Shortly after my outburst, a hospital counsellor came by to have a chat to me and Bryce. She spoke to us about what we may or may not feel in the coming days and weeks, which I found slightly irritating. I hated being told what I ‘may or may not feel’ by someone who did not know me at all and could not possibly know how I would feel. She kind of made me angry, but then again she said I ‘may or may not feel angry’, so I guess she did sort of know what she was talking about. Regardless, I was not sure I liked her, so I mainly just listened on and off.
She went through the various options that were available to us, for when we were ready to farewell our baby. Options that I could not comprehend, let alone make a clear decision about. I didn’t really want to think about it; I didn’t want to think about anything. I just wanted to sleep.
I didn’t have much to say to her anyway, not being the type to talk to a stranger about my inner most feelings— irrespective of her training and university degree. Bryce appeared to feel the same way, but I expected he would eventually talk to Dr. Toffee-Nosed-Carrot-Top Jessica, which was fine. He could obviously confide in her and was comfortable with her, and I was glad he would have someone to share his grief with other than me.
She must be one hell of a good psychologist despite her demeanour, because she had helped Bryce in the past. And she dealt with Gareth and his illness on a weekly basis. I sure as hell wasn’t going to confide in her, though. There was no way I would be entrusting her to help me heal—no way. She made it very clear when we first crossed paths that she did not like me.
***
Later that night when all was quiet, Bryce and I finally had a chance to talk. We were lying next to each other in my rather large hospital bed, in my rather nice hospital room that I’m thinking Bryce had a hand in organising.
“You should go home and get some proper rest,” I said softly, as he rested his head on mine and gently stroked my arm with his thumb.
“No. I’m not leaving you here alone. And anyway, I don’t want to be alone either.”
I tilted my head to look up at him, tears filling my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“Hunny, don’t. Don’t do this to yourself again. It’s not your fault,” he said sternly.
I tried desperately to choke back my tears. “But it is. I fell. I was rushing to come and see you, to help you. It is my fault. The thing is, I’m sure I put my heels on properly...but maybe I didn’t...I can’t really remember, my memories are all mixed.”
I couldn’t help but keep thinking about it though, replaying it over and over in my head, recalling things that I didn’t think happened but I couldn’t be sure. The uncertainty scared me so I tightened my arm which was lying across his chest.
“What do you mean, your memories are all mixed?” he asked, curiously.
“Well, I keep having these flashbacks or visions where I stop and look at my shoes before I go down the stairs. They are secure on my feet. I know they are, because I look at them the whole time I fall.”
I closed my eyes momentarily in an attempt to get back the visions I had been seeing over the course of the last couple of days. I reopened them and looked sorrowfully up at Bryce. “I don’t know how I slipped...”
I tore my eyes away from his and dropped my head back down to his chest, feeling stupid for saying it. “I know...it’s crazy. It’s probably just my sub-conscious trying to help me feel less guilty. I don’t know...” I sighed, “If that is the case, it really isn’t working.”
“Hunny, your mind will play all kinds of tricks on you. It’s life’s cruel way of getting you to sort through your grief, your guilt and your sadness so that you can move on. It’s one of those fucked up lessons we have to learn.”
I squeezed him tighter, appreciative, but equally saddened by his knowledge of despair. He, of all people, knew how to deal with grief and loss and what steps to take in order to heal. He also knew how to bear guilt.
“Thank you. Thank you for not hating me, because God knows I hate myself.”
“Alexis, I could never hate you. I love you so much, it’s unfathomable. Seeing you lying lifeless at the bottom of the stairs scared the absolute shit out of me.” He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. “I keep fucking replaying it in my head, and each time it makes me ill. I thought you were dead. Then I saw the blood on your dress and I knew...well...I just knew.” He shook his head as if to shake away the horrifying vision. “I don’t want to think about it. You’re safe, and you’ll heal. We both will.”
He tightened his grip on me without causing any pain. I was still tender and bruised on the ribs and lower abdomen.
We fell asleep that way, holding each other, comforting each other, supporting each other, allowing one another to grieve in a manner that only we knew how. A small part of both our hearts had been torn away and would be lost forever.
I knew deep down that time healed the wounded and heartbroken, and I was confident that time would do just that for us. I knew this, because at the end of this tragedy we had each other and that would never change.
***
Day 3, after surgery
Day three was kind of a blur. Dr. Rainer came to the hospital to explain the details of my miscarriage. She said the force of my pelvis hitting the steps had detached the placenta and ruptured my cervix. She also explained that while I was under anaesthesia for the surgery on my ankle, a dilation and curettage was performed in order to remove the baby and placenta from my uterus.
Dr. Rainer also informed us that the hospital had a garden named The Garden of Angels. She explained that we could have our baby cremated and that we could sprinkle the ashes in the garden if we wanted. I remembered the counsellor having mentioned this the day after my surgery, but at that time I could not even consider the notion. Now, I kind of liked the idea. It seemed sort of nice— a place where other baby angels were, a place where our baby could rest in peace.
