“I was hoping for better news.”
“I wish I had some. I need to prepare you for the possibilities and probabilities. With the cause of this condition being a head injury from two months ago, it’s likely that there is permanent damage.”
Suddenly I felt nauseated. I thought I might need to throw up.
Dr. Bryant continued. “I’m going to order some cognitive tests for you to take today. They are simple and short. My guess is that the only damage to repair in your brain is some swelling surrounding nerves that feed information from your eyes to your brain. I arranged for you to have the surgery tomorrow. Are you ready for this?”
“I’m ready to see again.”
He laughed gently. “I’m sure you are. I will do my very best.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“You’re welcome.” The doctor left and Brian walked in.
“What did he say? Good news?” Brian asked.
“Not really the news I was hoping for. He said I probably have permanent damage to my brain and eye sight.”
“God damn it. Is that really what he said?”
“Yes.”
“Damn. No way. Oh God, Dee. Are you okay? What do you want me to do? Can I help you in anyway? I don’t know what to say.” Brain rambled in short sentences as his thoughts spewed from his mouth.
“I want to be alone.”
“Yeah, I got it. If that’s what you want. I’ll be back in a little while.” Brian walked out. I wanted to cry. I expected tears, but all I felt was shock and disbelief. I was blind. I may never see again. How could this be true?
I spent the day in a blur of mixed emotions and confusion. If I had permanent blindness, I would lose my profession, my income and my ability to live fully independently. I sat in bed terrified with my thoughts alternating between denial and suicide. In those moments of terror, I couldn’t imagine living my life without a face to photograph or sunsets to quiet my mind.
An invisible, heavy weight pressed against my chest. I felt sorry for myself and longed for sympathy and distraction. I didn’t want to call my daughters in tears and tell them what the doctor had said. I decided to make a phone call that I had been avoiding. I needed to call Paul Brown. He didn’t know why my art hadn’t arrived for the exhibition. The last time he heard from me was when I called from Nairobi. I could only imagine what he thought after he didn’t hear from me or receive my photos. Worrying about it made my stomach sick, yet I needed to call and explain what happened.
While Brian was on his walk, I felt around until I found the phone. I picked up the receiver and heard a dial tone. Then an attendant said, “Reception desk. May I help you?”
“Hello, this is Dee Coulter. Could you please dial Gallery Paul Brown for me? I can’t see the phone.”
“Certainly, hold one moment.”
The phone sputtered an obnoxious ring and my stomach tightened further. “Gallery Paul Brown,” a female voice answered.
“May I please speak to Paul?”
“I will see if he’s available. May I say who’s calling?”
“Dee Coulter.”
“Oh,” the woman said with surprised tone in her voice. The phone clicked over to background music while I waited.
“This is Paul,” I heard a moment later.
“Hi Paul, this is Dee Coulter.”
“Yes, I know. How may I help you, Dee?”
I blurted out as quickly as I could, “I have a very good reason why my work was not present at your October exhibition.”
“I’m sure you have a great reason.” His voice was light and teasing. “You don’t seem like the type of woman that would just leave a guy hanging on the line for an art show after he spent a lot of time and effort promoting it. Please, do tell.”
Thankfully, the witty rapport was still present and I desperately wanted to mend the relationship, even if he never displayed my art again. “I was injured in Nairobi. I’ve been in a coma for two months. I am in San Francisco by coincidence to have brain surgery to repair my…” I couldn’t say it. If I admitted my blindness to Paul, I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t real. I held back my tears and swallowed hard.
The hospital intercom announced a code red. Loud beeping and the sound of people running interrupted my focus and reinforced my concerns about my surgery tomorrow.
“Dee? Are you okay?” Paul asked.
Paul’s words brought me back to the moment. I took in a deep breath. “I’m having surgery tomorrow.” I couldn’t make myself convey the specifics.
