B-Careful

by Shannon Holmes

  “I need something for the pain.... My head, my body, hurts like hell. Excuse my language,” Netta admitted.

  “Hush your mouth, it’s understandable. Especially for a patient in your condition,” Nurse McNeil told her. “There were days where we were wondering if you were going to make it at all. But God is good.”

  At the moment Netta didn’t need a sermon. She wanted some pain medication and she wanted it right now.

  “You think you can get somethin’ for the pain now?” she reiterated.

  “Give me one second, Sweetie, I’ll be right back,” the nurse replied.

  “Nurse?” Netta called out. “One more thing, where am I?” Netta was suddenly unaware of her exact surroundings.

  “You’re in Maryland General Hospital. You’ve been here in a medically induced coma for almost a week. When I come back, I’ll tell you everything else you need to know,” the nurse said as she rushed out the room.

  Netta watched as the big-boned, big-breasted nurse strolled out of her hospital room. In an instant, she closed her eyes, seeking temporary relief from the pain, while processing her current predicament. She slowly began to remember her ambulance ride to the hospital.

  “Here you go, darling,” Nurse McNeil said as she entered the room with a small white cup with two pills inside. “This should make you feel better.”

  The nurse proceeded over to Netta’s bed, slowly propping her up until she was in an upright position. She reached for the small pink pitcher filled with water that had been placed on a nearby counter and poured Netta a cup of water.

  “Open your mouth,” she said.

  After gently dumping the contents of the cup in her mouth, Nurse McNeil poured a slow, steady stream of water down her throat. The bitterness of the pills caused Netta to grimace.

  “What was that?” Netta suddenly thought to ask. The nurse replied, “100 milligrams of Tramadol.”

  Netta snapped. “I don’t know what that is, but from here on out bring me some Tylenol. I didn’t come in this hospital with a habit and I’ll be damned if I leave with one.”

  The nurse shook her head. “Okay, calm down, Sweetie. I’m just following doctor’s orders. But I’ll make a note of your concerns on your medical chart. I’ll see what other medical options we have to relieve all that pain you’re in.”

  All Netta could think of was the street stigma that was attached to these opioid pills with funny names. How heroin addicts easily exchanged a dependence on dope for another legal high. Netta despised all junkies, even though her mother Renee had been one. She hated the fact that her mother couldn’t ever overcome her demons; that her addiction never gave Netta a fair shot at a normal childhood.

  So in no way, shape, or form did she ever want to become anything like her mother.

  The nurse continued, “There are medicinal uses for Tramadol. You’re thinking about the ways people misuse it. It’s a pain reliever. And if a patient is in constant pain, then the body doesn’t heal properly. If the body doesn’t heal properly, then you can’t recover quickly. And if you don’t recover quickly, then you can’t go home when you want to. You wanna go home, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” Netta assured her. “But it’s just that I’d feel more comfortable takin’ Tylenol. Drug addiction runs in my family. It’s like a defective gene.”

  “Okay, I understand. I can’t argue with that, Miss Jackson,” she said, placing the water pitcher back on the counter before moving to the foot of the bed to examine her medical chart.

  Nurse McNeil began checking all the medical machinery that had been used to monitor Netta’s condition. It all seemed to read normally. She began detaching some of the attachments from Netta’s body, then she adjusted the bed, putting Netta in a more comfortable position to talk. She was feeling trapped in her hospital bed.

  “Sorry, Nurse McNeil, I didn’t mean to get stank wit’ you earlier,” she apologized. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me. I know you just doing your job.”

  Fortunately, the nurse was a true professional who had heard a lot worse. Netta’s words or tone of voice hadn’t offended her at all. She knew not to take most things that a patient said personally.

  “Sweetie, I understand how you feel,” the nurse explained. “I only dispense the medication that the doctor prescribes.”

