by Randis, K. L
I’m not a child; I can handle this, stop talking to me like I don’t understand.
We pushed through the ICU doors and I tried to calm my heart. She was in the second room on the right and after shutting the door, Dad led us around a curtain.
I wish I hadn’t gone inside. I wish I never went into that room to see her like that. She was lying on the bed, motionless. This wasn’t my mom at all. Tubes emerged from her neck, mouth, nose, her hands… anywhere they could stick her. Her face was so swollen I didn’t recognize her and her skin and eyes sloshed off to the side. Her mouth was partially open, and a thick blue tube stuck out of it. A pump next to her bed pushed air in and out of her lungs.
I couldn’t see through my tears to make it over to her bedside so Adam took my hand and led me to her. I reached out for her hand, careful not to touch any I.V’s.
“Ohhhh,” I cried, and I couldn’t talk. An orchestra of monitors drowned out my sobs as I tried to make sense of the beeping and zig-zagging lines.
A doctor pushed past the curtain and whispered to my Dad for a minute before asking if Adam and I had any questions.
“Why won’t she wake up?” I asked, wiping my nose on my sleeve.
He looked at my dad. “We have to keep her sedated, sweetheart. It means asleep. We have to keep her asleep with medicine that way she can rest and heal. She would be in too much pain if she were awake.”
My Aunt Nikki arrived when Adam and I made our way into the waiting room. “I got on the first flight I could.” She hugged me briefly before being whisked away into the ICU. The afternoon went on like that. Family coming in and out, crying, falling asleep in the stiff leather seats in the waiting room, and then doing it all over again.
“Dad, can I see the baby?” I asked.
He shook his head and we walked down to the NICU where he was staying. I had never seen a baby so fragile looking and he had just as many tubes sticking out of his skin as mom did. ‘BOY NOLAN’ was printed on the side of his bassinet. A nurse appeared and asked my dad if he knew the name yet. He rubbed his chin and turned to walk out of the room. “I don’t care. Brooke, you name it.”
I looked at him to make sure I had heard right and when I looked at the nurse she was smiling at me, pen poised waiting to write down a name. Mom and I talked about a few names here and there but nothing really jumped out at us.
“Ethan,” I said. “His name will be Ethan.”
Sometime after six someone mentioned something about a shower and food and it seemed like a good idea, so a few of us packed into cars and made our way back to the house. Uncle Bruce started up the grill and I passed out on the couch. I didn’t realize I slept so late and when I woke up dinner was over and everyone was hustling to get back to the hospital. Mentally exhausted, I stayed behind with Aunt Nikki.
The crying and running around didn’t stop for weeks. My aunts and uncles took turns feeding the kids, keeping us entertained and visiting the hospital. Aunt Jean came home with news that the respirator had come out.
Not even two days later Uncle Jake walked into the waiting room where everyone was sitting with a smile. “Well, she’s awake. She must be feeling better because she’s cursing at the doctor and asking for a cigarette.”
I wanted to see her right away so I was led back into her room. Mom’s eyes were slits of space, but she was awake. I needed to see her awake with my own eyes. My instinct was to breakdown and cry and scream but I couldn’t and I found myself slumped over the rail of her bed pressing my face into her shoulder.
She seemed out of it, and kept crying out over tubes that were coming from her groin area. When they started to wean her off the drugs she realized who I was for the first time and broke down crying. She was propped up on a pillow and was able to get her arms around me for the first time in over a month.
I fell back into a chair that was sitting next to her bed and sighed. A doctor came in briefly and mentioned something about a lung surgery to clear up an infection she had from being laid up so long. They scheduled it for two weeks later when they felt she would be strong enough to withstand the anesthesia. The doctor shook his head at my mom. “I don’t know how you’re alive, never mind awake and talking. What a miracle.”
Dad looked at me while he held Mom’s hand. He winked.