“I’m sorry to hear about your accident. I’m relieved to hear your voice and know that you are going to be okay. Thank you for calling. After your phone call from Nairobi, I was looking forward to meeting you. I couldn’t imagine why you hadn’t called back. I would never have guess that you…. I’m sorry. At least I know now that I didn’t scare you off.” Paul sounded as if he was trying to hold back emotions.
More loud sirens filled the hallway. I wondered about the current emergency.
“I’m truly sorry …”
“There is no need to explain anything,” Paul replied. “Did you travel to San Francisco alone?” he asked concerned.
“No, Brian is with me…” A nurse entered my room to take my vitals. I gave her a look of desperation that I needed to finish my call.
“Good. I’m glad you have someone to help you. I hope our paths cross again.”
“I would love to talk about my work,” I said. “I will be at San Francisco General Hospital for two weeks. Perhaps we can meet before I fly home.”
“Perhaps, but it sounds like you have a full plate right now. Focus on getting well, so that you can take more pictures in the future. Thank you for calling, Dee.”
“Brian is not my boyfriend,” I said loudly and abruptly. It didn’t come out the way I wanted, but I felt the opportunity to speak up slipping away. The nurse took my right arm and stared at me with a look of confusion. I tried to reassure her with a few nods. She shrugged her shoulders and placed a blood pressure cuff on me.
“Excuse me?” Paul asked.
“I am not dating Brian. He is not my boyfriend. He wants to be together, but I do not.” I paused briefly, then I changed my tone. “I would love to have dinner with you…after my surgery.”
“Well, that’s great news. Please call me when you are recovered and you feel up to enjoying a divine meal with an enthusiastic host.”
“I look forward to it,” I said.
“Not more than I,” Paul assured.
I smiled. “Bye for now, Paul.”
“Good-bye lovely Dee. May your surgery go well.”
“Thank you.”
The phone clicked and he was gone. The nurse looked at me again with raised eyebrows.
“It’s a long story,” I said.
She replied with another questioning glance. “He’s a really nice guy.”
“Who,” she asked. “Brian or the guy on the phone?” She must have thought that the ever-present Brian was my boyfriend. She raised her eyebrows again, typed something on my electronic chart and left the room.
I lay back on the bed and lost myself in thought to find distraction from reality. I relived the details from the life of Cherie; the sight of Jean-Paul’s hair drifting in the wind, his soft kisses and gentle touch. I soaked in the calm, wet air of San Francisco, content, in love and optimistic. Only my pending drowning could damper the magic in my thoughts regarding Jean-Paul, his strong hand holding mine and his throaty hum when he painted small details. I found myself more intrigued to be in my dream than to be in my hospital room. I remembered loving him, and how he cared for how I felt. I saw him holding our son and placing a brush in his awkward grasp. Cherie’s memories I could recall, yet I couldn’t remember my life as Dee Coulter.
When the door opened, I was jarred fully awake, shocked at the contrast of how shaken I felt compared to my previous moments of relaxation. My life seemed pale in comparison to the story of Cherie.
“I brough
t you some sushi. Are you hungry?”
“Yes I am. Thank you, Brian. You’re thoughtful.”
“I have been trying to tell you that I’m a great guy. Right now you have an excuse for not seeing what’s right before your eyes. But when you’re well again, I won’t cut you as much slack.”
I couldn’t think of a reply. I didn’t respond, and Brian let it go. Where was my protective wit when I needed it? Why can’t I feel love the way Cherie did?
The next morning I found myself sick to my stomach. It didn’t help that I couldn’t eat before the surgery and hadn’t eaten for twelve hours. My nervousness was mixed with hunger, thirst and fear. I wasn’t afraid of having my head shaved and cut into. I was terrified of waking up and still not being able to see. I’d barely spoken to my daughters. I found it challenging to reassure them. We just sat on the phone and cried together. No one knew how to comfort me and I certainly didn’t have the wit about me to comfort anyone else. I prayed that later today I would call them to tell them that I could see and would be home shortly to take pictures of the wedding and my grandson.
