by Joel Cobbs
“Robert, what I'm going to tell you will come as a shock, but you need to understand what and why you are here. I'm going to tell you what happened and you need to stop me when you don't understand, okay?” I nodded. I watched him swallow and clear his throat. Whatever it was, it made him anxious.
“You were found on the floor of the bathroom in the hotel room you were staying in. The skin on your wrists had practically been scraped off and your fingernails bloody. You were also on top of a razor blade, which caused some more blood loss. We don't know exactly when this happened, but you are lucky the cleaning lady came in when she did. She immediately called 911, who got in touch with your Dad. You've been here for over a day, but you've only been unconscious for about eighteen hours.” I stared at him blankly.
“What?” was all I could think of to say.
“Robert,” my Dad said, “you were found with the skin on your wrists practically gone. You were laying in a puddle of your own blood. Do you remember any of this?” I shook my head, slightly. “We know it's a lot to absorb and we don't want to stress you out.” I was silent for a moment.
“I think I'm a little beyond that point right now.” They nodded and gave half smiles.
“We managed to get enough blood into you to keep you alive, but we're unsure if there will be any permanent damage. We've made sure to avoid any bed or pressure sores and...” He continued on with different things they did, but I zoned out. I wasn't sure what they were talking about. I hadn't done anything like that.
I tried my hardest to remember, but nothing was coming to me. I remembered arriving at the hotel and I sort of remembered unpacking, but everything after that was a blur. Had I really done that? I mean, I was always careful, making sure not to cut too deep or do anything that would cause damage. What had happened? Besides, I was moving away from that. I was trying to keep myself from cutting anymore. But now... “Robert?” I jumped.
“Y-y-ye-” (cleared my throat) “yes?”
“Robert this is serious. We were able to examine you while you were being moved up here from the ER. This isn't the first time you've cut yourself, is it?” I looked away. I could feel the doctor and my Dad seeing through me, their eyes like lasers penetrating me.
“Answer him, Rob.” I could feel myself tearing up. I didn't wanna answer. I wasn't sure I really could answer.
“N-n-n-no.” I felt a wave of nausea hit and I looked for a bedpan. I realized that it didn't matter anymore. They'd seen the truth and knew who I really was. They wanted me to admit it. They wanted to hear me say it, to tell it to them. They sighed and looked at each other.
“I'll step outside,” the doctor said. “It's good to have you awake.” I was like stone. I didn't move, didn't watch him leave, didn't do anything. I was petrified. I could feel another wave of nausea heading my way, and out it came. I gagged more and more as the realization of where I was, what I'd done, and who I was hit home. How did I get to this point? A different nurse came in and helped change me and the sheets I was in. They removed the medical clothing they'd put me in. There, before me, her, and Dad, I was naked. For the first time in what felt like forever, I saw myself naked.
My right wrist was bandaged, the wrapping looking almost an inch thick. In my left wrist was an IV that connected to a small machine next to me. I was pale and looked terrible. Along the right side of my chest, there were two small cut, but each had a thick bandage on them. You were on top of a razor blade, which caused some more blood loss. That's what he'd said. How bad were the cuts? How much blood loss had I had? The nurse helped me into what felt like an apron that covered my body, two strings tying around my neck to help keep it on. She placed a bedpan right next to me, took the dirty sheets and outfit and left the room. It was just me and Dad. No doctors, nurses, or anyone else in the room. Just me and him.
“Why Rob?” He was looking at me, but I was trying to avoid eye contact. I couldn't look him in the eye, not now. Something I was ashamed of had been revealed. No, it had thrown itself out for the world to see. “Answer me, Rob. Why?”
“I...I don't know...”
“What do you mean, Rob? You have to know.”
“Well I don't.” Then came more nausea. Dad waited until I was finished. He watched me and I knew there were tears in my eyes.
“It's because of Mom, isn't it?” I laid back down and looked up at the ceiling. I waited for the gagging to subside. “It had nothing to do with her.”
“Then why?”
“I don't know!” I yelled. “Can't you just leave me alone for two seconds so I can try to understand what happened and why I can't remember?!”
“Maybe if you stop and think about it you can see why.”