***
Mum and Jen visited again before heading home. When Bryce had stepped out to take an important phone call, Mum explained that he had arranged for Chelsea to fly to Shepparton to pick both her and Jen up not long after the accident occurred. She also said that Chelsea was flying them back later that afternoon—I didn’t know what to think of that.
The kids were still with Dad at the farm, and both Nate and Charli were none the wiser about my fall. I wanted it to remain that way, at least for the time being. I had no idea how I was going to explain to my children that the baby we had just told them about—the baby they were excited about, the baby that we had all grown to love—was now gone. How was I going to explain that?
I spoke to them briefly on the phone, telling them I missed them and loved them and could not wait to see them both. I told them I was bored but also busily working. I hated lying to my children, but I’d had to. I’d had to pretend I was good and not in any case hospitalised—Nate would have panicked.
***
My orthopaedic surgeon also paid me a visit that day, explaining that he had fixed two screws and a plate to my fibula and that the cast which reached to me knee would more than likely be on for a couple of weeks then eventually replaced with a moon boot cast. After that, I would be required to undergo physiotherapy rehabilitation and walk around on crutches for another five to seven weeks. Just the thought of it had me depressed and worried. So much had happened to me and it was all just a bit overwhelming.
***
Day 4, after surgery
By the fourth day, my brain and physical self were once again starting to work in unison with each other. I was finally able to get out of bed to have a shower, which I was relieved about but also silently dreading. Bryce, being Bryce, helped me every step of the way.
“Here, take a seat.” He guided me to the plastic chair where I sat down. I watched him strip down, and like always, I admired the view. I was, however, in no mood for anything intimate, nor would I be for some time—I still admired the view though.
“Now, the nurse gave me this cast prot
ector to put over your leg so that you don’t get it wet.”
He held out the big plastic cover, bent down and started to put it over my leg. He was so cautious and gentle, it really was adorable. I stood up with his help, balancing on one leg.
“You okay?” he asked as steadied me carefully.
“Yeah, I’ve had worse pain.”
He brought my hand to his lips. “I’m sure you have, but if you are in pain, you need to say so. They can give you more medication for it.”
He reached behind me and untied my backless hospital robe then gently pulled it away.
“I know, but really, I’m fine. The pain is sort of a welcome reminder.”
He placed his hands on my shoulders and gazed into my eyes with a look of worry, possibly searching for that slight bit of crazy my last response kind of warranted. He must not have found it, because he surrendered his search and turned to get the shower ready.
As I stood there on one leg, braced against the wall while he adjusted the water temperature, I looked down at my leg and snickered.
“Are you laughing?” he asked, astonished.
I giggled this time. “Yeah, I think I am.”
He stepped up to me and wrapped one arm around my waist, pressing me to his bare skin and lifting me only slightly with ease. Regardless of the trauma I had just recently experienced, my body reacted to his just like it always had. My nipples hardened and that electric tingle he charged me with was also present.
He slowly stepped backward with me still attached to his front, stepping us over to the water and holding me tightly as it cascaded around us.
“Why are you laughing?” he asked softly.
“I have a rather large leg condom on,” I replied.
He looked down to inspect my cast cover then looked back up at me, a smirk on his face. The smirk quickly turned into an outburst. “Yes, you do. But fuck, you look hot in a leg condom.”
I laughed back at him and it felt good. Good to be naked in his supporting arms and laughing with him again. It gave me hope.
I dropped my head to his chest and subdued my laugh to a soft giggle. He kissed the top of my head. “We will get through this, you know. And if you want to—and there is no pressure—we can try again.”
I tilted my head and looked into his eyes. I could see he meant no pressure, but at the same time, I could see that he desperately hoped I would want to try again. Do I want to try again? Oh, God. I don’t know. I don’t know if I can.
“We don’t have to discuss this now. I just wanted you to know that, okay?”
I couldn’t give him an answer, not yet anyway. I nodded and cuddled into him again.
He positioned me against the wall, where I held onto the arm supports. “Okay, my love, let’s get you clean.”
I think I fell in love with him all over again as I watched him wash me slowly, kissing me and telling me how much he loved me and could not live without me. I knew then that I would eventually try again. For him, I would do anything.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
On the fifth and final day in hospital, Bryce wheeled me down to the Garden of Angels in a wheelchair so that we could scatter our baby’s ashes. The garden was beautiful, with an array of different coloured flowers and little handmade wooden signs with words of prayers and love. It really was a magical place that was both sombre and heart-warming at the same time.
The weather was mild with a very calm breeze, perfect for what Bryce and I were about to do. We knew we had to do it, but allowing our baby to become an angel in this little garden kind of made the whole miscarriage final, and that was incredibly difficult to accept. I knew I had to accept it though, so I took in a deep breath while trying to still my hands which were shaking uncontrollably as they gripped and tipped the small urn. As I tipped, the breeze picked up slightly, carrying the ashes across the garden. I matched the whisper of the breeze with a whisper of my own. “You will be forever in our hearts, little angel. You will always be remembered, cherished, treasured and missed. We love you.”
