Saving Noah

by Berry, Lucinda

  “You need to have a doctor check you out. Pump your stomach.”

  “There’s nothing left in my stomach to pump.” He rubbed his forehead.

  I sat on the couch next to him, holding my head in my hands. My chest hurt. My head swirled. The smell of sickness surrounded me.

  “What were you trying to do?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  “I don’t know.” He laid his head back down on the couch. “My head is throbbing.”

  “Were you trying to get high or ... or were you ...”

  My words hung in the air.

  “I just didn’t want to feel anything.” His eyes filled with desperation. “Please, don’t make me go to the hospital. Dad will come, and it’ll be awful. I hate all the doctors and that shrink will talk to me again. Please. I’m fine. I swear I’m fine. I learned my lesson. Please, Mom, I’m begging you.”

  I gave in and didn’t take him to the hospital. I stayed up with him all night instead. He stopped dry-heaving somewhere around three in the morning. I made him drink water and eventually, he kept it down. I moved on to Gatorade, forcing him to take small sips. I didn’t sleep at all. I checked on him every few minutes while he slept to make sure he kept breathing.

  I didn’t know if I was doing the right thing. It’d been two years since I’d been confident in a parenting decision, but I did know that I didn’t fail him in this moment of desperation like I’d done before. I would never forgive myself for how I handled his confession. At least this time, I gave him what he needed.

  He was in so much pain, and I didn’t know how to stop it. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Lucas held the key. My love for him wasn’t enough. He needed his dad.

  12

  Noah was worse than he’d been before Rick’s visit. He sat on the couch still as a statue, staring at the blank TV screen. He was back to not eating. He said it was because his stomach was recovering, but I didn’t believe him. I didn’t have any experience with not trusting him. None. He adhered to the same moral code as me. He followed the rules because that’s what you were supposed to do.

  I had to get Lucas to talk to Noah. I couldn’t hold him up on my own anymore. It had been weeks since he invited us to their house and he’d made it clear we weren’t welcome to come by unannounced. But whenever I asked, he made up some trivial excuse to keep us from coming. It took some coaxing, but he finally agreed to have us over for dinner and a movie the following night.

  I waited until Katie and Noah were settled in front of the TV before I motioned for Lucas to follow me into the kitchen where he could keep one eye on Noah at all times while we talked. His face hardened and he folded his arms across his chest as he leaned against the counter.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “We need to talk.” I lowered my voice. “Something happened with Noah.”

  He nodded, waiting for me to go on.

  “You’ve got to talk to him. He needs you.” I couldn’t keep the desperation out of my voice.

  His expression didn’t change. I wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t heard many times before. I’d done everything I could think of to get him connect with Noah—begged, cried, bargained, screamed—but it never made a difference. He was as unmoved then as he was now.

  “You can’t tell him that I told you.” Noah made me promise not to tell anyone what he’d done and I hated to betray his confidence, but it was the only way I could get Lucas to understand the seriousness of what we were dealing with.

  “Okay.” He looked confused.

  “A few days ago, Noah took all his Percocet. I think he was trying to kill himself.” I spoke quickly in case Katie came bouncing into the kitchen.

  “What happened?” he asked, nonchalantly.

  “He puked his brains out. It was awful. He begged me not to take him to the hospital, so I didn’t. I don’t know if I made the right choice or not. I have no idea what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know how to help him, and I’m afraid of losing him. You’ve got to talk to him.” I choked on the sobs caught in my throat.

  He frowned. “I don’t know if I can do that. I don’t know what I’d say.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I said he tried to kill himself. He might die. Don’t you care if he dies?” I couldn’t keep the hysteria out of my voice.

  “Of course I care if he dies.” He pretended to act insulted.

  “I don’t know why I try. Why I even bother to come to you.” My shoulders shook with silent sobs. He didn’t reach out to hold me, or offer a hand of comfort like he would’ve done in the past. I’d become so enmeshed in his mind with Noah that he couldn’t touch me either.