I felt defeated. There were ample opportunities to talk to one of my aunts these past couple of weeks and I didn’t. I didn’t think it would be fair to Mom. She was the one suffering and trying to get better. My family was in turmoil, an emotional mess, the last thing I wanted to do to them was ask them to deal with another crisis. I felt like the timing would never be right.
I pushed those thoughts to the back of my head as Mom reached out and motioned for me to take her hand. Her hand encased mine and I brought her hand up to my lips. “Welcome back, Mom.”
Chapter Thirteen
I thought it was a miracle baby Ethan was born in the beginning of summer. Mom eventually came home with visiting nurses that stopped by once or twice a week. Dad returned to his normal work schedule and most of the family that had been staying with us was long gone. The majority of Ethan’s care became my responsibility.
The first night Ethan was home I got up every two hours to feed and change him. Dad wanted little to do with him, mom couldn’t, and my other siblings didn’t want the responsibility. In a little over a month I was a diaper guru and bottle warmer extraordinaire. It was impossible to situate him on my non-existent hips while I cooked dinner, but I could bathe, change and clothe him before he realized he hit the water.
I was exhausted. Paul took the back burner and the only time I saw him was when he came over to my house, which wasn’t often. I missed him, even when we started fighting over what he did with his free time which consisted of dabbling in alcohol and weed.
Cristin would come over to hold Ethan and play with him and more than once I would find myself asleep with him on my chest in the living room or on my bedroom floor while I folded laundry.
I cradled him on my lap as I typed up book reports for my English Honors class that upcoming year. He accompanied me in the bathroom, while I cleaned the house, and when I played with Kat and Thomas. I bathed him, dressed him, burped him, and rocked him when he had an upset stomach. I fell in love with him.
I became so engrossed in watching Ethan breathe and grow that it took me two months to realize I couldn’t remember the last time I had my period. Dad left for work that night and Ethan had just taken his last bottle. When everyone else was asleep, I pulled a chair away from the computer desk in the kitchen and turned the computer on, placing the baby monitor next to me.
It roared to life and I waited the ten minutes it usually took to boot up. A few clicks and I opened up Google. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for so I typed in ‘LATE PERIOD.’
Several websites popped up, the top three flashed titles of pregnancy related late periods and menstrual cycles. I opened the first link and scanned the article.
“Yes, your missed period might be because you're pregnant! A simple pregnancy test can usually help you determine if you have missed your period because you are pregnant.”
Clicking the x in the corner I shook my head and looked for information elsewhere. Another article caught my attention. I read on:
“Pregnancy due dates can be determined by knowing the first day of your last period with a simple online due date calculator. Prenatal care is extremely important in the first trimester.”
The article disappeared and I scrambled to type in pregnancy calculator. I couldn’t think straight but I remembered my last period being in June, right before I went to Florida.
“All right, figure June 18th, just to be safe,” I said out loud. I scrolled through the date selection and turned away from the screen when the results popped up:
Congratulations!
Your baby is due on or around: MARCH 24th
You are currently: 7 ½ weeks pregnant
Symptoms at this time: Constipation, li
ght headedness, some nausea…
As if on cue, I fell from the computer chair and ran to the bathroom. After a few minutes I wiped my mouth and splashed cold water on my face. This couldn’t be happening. Paul and I haven’t had sex since that one time months ago, way before I could have gotten pregnant.
Weary, I headed back into the kitchen to grab the baby monitor that started to glow a soft green. Ethan was awake. I didn’t have time to deal with this.
I fought sleep that night thinking about the possibility that I might be pregnant. My hand stretched across my stomach and I begged for my period to just be late and to show its ugly face the next day. When it didn’t, I put it off for three more days before the nausea and exhaustion were indication enough. I knew I was carrying Dad’s baby.