Tears fell down my cheeks as Bryce and I watched our precious baby’s ashes magically flow through the air, once again becoming a part of life—a part of nature. It was terribly hard to do, but at the same time it gave me a sense of calm, knowing that so many other little spirits were surrounding us, helping us, and welcoming our precious one into their midst.
***
After saying goodbye to Baby Clark, I was handed a small envelope by a nurse. She explained that when I was ready—and only if I wanted to open it—that it contained a picture of my baby and the details of his or her gender. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I handed it to Bryce then was discharged and allowed to go home.
We pulled into the basement carpark in the Cadillac ATS Coupe. I knew straight away why he chose the Caddy, because it was probably the most comfortable of all his cars, and it definitely had the most leg room.
Quickly climbing out of his side of the car, he made his way to my door, opened it and helped me twist around. Then, without any hesitation, he placed one arm behind me and the other under my legs, lifting me up.
“Bryce, I have crutches,” I said, half rolling my eyes and half smiling.
“I know, but I have arms and I enjoy it when you’re in them.”
“I need to get used to the crutches, you know.”
“Hunny, I’m carrying you. You’ve got six weeks to get used to those crutches.”
I groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
I decided arguing with him at that particular moment was not going to benefit me. Clearly I was not going to win, so I rested my head on his shoulder and watched him close the car door with his foot and head for the elevator.
***
When the doors to the apartment opened and we entered, I felt a strange disconcerting feeling upon looking at the stairs. I couldn’t explain it. It just made me feel ill, to the point where I felt they were evil, which was incredibly stupid. First of all, stairs are not evil; Freddie Kruger is evil, and so is that hunter that killed Bambi’s mum. Secondly, I fell down them; they didn’t secretly trip me up.
After staring at the stairs for several seconds, another flashback entered my head. Again, in my recall, I hopped along the walkway that led to the top of stairs, bending down and putting my heels on as I stepped. I recalled stopping, bracing the railing, and wiggling my foot into my shoe, making sure it was perfectly secure. I recalled smiling and looking out over the lounge area in search of Bryce. I recalled taking my first step without a problem. I recalled taking my second step, again without any difficulties. The third step however, I was falling forward—fast—but not tripping. I definitely did not trip.
Bryce’s voice broke through my recall. “Alexis, are you with me? What is it?”
“Um...sorry, did you say something?” I stuttered, coming back to the present time.
“Yes, I asked where you wanted me to take you. Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
“I just remembered something. I didn’t trip, Bryce. I know I didn’t trip. My shoes were on just fine. I must’ve had some kind of imbalance or something, but I know I didn’t trip.” I was speaking fast, desperate to voice what I had just visualised.
“It’s okay, Hunny. Like you said, maybe you had a moment of imbalance. Either way, it still wasn’t your fault. Stop torturing yourself, you can’t change it.”
I nodded at him then looked back at the stairs, not wanting to go near them. “Please don’t carry me up them.”
“I wasn’t going to,” he said softly as he kissed my head. “Where do you want go, though?”
“I don’t know. I might just stay where I am,” I raised my eyebrow at him.
“Suits me just fine.” Of course it does. I wouldn’t put it past you actually carrying me all day.
“No, I’m kidding. Anyway, what are your plans for today? Do you have to work?”
“No, I’m all yours. Arthur has taken on more responsibility, so don’t worry about my work. Whatever
you want or need, I’m here for you. I’m at your beck and call.”
He remained standing there, holding me in his arms waiting for my instructions.
“Oh...” I said, bemused. I really shouldn’t be bemused. This is Mr. Perfect-Loving-Caring Clark we are talking about. “Well then, in that case take me wherever you want to take me. I’m basically as useless as tits on a bull at the moment.”
He raised his eyebrow. I didn’t think he meant to do it seductively. He was kind of being a perfect gentleman. The thing was, this man could not raise an eyebrow without it being seductive.
“I doubt that is true, Alexis. I can think of many things we can do without the use of your leg.” Okay, he definitely meant it seductively.
“I’m sure you can, but don’t forget, I can’t have sex—”
He laughed. “I haven’t forgotten, and no...I wasn’t insinuating that.”
“Oh. Well what did you have in mind?”
His mischievous, almost child-like grin appeared, and he carried me into the man-cave, placing me gently onto the sofa.
I grabbed his face. “You are not going to carry me around everywhere.”
“You do not have a choice if I choose to leave your crutches in the car.” He stood back up and winked at me before heading for the door.
“Bryce, what if I need to pee...or even worse?”
He didn’t look back, just laughed. “I’ll carry you,” he asserted.
“Bryce, you can’t—”
He exited the room. Grrr, talk about taking advantage of my inability to walk.
I shuffled uncomfortably on the couch, feeling the effects of my pain killers wearing off. I quickly calculated when I could take some more. Two, four, six hours...now. Good!
I pulled out my phone and sent Bryce a text:
Seeing as u wish 2 b my immobility-bitch,
Can u please bring me some water & painkillers ♥ - Alexis
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