  “I guess I could talk to him. Just tell me what you want me to say.”

  “I want you to tell him that you still love him and you’re sorry for how you’ve treated him. I don’t care if you mean it. Just say it. He needs to hear you say it. Please, Lucas, I’m begging you. Just pretend. Look at him and pretend he’s the six-year-old boy you used to adore.”

  “Fine, I’ll do it,” he said and walked back into the living room looking like he was walking into a pit of snakes. “Noah, can I talk to you for a second?”

  Noah perked up immediately, shocked that he’d spoken to him directly. “Sure,” he said. His eyes lit up with excitement.

  He leaped to his feet and turned around to give me a wide smile as he followed Lucas into the guest bedroom. They shut the door behind them.

  I took his spot next to Katie. She nuzzled up under my arm and wrapped herself around me.

  “I everything okay?” she asked sleepily. It was already past her bedtime.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s going to be.”

  I expected Noah to look happy when he came out of the bedroom, but instead, he looked stricken. Lucas’s expression hadn’t changed. It was the same stoic face he’d been wearing for two years. I hoped forcing him to tell Noah that he loved him would crumble his armor and make him remember what it felt like to love him. Maybe he didn’t love him anymore, but at one time he did. More than anything else in the world.

  “Let’s go, Mom,” Noah said.

  “Um ... okay?” I looked toward Lucas. He shrugged.

  I peeled Katie off of me, laying her back against the couch. She’d fallen asleep while we waited for Noah and Lucas. I kissed her on the top of her head, not wanting to wake her up.

  “What did your dad want to talk to you about?” I asked Noah as soon as we were in the car.

  He shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Come on. You haven’t had a conversation in months. Fill me in on the details.” I tried not to sound too eager.

  He shrugged. “He said everything he needed to say.”

  “Could you be a bit more cryptic, please?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped.

  He went to his room as soon as we got home and closed the door. I had a hard time falling asleep even after taking half of an Ambien. Nights had always been the worst for me and eventually, I’d had to rely on sleeping pills. I hadn’t slept without them in a year.

  *****

  Bloodcurdling screams startled me awake. I bolted from my bed, ran to Noah’s room, and flung open the door. His bed was empty. Smooth and unused. I whipped open the closet door. Nothing.

  The screaming continued.

  I rushed to the bathroom. Flicked on the light. Empty.

  Other voices joined the shrieking.

  “Call 911! Call 911!”

  Terror gripped me. I was blind with fear as I stumbled toward the living room. The patio door was ajar. We never went out on the patio. Horror mounted with each step. I looked down.

  Noah’s lifeless body dangled from our balcony, tied by his bedroom sheets. Ice water shot through my veins. I raced to the edge and tried to pull him up. He was too heavy.

  “Help me! My God, someone help me!” My screams grew louder.

  Everything was
in slow motion. My hands pulled, twisted. I couldn’t move him. People yelled. Their words didn’t reach me. Someone pounded at my door. I couldn’t leave him. I had to hold him up.

  “Please God, please God, please God.”

  A loud crash. Suddenly, someone was behind me, pushing me out of the way. “Move!”

  Two men shoved me aside and pulled on the rope like they were engaged in a tug-of-war contest. They grunted as they pulled and got him up to the railing but couldn’t lift him over. Another man jumped in, and they hoisted him over the rail, laying him down on the concrete. His body flopped like a dead fish. They flipped him on his back. His eyes bulged out of his head, wide open in shock and horror. His lips were blue. His mouth contorted into a grotesque half-smile. His chest wasn’t moving.

  I tried to untie the knot from around his neck. I couldn’t. It was too tight. “Grab a knife from the kitchen!” I screamed.

  One of the men left and quickly came back with a knife. I held the rope as far away from Noah’s neck as I could. It barely moved. He tied it tight. Done it right.

  The man’s hand hesitated. “I’m afraid I’ll cut him.”

  “Give it to me.” The other one grabbed it and sliced the noose in one swift movement. It fell away.