“Are you ready for this Dee?” Doctor Bryant asked.
“Fix me up, Doc. I want to go home.”
The mask came down on my face with light, fresh oxygen flowing as anesthesia dripped into my vein. The lights faded. Darkness blanketed me as I fell into a dreamless sleep.
What seemed like moments later, I woke groggy and disoriented.
My mouth felt as if it were filled with cotton. “Ahhh.” I let out the only noise that my saliva free mouth could utter. Then I mustered up another sound, “Water! Water!”
A nurse came and stood over me. Oh my God, I could see the outline of her round, puffy face. I could see where her eyes and mouth were, though quite blurry. I smiled and I tried to speak again, but my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I wondered if this was as good as I would see, or if it would improve. I tried to calm the panic building in my body.
“How do you feel? Are you nauseated, Ms. Coulter?” she asked me.
“No.”
“We want to make sure you don’t drink water until your stomach is settled. You have a lot of stitches and vomiting is not great for stitches. We are giving you some IV fluids. The anesthesia gives you a dry mouth.”
“Please?”
“Soon, we need to wait about an hour, maybe less before we fill your stomach.”
My terrible thirst somehow reminded me of lacking air while I sank from a foggy surface in the cold bay. A slight hysteria agitated my nerves.
After an agonizing time in the recovery area, I was wheeled to a private room. Dr. Bryant showed up an hour later. “It went really well, Dee. There were no complications and I was able to remove some damaged tissue and fluids and repair some badly damage blood vessels. Although you have some permanent damage, I would like to check your eye sight. Can you see more right now than you could this morning?”
“Yes. Things are blurry, but I can see more shadows. Will my sight improve any further? You said that it could improve after swelling from the surgery subsided, right?”
“We can expect some improvement in the next week or two. We removed a lot of pressure from the nerve pathways to your eyes and increased circulation to the area. Some swelling will remain for a short time from the intervention of the surgery. Only time will tell us. Tell me as much detail as you can see about my face.”
I looked intently at the doctor. “Well, I can tell where your eyes and your mouth are. I can see the outline of your face. I can see that you have brown hair and brown eyebrows. Ahhh, I can barely see your nose, but it shows up as a different shade than your cheeks.”
“What color are my eyes?”
“Um, I’m not sure. Every few minutes I see everything in double for a minute or two. Will that go away? Please tell me it will get better.”
“I don’t know Dee. Double vision is another common problem with these injuries. Sometimes special glasses with prisms help with double vision. Today is a good indication of what you will have. We will know more in the coming days.”
“Will prescription glasses help my eye sight?”
“Unfortunately they won’t. This is not an eye problem. It’s a brain issue.”
“Oh my God. I can’t believe this. This is not fair. I finally received the recognition I have worked hard for with my photos. I will have to give up my life’s passion. This can’t be happening to me.”
“You survived a terrible injury. You’re lucky to be here. You have children, right?”
I nodded.
“You have people who love you. Try to stay positive. You’re lucky to be alive.”
I’d rather be dead than blind.
I sat somberly. Dr. Bryant performed some more eye tests and encouraged me to rest. Then he left.
Ten minutes later, a nurse entered the room with someone in tow.
“Dee?” I heard the voice say.
“Who’s this handsome man,” I blurted out as I looked in his direction.
“You can see? Really? How well can you see?” Brian asked.
“I can see that you’re wearing a red and white Cat in the Hat cap on your head and a wetsuit. Why are you wearing a wet suit? You’re blurry. You’re not normally this blurry, right? Is this just a bad day for you?”
“Oh my God, Dee, it’s you! Your sarcastic attempt at humor is refreshing. You haven’t given me any shit since you hit your head. I thought the bump changed your personality, although, if we are all lucky, your jokes will get better.”
I smirked back at him.
The nurse that brought Brian in checked my IV entry point and then the bag level. She fussed with some buttons on the new monitor at my bedside and then walked out.