  She continued, “Medication or no medication, all things considered, you’re lucky to even be alive. From my understanding, when they brought you in here, you were in very bad shape young lady. You were rushed in here suffering from trauma and multiple contusions. You went into shock on the operating table from the loss of so much blood internally...The doctors say they almost lost you.... For the past week you’ve been in a medically induced coma.”

  Wow, Netta thought when the nurse explained to her about the period of uncertainty as to whether if she would survive.

  Slowly, bits and pieces of her memory came back as Netta forced herself to think. She forced herself to recall exactly what happened that fateful night. Unsettling images of the assault began to replay in her mind. She recalled vividly the rage in Black’s face, and the savagery of the beating. Then she remembered the dream she just had. Now she understood the reason behind it. Suddenly it all made sense.

  “Sweetheart, you are one tough cookie. God has blessed you. I’ve seen people pass away from much less. When it ain’t your time to go, it ain’t your time to go. No man can change that.” The nurse added, “Shanetta Jackson, you are truly blessed. The Lord has His hands all over you. He has something better in store for you once you heal up and get back on your feet.”

  Netta was glad that the nurse was singing her praises, because she wasn’t so sure about that, or anything else at this point. She had a lot of soul searching to do.

  Exactly who the hell am I? she wondered.

  That was a good question. Was she Shanetta Jackson from Murphy Homes? Or Netta from the Pussy Pound? She had been so many things to so many people in her life that she had lost sight of her true identity.

  She had no idea what the real answer was. After all that she had just been through, physically and emotionally, it was no wonder she couldn’t think clearly. Her thoughts were all over the place, in a state of confusion.

  Netta wasn’t sure what the future looked like, but she wasn’t going back to what she had been.

  “Thank you. I appreciate everything you’ve told me,” Netta admitted humbly.

  “It’s the truth, Sweetie. I don’t say this of my own accord. The Lord told me to tell you. You are going to be alright,” the nurse claimed. “Amen.”

  Once the nurse got off her pulpit, she succeeded in putting the proper perspective on Netta’s current situation while at the same time giving her hope for a full recovery. Now Netta knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would survive this, just like she had every other blow that life had dealt her. Netta’s internal scars would heal quickly. But it would take a lot of time for her mental scars to mend.

  The nurse confessed, “You know, while you was in that coma, the police been coming by every day to check on you. They wanted to see if you were feeling well enough to talk. Or if things had taken a turn for the worst. Of course you were incapacitated, so I used that to run them away.”

  The mere mention of the police had Netta’s full attention. There were a thousand things going on in her mind. Her future. Her past. What she was going to do next. Now this. She was the victim. They had to know that. The police probably wanted to protect her. Maybe even save her, but she didn’t need them to do that. Netta felt she could hold her own.

  However true or untrue that notion was, one thing she wasn’t going to do was snitch. Netta wasn’t pointing any fingers or making any statements in regards to Black. What happened to her was going to stay in the streets.

  The nurse continued, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep the police from talking to you now. But beside the police, there were a few young ladies here. They said that they were friends of yours. Didn’t catch al
l their names, there were so many. And this handsome looking young man with a New York accent came to check on you too. I think he said his name was Antonio?.... Tony?...”

  “You mean Tone?” Netta replied.

  “Yes, that sounds about right,” she concluded. “That’s his name. Now if you would excuse me Sweetie, I got some other rounds to make and some paperwork to do. The doctor will be in to see you soon. But in the meantime, I’ll call down to the kitchen and have them send you up some lunch.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” Netta replied. “Nurse, I hate to bother you, but could you help me out of bed. I need to get a look at myself.”

  The nurse adjusted the high bed railing, moving it into a lower position so that Netta could place her legs on the side of the bed and prepare to take her first steps since coming out of her coma. She was feeling a little self-conscious dressed in her paper-thin hospital gown, parts of her nude body were exposed by the slit in the back.