  I put my face down to his. Nothing. I tilted his head back, cleared his airway, and gave two breaths. Placed both hands on his chest and pushed.

  “One, two, three, four five,” I chanted out loud.

  Breathe. One. Two. Check.

  “One, two, three, four, five.”

  Breathe. One. Two. Check.

  “One, two, three, four five.”

  Breathe. One. Two. Check.

  Big black boots. Navy legs pushed me away. Arms and hands everywhere moving like madness around his body, pushing me further and further away toward the end of the balcony. My heart hammered so loudly it echoed in my head. There was a sea of movement around me.

  They pulled out the laryngoscope to intubate him. I rehearsed the steps I learned in school. Insert ETT and inflate cuff. Done. Good. Attach bag and ventilate. Make sure to listen for sounds in the stomach. Were they listening for sounds in his stomach? What if they missed his trachea and hit his esophagus instead?

  “Did you hit his esophagus? Make sure it’s not in his esophagus,” I cried out.

  One of the EMTs crouched beside me. “He’s going to be okay. We’ve got him intubated.”

  “What are his vital signs?” I asked.

  “They’re not very good.”

  “I want to know what they are.”

  He looked puzzled.

  “I’m a nurse.”

  “His pulse is slow and weak. He’s in v-fib.”

  They needed to hurry. They weren’t moving fast enough. Every second counted. Didn’t they know that? Why were they moving so slow? I stood, trying to push my way through the bodies surrounding Noah.

  “You’ve got to get him to the hospital.” My entire body shook.

  The EMT grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

  “Let me go! I want to see him. I know what I’m doing. I want to help.” I fought against him but he refused to let go.

  “Ma’am, we’re taking care of him. We’ve got him.”

  Another group of paramedics emerged, carrying the flat board. I’d seen the scene play out so many times before. But this was my kid. My heart. They strapped him to the board. The man didn’t let go of me.

  “We’re going up to the roof. He’s going to be airlifted to Children’s Hospital,” he said.

  “Noah! Noah!” My voice changed with every repetition of his name, screeching higher and higher.

  “Ma’am, I need you to calm down. Can you tell me your name? I need you to focus on me right now, can you do that?”

  My words were swallowed up by my sobs.

  He took my head in his hands, fixed his gaze on me. “My name is Carl. I’m going to help you get through this, but I need you to cooperate. What’s your name?”

  “Adrianne.” I didn’t recognize my voice.

  “Good. That’s good. Now, Adrianne, we can have you ride with us to the hospital, but you have to stay calm. I know that’s hard, but it’s the best thing for Noah right now. I can’t let you on the helicopter if you’re not calm. Do you understand me?”

  I nodded. My body wouldn’t stop trembling.

  “My people are going to be working with him. He’s in the best care. I promise. We’re taking care of your boy.”

  He put his arm around me, and I followed him down the hallway and into the elevator. I heard the sounds of the propellers before we stepped onto the roof. They were loading Noah’s body in.

  “Here we go,” he said.

  We covered our heads and ran for the door.

  HIM (THEN)

  I made it to level three. You get more privileges on level three. I can go to the library as much as I want now and I’ve filled my room with books. None of the books are new. They’re all old classics, things your teacher would assign you to read in school, but I don’t care. It’s the only time my brain shuts off, and I can disappear for a few hours.

  Level three also means they’ve started talking about my discharge and what happens when I leave. I know it’s still a long way off, but just talking about it makes me anxious. Going home scares me. I’m so nervous to see my dad again. He never comes to visit me. It’s like he died or something. I’m starting to forget what he looked like and have to work hard to picture his face. Mom doesn’t even mention him when she comes. I’m afraid I’ll never be able to make things right between us again.

  But the thing that scares me the most is losing control of myself after I’m out. What if it happens again? My counselors all say that I’ve changed. I’m a mentor to the new kids who come in because I’m supposed to be a model of what a reformed person looks like. They tell my mom that I’ve made great progress. But have I really changed? Is the darkness still buried somewhere within me? How do I know it’s gone? How can I be sure I won’t hurt someone again?