“If you'd shut up for a second then maybe I could stop and think!” Tears filled his eyes. His face was red with rage and glowed of hurt. He walked to the door and left. I don't know where he was going, but I think he needed some time to himself as well. I laid back again and stared at the ceiling.
Once again, I was alone. I couldn't remember how I'd gotten to this point in my life. I didn't know why I was there. What was it that caused all this pain around me? That caused me to end up like I am? Sure, they'd told me some story that sounded right, that looked right, but that doesn't mean it was true. It went much deeper than that. Much deeper. And it hurt more than I wanted to admit.
Why couldn't I remember? It couldn't have been what they said. I was too careful for anything like that to happen. I always checked what I was doing and made sure I didn't cut too deep.
The tears started small, trickling down my cheek. The tears turned into crying. I cried and cried. I wanted it all to stop. I wanted to wake up from whatever this was this...this nightmare I was in. I thought I heard Dad come back in the room. But before I could say anything, I was asleep. I was crying and asleep.
Chapter Two
The next morning was hard. I'd had trouble sleeping, waking up every few hours and once again disoriented about where I was. When I would see Dad in the chair, I remembered. Now, the sun was up, barely shining through the window, but the brightness woke up me. I could hear water running and looked around. Dad wasn't there, so I assumed that was him in the shower. Everything was sort of foggy. The machine the tube was connected to beep. Morphine, I thought. They have me on pain medication. That's why I can't feel anything. I'm numb because of the medication. I found some sort of joy in being numb like I was. The numbness was what I'd been looking for.
“Good morning.” I turned to see a nurse come in with a tray of food. He had a smile on his face. “Let's try to get some food inside you.” I looked around. I'd thought they'd already put a feeding tube put in me at this point. I tried to lean up, but the nurse stopped me. “Oh no. You don't need to do that just yet.” He reached for a button I couldn't see and the bed started moving up by itself. He didn't go very high, though. He told me it was too dangerous for me to be up too high.
On the tray was an odd assortment of foods. There was cereal already packaged in a small bowl with a plastic cover on it that read Rice Crispies, a sausage and egg, and an orange. There was some milk and cranberry juice as well. I looked at it, unsure if I really wanted to eat it or if I was even able to hold it down.
“You gonna be able to eat that yourself?” I looked at him, then looked back at the food.
“I think so,” I said, unsure if what I said was true.
“How about I stay here and help out if you need me.” I wasn't sure I wanted that. While I wasn't sure if I wanted someone else helping me eat my food, at the same time I wasn't sure I would be able to eat it in the first place.
“Whatever works,” I said. I looked at the food. It felt like a giant wall was in front of me, one I'd have to overcome. I didn't know how I was gonna do it, but I knew it was necessary. I reached for the cereal with my right hand. I could pick it up, but I wasn't sure I could open it. I used my left hand and carefully worked the plastic cover off of it. It was slow and painful, each small tug feeling as if it too
k an eternity. I wanted to do it myself, without the nurse or anyone else helping me. I could do it, I told myself. How hard can it be? Just don't stop. I could see the cereal appearing, it was just taking too much to open it. But I wasn't going to give up.
“Would you like some help?” the nurse asked.
“No thank you,” I grunted. It was nothing more than a plastic bowl with a plastic wrapper on top, yet it felt like I was trying to open a brand new can of paint with my fingernails. I wasn't in pain as much as I had no strength. I pulled and pulled and pulled. At last, I got it open enough to eat.
The milk was just as hard if not harder. I had to use both hands to pull the small tabs open, then use both to push it out so the milk could be poured out. I tried and tried. I didn't want his help, I could do this on my own. He could just stand there and take up space, for all I care. I wasn't going to bend. I could do this; I needed to do this. I needed to know I wasn't dependent on anyone but myself, even when I'd fallen as far as I had.
The tabs pulled apart slowly. When I'd pulled them apart as much as I could, I had to get it opened. I pulled it to get it open, but it wasn't working. It was so hard and I didn't know why? Why couldn't I open a simple container of milk? I'd been able to do it all my life but now I couldn't. I gave up.
“Want me to do it?”
“Yes, please,” I said, feeling as if all the dignity I'd had was gone. I'd broken down, everything I thought I was, gone. Was I any less a person because of that? Am I really in as much trouble as I thought? Or is everything worse than I could ever imagine?