Eye’s sore from crying, I cradled my stomach as I tortured myself on what to do next. Who was ever going to believe this? I couldn’t just ask someone to drive me to the pharmacy to get a pregnancy test. Who was going to take care of Ethan? How could I hide this? I don’t even know anything about abortions, or having a baby. I only take care of them when other people won’t.
Drenched in sweat, a pain in my stomach jumped me from my sleep that night. I grabbed my clock and turned it around; 2:47 A.M. Thinking it was a cramp and that my period was finally starting I turned over and was faced with another jolt of pain down my back and around the front of my stomach.
“Ughhh,” I moaned, trudging towards the bathroom, suddenly nauseous. When I didn’t get sick, I sat and rocked myself on the toilet waiting for each wave of pain to pass. I stifled my voice as much as I could, trying not to cry out. The room started to sway. “Stay with it, Brooke. No one’s here to pick you up off the floor if you pass out.” I coached myself out loud, pinching the space between my eyes.
A rush of relief in my stomach was met with intense fear as I noticed all the blood. It could only mean one thing. I remained motionless for a few more minutes, then started to sob uncontrollably as I shed my clothes and turned the shower on full blast. I placed myself on the bottom of the tub and watched the red sea of water stream out from underneath me and disappear down the drain.
My body rocked and swayed and I found comfort in the pellets of water kissing my body. Still facing stomach cramps, I toweled off and pulled on a panty liner. I swallowed three ibuprofen and crept back to my bedroom. The clock was still facing me as I laid down, and it read 5:16 A.M. I was in the bathroom for over two hours. I clicked on the heating pad I used for period cramps and drifted into sleep.
“Was that you taking a shower earlier?” Mom noticed my damp hair as I made my way into the kitchen around ten that morning. “You not feeling good? Adam had to feed Ethan because you weren’t awake.”
I nodded, not bothering to look up. “I’m sick, Mom. I had to shower.” I poured a glass of water and headed back upstairs. The world could end today and I didn’t care, I wasn’t leaving my bed that day. And I didn’t. I didn’t leave the next day either, or the day after that.
“You don’t have the flu.” Mom pressed her lips to my forehead. “I haven’t heard you throw up or anything. You’ve been in bed for three days.” I stared through her. I didn’t even have the energy to humor her. No energy to lie, or talk, or even care.
On the sixth day, when everyone was getting ready to go to an end of summer barbeque, I had lined up twenty one pills on my bedroom floor. Composed of a concoction of Vicodin, Percocet, Ibuprofen, Oxycontin and Valium that I borrowed from Mom’s medicine cabinet I color coded them before putting them all in a drinking glass.
The reality was that I had become so numb that I couldn’t do this anymore, the charade; the double life. I was David’s wife, his slave, his play thing- and not by choice. I failed to alert anyone I knew as to what was happening, and I didn’t have the strength or words to explain to anyone what was going on. Terrified, I knew that what was happening between Dad and I was not normal, but it seemed like there was no way to stop it.
I had failed my brothers and sister. The honor roll student, mother’s helper, cheerleader, perfect child was giving up. I opened my journal to the next clean page, ripped out a piece of paper and scrawled my last entry.
Your secret has died with me.
I set the paper down next to me. Defeated, I opened my mouth and listened as the pills slid toward the front of the glass. Harsh knocking on my bedroom door jolted me and I hid the cup behind the leg of my bed.
“What?” I yelled.
“Brooke.” It was Kat. “Phone call.”
I didn’t care. “Take a message.” I waited to hear footsteps walking away.
“It’s Paul. He’s called three times. He won’t let me hang up.”
I stuffed the note under my pillow and opened the bedroom door, grabbing the phone. “Okay. Now go away please.” I sat cross legged on the floor. “Hello?”
“I had a horrible dream about you last night. I never dream.” His voice was panicked. “Look, I know you are going through a lot right now with your mom, and the baby. And I haven’t been there for you like I should have. I’m really sorry. All day I’ve had a stomach ache thinking about you, and what it would mean if I lost you. I’ve kinda been a jerk, and I want to make it up to you, okay? Come over tomorrow night? Just me and you, no baby, no parents. My mom and dad are going to dinner and Joseph is going to a friend’s house. Does that sound okay? I really want to see you.”