  13

  Noah’s heart stopped in the helicopter, and they had to shock him twice before it started again. The doctors put him in a medically induced coma to control the swelling in his brain and hooked him up to a ventilator. I hadn’t left his side. I sat in a chair next to his bed and held his hand, listening to the machines beep. Their sounds comforted me because as long as they beeped, I knew he was alive.

  I spent hours staring into his face, willing him to open his eyes. The pictures from the balcony flashed through my mind over and over again. They wouldn’t stop. It didn’t help to look at him in the hospital bed because those images were equally horrific. There was nowhere to look that wasn’t filled with pain.

  The first twenty-four hours were critical. All the statistics rushed through my head unwanted. How every minute your brain goes without oxygen is damaging. How long had he hung there? Had we found him too late? I knew what it meant if we had. I breathed a sigh of relief when we passed the twenty-four-hour mark without any seizures or signs of cardiac arrest.

  The following day his doctors decreased his medicine so that they could check his brain activity. I held my breath and clasped my hands together on my lap while they worked, too scared to move. I burst into tears after his feet responded to stimulation. Over the next two days, they gradually withdrew his medication and slowly woke him up. They removed the tube from his throat when they were confident he could breathe on his own. He opened his eyes, but they weren’t focused and moved randomly around the room, sometimes rolling back into his head. He didn’t speak and acted as if he didn’t hear others who spoke to him. His medical team didn’t know how long his brain had gone without oxygen or the extent of his brain damage. Only time would tell.

  Time was all I had as I sat in the hospital by myself. I refused to let Lucas visit. I didn’t want him anywhere near Noah again. He wouldn’t tell me what he said to Noah the night he tried to kill himself, but I knew something he said had pushed him over the ed
ge. Katie begged to visit but children weren’t allowed in ICU and even if they were, I wouldn’t let her see Noah this way. My mom had been to visit twice, but other than that, I was alone. The window in his room was my only connection to the outside world. I couldn’t even bring myself to turn on the TV.

  My days were structured by the arrival of nurses and doctors, maintenance workers cleaning up the room, meals, and medications. Some of them asked how I was doing. Others left me alone. I preferred the ones who left me alone. Making small talk was too difficult and it wasn’t any easier to talk about Noah’s situation. I was stuck in purgatory, unable to think or do anything else except wait for Noah to come back to me.

  *****

  Even though the nurses assured me that he was in good hands, I couldn’t stop myself from speeding on my way back to Dolton. Noah had been out of ICU and in a regular hospital room for three days. He’d finally started to speak but usually just in one-word phrases or answers. They weren’t sure if his symptoms were due to neurological damage or depression. They’d added a cocktail of antidepressants to his pain and blood pressure medication. As long as he continued to stabilize, the plan was to move him to the inpatient psychiatric ward by the end of the week. The psychiatric ward was the best place for him. It’d allow him to continue getting all the physical and neurological rehabilitation he needed, but also introduce the psychiatric care that was just as critical to his recovery. The daytime nurses had talked me into going home to get him the things he would need while he was hospitalized. I was grateful that my mom and Lucas had brought my car to the hospital so I didn’t have to rent one.

  It’d only been two weeks but it felt like years. The world looked different even though nothing had changed. It was like all the sound had been turned off. The colors muted. You couldn’t experience the soul-sucking fear of losing your child and come out the same way. You just couldn’t.

  The apartment was locked, but it didn’t matter because the door was broken from being kicked in. Everything inside was intact and nothing was missing. Maybe it was because we didn’t have anything valuable to steal, or people were too afraid to come inside given what happened. The balcony door was ajar. I walked over to shut it and noticed the torn-up sheet lying in pieces where we left it, crumpled up on the balcony. I couldn’t bring myself to touch it. Hopefully, the wind would blow it off. I shut the door and pulled the vertical blinds closed so the balcony wouldn’t be the first thing Noah saw when he came home.