we don't go too far? There's a super Mexican place just down the street. Or we can just eat in the cafeteria, if you're more comfortable with that,” she offers.
“Sure, that sounds great.”
I turn the CD player on again and pop in One Direction. I move back to the side of the bed and tell him, “They're playing our song.”
I hope he's listening. I sing the lyrics quietly into his ear. “So, Baby, you have to wake up soon. I really do need you to keep me from falling apart,” I whisper.
As the song ends, I ponder what it is that makes Chase so strong. Why does he make me feel so strong? I know there is a more spiritual answer than a pop song. I close my eyes. A memory floats from the back of my mind. Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.
I challenge my brain to recall more of the old church song, Great is Thy Faithfulness.
It's such an old-fashioned song, yet still so full of meaning. I realize that God has been faithful to me, especially during the past few days. I've had enough strength to get through each day. My needs have all been provided for: food, sleep, and just enough hope to keep me going.
I recognize the voice again – God is speaking to my heart through the song – through both songs.
Day six quickly gets into full swing with more of the same: Vitals, nurses, doctors, specialists, all doing the same thing – poking and prodding Chase in order to find out if he's any closer to waking up.
I don't know how anyone can watch a loved one go through this for days, weeks, and months on end. Chase's family and I are already so tired and so sick with anticipation, we can hardly stand it. We all want to see some change, but we have no idea whether it will happen today, months from today...or never. The fear rises again, but I grit my teeth and decide it that I had let it take over for long enough last night.
I get started with my daily routine of moving and stretching Chase's arms and legs, talking to him as I go. I babble on about wedding plans and I joke that it's unfair that he's making me do all the work. I take extra time to massage his fingers. They are sturdy and defined. I pull his hand up to my mouth and kiss three or four of them.
“We have to find a nice wedding band for your finger, too.”
I move on to stretching his left foot and massaging it, and then I finish my dragging my finger down the middle of his foot.
His foot flinches and I hear a small, almost impercep
tible groan. I can't quite believe it was real, so I drag my finger across the bottom of his foot again and get the same reaction – his foot flinches and I know I hear him groan this time.
“Chase?!” I burst out. “Chase!”
His parents rush to his side and start touching his arms and holding his hands. They talk to him quietly and try to persuade him to respond as well. I grab the nurse call button, slam it down with my thumb and then move up to his face. I lean in close and stroke his cheek lightly. “Chase. I know you're in there,” I whisper. “Please open your eyes for me. I miss your big brown eyes.”
The nurse enters and Dr. Nichols tells her, “I think he's responding! Get his doctor!”
I turn back to Chase and continue coaxing him. “Come on, Chase! Do you know how badly I want to kiss you?” His parents chuckle as I realize what I've just said in front of them. I don't care.
Dr. Horowitz arrives. He begins performing the same routine of poking and prodding to try to elicit a response. He repeats the foot scratch and gets the same flinch, only this time, Chase tries to move his mouth. With great effort, he pushes out a sound, “ssss...”
I kiss his ear. “What did you say, Baby? Tell us what you want.”
His mouth barely moves, but he manages to make the sound again, “SSSsstah...”
“I think he's trying to tell us to stop,” I laugh with tears rolling down my face.
He seems to relax.
The doctor finishes his evaluation and tells us that Chase is definitely waking up and although he can't be sure, he thinks Chase will become fully responsive again. “Then,” he adds, “we will be able to tell how much damage has been done.”
Damage? I think. Brain damage. This time I don't even let the fear into my throat. I just shove it away and turn my attention back to Chase.
The doctor tells us that as much as we are tempted to keep poking at him all day, we should give him some time to rest. Try not to overstimulate him. His brain will be working hard to come back.
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