“How do you feel?” Brian asked.
“I feel good. I will take some more of that Oxycodone please!”
“Oh, it’s the drugs talking. That explains a lot.”
“Ha! Very funny.”
“When do you get out? Should I break you out?” Brian chuckled.
“The warden said they might let me out in two weeks.”
“Oh boy, more hospital stays. Well, this time will be easier, because you won’t be in a coma and I won’t have to talk to your silence.” The monitor beside me suddenly made an annoying beeping sound as Brian finished his sentence. We both looked at it, and waited for a nurse to come check the machine and turn off the noise. When no one showed up, Brian went into the hallway to find my nurse. A few moments later, she entered the room with Brian.
“Your blood pressure is very low,” she told me. “Are you light headed?”
“No, my mouth is really dry and I feel sleepy. I feel some pressure in my head, but not light headed,” I replied.
“I will let the doctor know and see what he wants to do. I am going to lower your head and ask you to remain level until I hear back from the doctor.” She lowered the head of my bed and removed one of my pillows. She pushed some buttons on the monitor and left the room.
I looked at Brian and let out a big sigh. “Listen, Brian, I really appreciate everything that you have done for me. I really do. You’re a gem. But you don’t need to stay here. You need to get back to your life.”
“Dee, you’re my life. It is written in the stars that we are a match. Trust me on this. You will come to know it over time.”
“I don’t want to do this to you.”
“Do what?”
“Andre, I appreciate you…as a friend, but you deserve a whole woman. I’m…”
“Who the hell is Andre?”
My left hand quickly covered my mouth. “Oh. Oops. Sorry about that,” I said with my fingertips still over my top lip.
“You are acting strange. Where did the enormous arrangement of flowers come from?” Brian asked, changing the subject. Are they from your daughters?” Brian asked.
“I thought I smelled flowers,” I said, looking in the direction of the scent. “I don’t know who they are from,” I replied.
&n
bsp; Brian walked to the window ledge and must have retrieved a card from the bouquet. “I can’t believe you didn’t notice these.” Brian read the card aloud. “Thinking of you. Rest well and recover soon. Paul.’’
“Oh, that was thoughtful,” I replied.
“Who is Paul? Andre, Paul…how can you even keep track? What’s up, Dee?”
“Paul Brown, the gallery owner. I called him to tell him why my art didn’t show up.”
“Oh yes. Don’t you find it odd that he’s buying you expensive flowers?”
“Not really. I’m really tired. The drugs, you know. I need to rest now,” I said. My head felt heavy and sleep pushed my eyelids closed. My arms felt as if they were tied to the bed and a headache was building.
“Do you care about me?”
“Yes,” I said with my eyes closed, “as a friend. Now I’m your blind friend that wants a little rest and space to process things.”
“What do you mean blind friend? …how well can you see?”
“Oh, you want to talk about that huh? Well, I see more shadows than I did before. I see outlines of people. I see that there are objects in this room.” I opened my eyes and looked around, scanning my surroundings, wishing I knew what the objects were.
“Are you kidding? You still can’t see? What did the doc say? Will you get better?”
“He doesn’t know. But it’s not likely to improve much. What I see is what I got. I’m practically fully dependent.” I closed my eyes again, yearning for rest. I spoke softly as I started to drift off. “I can’t drive a car again or be a photographer. How damn depressing is that?” I peeked at Brian who was silent.
Brian sat quietly with his head bowed. He shook his head a couple of times without looking up. Finally he looked up at me. “This is bad news.”
“No kidding.” I wasn’t sure if he meant for me or for him. I let my eyes close again and my muscles relax. My arms and legs felt itchy, but I was too tired to move. My mouth felt as if it were filled with cotton that sucked every morsel of moisture out of me. “Go back to Seattle Brian. You have a life.”
Painted with Love: Romance Eludes Time and Death Page 23