  Netta needed assistance just lifting her upper body off the bed. Nurse McNeil gave her a helping hand, pulling her to an upright position with her legs dangling off the bed. That little bit of movement took a lot of energy and effort on Netta’s part. Her back began to stiffen and her muscles started to ache from not using them for the past week.

  “You okay Sweetie?” the nurse asked.

  “Yes, other than a few aches and pains here and there, I’m fine,” she admitted.

  “Just take your time trying to walk. Your mind might be telling you one thing, but your body may have other ideas,” the nurse said. “We don’t want you to fall.”

  The nurse reached out both her hands, offering Netta some support. Netta took hold of her hands and slowly stepped off the bed. Instantly she felt unsteady on her feet as he legs began to tremble under her body weight. Her legs were shaky at first. The socks she had on were no help either. The floor was more slippery than it should have been. This reaction cast doubt in her mind, it made her hesitant to take her first step.

  “Come on, you can do it Shanetta,” the nurse assured her. “I know you can.”

  Those words removed any doubts that Netta had. Suddenly, she took a step forward. It was followed by another and another. She moved gingerly toward the bathroom, with about as much speed as an elderly person. Each step she took awakened muscles and joints that had stiffened during her coma. Quickly, the uneasiness in which she first stood disappeared and was replaced by confidence.

  Netta smiled at the nurse. It was a silent thank you for her assistance.

  “I got it from here,” Netta told the nurse.

  She let go of one hand, then the other, proving she could walk under her own power. Still, the nurse kept a cautious eye on her, while standing nearby. By the time they arrived at the bathroom, Netta was slightly fatigued.

  “I’m good,” Netta pronounced as she placed her hands on the sink.

  “You sure now baby?” Nurse McNeil asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Netta replied while using one hand to close the door.

  “There’s an emergency button in there if you should need anything,” the nurse informed her.

  Instantly, Netta was drawn to the mirror. She slowly surveyed the damage Black had done to her face. There was a large knot almost in the center of her forehead. She had a black eye and a busted swollen lower lip to accompany the other minor bumps, cuts and bruises on her face. Her hair was in total disarray. Netta had to admit to herself, she looked horrible.

  Netta couldn’t stand the sight of herself anymore. In her current condition she felt like the mystique that had once surrounded her was forever tarnished because of the vicious beating that Black had administered to her. It made her ashamed to show her face in the streets.

  If she could at that moment, Netta would have covered the mirror, just to block out the battered reflection of herself that she was seeing. She turned away, unable to look at her reflection any longer. She angrily began the journey back to her bed, to commiserate in her misery.

  A million thoughts ran through Netta’s mind. She was angrier at what had been done to her more than being fearful of almost losing her life. It was at that point that Netta realized that her anger wasn’t going to bring her the peace of mind she needed to heal. So she decided to just let it go.

  As if it were just that easy. She couldn’t control her hateful thoughts. Just like she couldn’t control those bad dreams from reoccurring.

  Sonya looked out her bedroom window, watching Tone as he jumped into his car, headed to the block to ply his trade. Whenever he exited the house, her mind went astray. She couldn’t think straight. She woke up every day with so much anxiety and emotional distress. She worried herself wondering what he was doing. Or better yet, whom he was with. She wasn’t buying his weak excuses any more. She saw the large amounts of money Tone stashed in the house. She was aware of his team of workers. So she knew he didn’t have to be on the block every day like he claimed. That was just an excuse to get out the house as far as she was concerned, and do his thing with other women.

  No one had ever made her feel like this, sexually or emotionally. In the past she never had a problem controlling her feelings for a man. She usually was able to keep them under control. But there was something about Tone that made her go overboard. There was something that brought out the craziness in her. Lately, their conversations felt more like interrogations. She placed the blame for that solely on Tone. If she was a certain kind of way, it was clearly because he made her that way. Point blank period.

  “There wasn’t a truth that had been concealed that time won’t reveal,” her mother was fond of saying. Sonya believed it too.