I nodded into the phone as tears gushed down the sides of my face. Realizing he couldn’t see me, I told him I thought it would be nice and hung up. I leaned forward and covered my face with my hands.
In a moment of weakness the only logical choice was to end my life. Where would that leave my siblings though? No one would protect them like I could. He would probably prey on Kat next, no doubt. What about Ethan? I shook my head. It would never happen, I would never let it.
I walked the cup into the bathroom and opened the lid of the toilet. I smiled as the colors swirled around and disappeared. Things were going to change.
Chapter Fourteen
Paul and I spent a few hours catching up and laying around. I forgot how much I missed looking into his eyes and letting him make fun of me for my braces or tickling me until I couldn’t breathe. We were both overly sarcastic with each other and everything with him just felt so easy. It was late when Gina told me she’d drive me home. “Stop calling me Mrs. Moretti. It’s Gina, call me Gina.”
Gina figured out the longest possible route to get me home. I stretched out in the front seat and listened while she talked about her childhood in Staten Island and how she moved to the Poconos to give Paul and Joseph a better life. My parents had done the same thing, moving us from Long Island, but the perks of being isolated from everyone we knew only recently became apparent to me.
I loved the way Gina dressed, like a business woman straight off the streets of New York City, but with the charm of a housewife. I never knew her to frown, or be sad, or show any emotion besides the bubbly character that she was. I accompanied her to almost every hair and nail appointment she made. I was starting to think it was less because she needed my opinion and more because she wanted a stand in daughter to do girly things with her.
Either way, she absorbed everything and anything I ever said with complete acceptance and I valued her opinion and her company more than anything. There was never any doubt in her mind when I told her of my dreams to be a writer one day or to go to medical school. She reminded me of my grandma in that way. “You’re smart, beautiful, and talented. You absolutely can do anything,” she’d say.
Gina was also the first person to actually take note of the way I addressed my dad and the things going on in my family. She had a sixth sense about knowing when something was bothering me, but she would only call me out on it when we had our long car rides home. She was discreet like that.
“I told my Mom that I wanted to talk to a counselor, like you said. She told me we couldn’t afford it.” I slowly started filling Gina in on things
going on in my house. Small things. The yelling, the tension, sometimes the electric going off.
She started to do some observations of her own when she brought me home. She told me there are people out there whose job is to listen to children when they need someone to talk to. They have confidentiality rules that the law holds them to, so no matter what I said they would never tell my parents or anyone else if I didn’t want them to. If we had insurance, sometimes it would even be free. The idea sounded too good to be true.
“So I told my mom about how insurance can cover the costs so we wouldn’t have to pay, and she said there would still be a small co-pay when we would visit. She couldn’t afford that either.”
“I thought she might say something like that.” Gina sighed and shook her head. “So I started looking around. Did you know most counties have free counseling services for people who have domestic or sexual violence issues in their house?”
I stiffened. “Uh, no, but what’s domestic violence?” I was pretty sure I knew what sexual violence was. I wasn’t too sure of the other word.
“I think maybe some of the things your dad does is domestic violence. It’s when someone abuses the people they should love. Abuse can mean threatening someone, hitting them, or controlling them by making them feel worthless.” She tapped the steering wheel with her fingers.
“How do you know about all that?”
“I had a girlfriend in college who was in a very abusive relationship. She told me all kinds of things. She got the help she needed though and never had to see the guy again.” I nodded and Gina continued. “Maybe we can call the place and make you an appointment. They’re the experts, you can figure things out with them.”
“Are they free?” I already used most of my money to help mom with her bills and I was trying to save for a car.
“Yes, and they’re confidential too. Just like any other counselor.”