  She felt now was the time to know the truth about Tone’s extracurricular activities, for them to manifest itself to her. With a suggestion from her best friend Bri, they were going around Tone’s drug block to see exactly what was good with him.

  Sonya had done all the crying. She had experienced all the negative feelings and been through all the turbulent emotions that Tone’s cheating had caused. Now it was time to act.

  Beep! Beep! The sound of the car horn snapped Sonya out of her thoughts.

  “Comin’ down now,” Sonya yelled out the window.

  “Hurry up heifer,” Bri shouted back.

  The moment Sonya climbed into her front seat, Bri was grinning ear to ear. This was the moment they both had been waiting for.

  “You ready?” Bri laughed.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Sonya replied.

  “Then here we go,” Bri teased.

  Bri wasn’t nosey, she didn’t ask Sonya to tell her their business. She had only agreed to Sonya’s plan because she was a concerned friend.

  Netta forced herself to eat as much of the bland food as she could possibly stomach. She hoped the food would give her some nourishment and help promote healing within her body, even though the baked chicken looked half cooked and tasted rubbery. Her mash potatoes tasted like mush and the vegetables didn’t even look edible. At the very least she hoped the food would settle her stomach.

  Within a half hour a member of the kitchen staff entered her room to collect the tray. The lady seemed to sense Netta’s disdain for her barely eaten lunch.

  “Wasn’t in the mood to eat, huh?” the lady asked sarcastically.

  “You wouldn’t be either if your meal tasted like hot garbage,” Netta remarked.

  “Yeah, it takes a little getting used to it,” the lady said before giving Netta a sympathetic look and carting the picked over meal away.

  Netta sat through a long boring day at the hospital, with visits from multiple doctors and specialists. The prognosis was the same yet she was still fearful and frustrated. Frustrated with being in the hospital alone, and fearful that Black may just come to the hospital and finish the job. She hoped the issue was dead between them. She had robbed him and he had extracted his revenge. As far as she was concerned, they were even. She hoped he would eventually forget about her and go on about his business.

&nb
sp; She hoped.

  However, Black played by a different set of rules than everyone else. There was no telling what was going through his mind. Getting some revenge might have felt good to him, but getting more may have felt even better.

  Netta understood his mindset, so she prepared herself for the worst. She trained her mind to expect the unexpected. Planning to defend herself was one thing, but the reality could be a whole lot different.

  Just as Netta tried to soothe her mind with some positive thoughts, two well built, Caucasian, plain-clothes police officers entered her room. The two silver police badges that swung from their necks announced who they were before they had a chance to speak.

  One police officer began. “Sorry to disturb you, Miss Jackson. We’ll try to be as brief as possible. I’m Police Officer Jason Campbell and this is my partner, Police Officer John Hastings. We’re with the Baltimore Police Department’s Anti-Crime Division. It’s come to our attention that you were badly beaten in a downtown hotel by an unknown assailant. Well, we were able to lift some fingerprints from that hotel room and we brought along a few photos of some suspects. If you would be so kind as to take a look at them and......”

  “I can’t help you. I didn’t see the person who did this,” Netta said, cutting the cop off.

  “Would you at least take a look before you jump to that conclusion. There could be a face in there that might jar your memory,” Officer Campbell suggested.

  “I already told you. I didn’t see a thing,” she spoke defiantly.

  The cops weren’t buying Netta’s story one bit. They didn’t believe anything she said. They knew that Netta could indeed identify her attacker. They knew she knew him personally. They knew more about the situation than they were letting on. Quickly they changed their tactics, becoming more confrontational.

  “Listen, Miss Jackson, you’re not fooling anyone over here. You expect us to believe that? That you were just strolling down the street and then suddenly you were kidnapped, blindfolded, driven to a hotel where you registered for the hotel room under your name. And you don’t know the person responsible for doing this to you? You must be nuts,” Officer Campbell explained.