“There we go,” he said when he'd opened the milk.
“Thanks,” I muttered and poured the milk over my cereal. I listened to it crackle.
“Anything else, Rob?”
“No, I think I got it. Thank you.”
“You're welcome,” he said. He opened the cranberry juice for me. “And now that one's done too. Page me if you need anything else” and he left. I used my left hand and started eating my cereal.
Being right handed, it was hard to do anything with my left hand, let alone things I was so used to doing every day. It took a lot of concentration to eat, seeing as I'd almost never used my left hand dominantly. The shower had stopped and I assumed Dad was now drying off and getting dressed. I knew it had been a long night for him, almost as long as it'd been for me. I slurped on my cereal. It didn't taste all that great, but when you're hungry, you'll eat just about anything. I sipped on my cranberry juice and continued with my cereal. The bathroom door opened and Dad stepped out.
I could tell he'd been up most of the night, obviously worried and possibly irritated at the same time. Worried because of the state I was in right now, laying in the ICU after a terrible “accident.” Irritated because I wasn't talking to him about it and had been so short with him the day before.
“Good morning,” I said, trying my best to put yesterday behind us.
“Morning,” he said, short and sweet. I was right. He was irritated with me. That's fine with me. I didn't care what he thought. I didn't feel good and wasn't in the mood to put up with him right now.
I finished the cereal and started on the sausage. It didn't look that good, but it looked better than the egg. Hospital food was not known for being the best tasting stuff around, but it's better than starving I suppose. I chewed on the sausage.
“How'd you sleep?” Dad asked.
“Okay, I guess. Not as good as I'd like.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Mine was about the same.” I sort of acknowledged what he said with a halfhearted grunt. I finished what I wanted from the food, leaving the egg untouched. I pushed the cart away from me and laid back. Next thing I knew, there was a nurse waking me up. She looked young, as if she'd just graduated college and I was her first patient. She had red hair that was up in a bun and freckles all over her pale face.
“Hey, Rob, I'm Julie. Can you sit up for me?” I was still having trouble waking up. I pressed the button and leaned the bed upwards to help me. Everything was fuzzy. I couldn't really make heads or tails of things. Everything felt like a dream. Where was reality? How far have I fallen? When the bed was a decent ways up, I pushed myself forward. It took more energy than I thought.
“Thank you. Now, I'm your physical therapist. We need you to do a little bit of exercising for me. Gotta make sure you're gonna be back to your old self.” I nodded. I wasn't really sure I wanted back to my old self. Honestly? I think I wanted my Mom back. I wanted to be who she wanted me to be. Why was this so hard? What happened along the way? “Let's start with you lifting your arms for me. Can you lift them for me?” I tried and was shocked to see how much of a strain it was. I grunted and groaned at how little strength I had. I put them back down.
“That's the best I can do,” I said.
“Okay,” she said. “Let's do it again.” I tried again. I lifted them a little higher and could hold them up longer, but still not enough that it made me happy. I just couldn't understand it.
“That was good,” she said. “How about some breathing exercises?”
I held my breath while she counted the seconds. Five seconds into it I started coughing. It wasn't a drawn out coughing fit, just two really nasty sounding ones.
“That's probably from being out of it so much. Your body is having to get rid of the mucus inside you.” That didn't make much sense to me, but she was the one that went to medical school.
“Okay,” she said, “Let's try it again.” I held my breath once again, doing my best to hold it longer than five seconds. I wasn't too sure I could do it. I'd lost faith in myself long before I'd reached this hospital bed.
I held as hard as I could as the seconds ticked away. “Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.” On and on she went. “Twenty-two. Twenty-three,” and I broke down. This time the cough sounded shallow, which meant I just simply couldn't hold it any longer. I'm sure before I ended up in the hospital I could've held it up to a hundred or even longer. Now, twenty-three was the best I could do.
She had me squeeze her fingers a few times, count backwards from twenty, had me look straight ahead and tell me how many fingers she was holding up to the right side of my vision. I think most of this was routine things the nurses had to do to make sure I was okay. She was just the physical therapist, but it was still part of her job to make sure I was still doing okay while we worked. She pushed against my legs.
“Alright,” she said. “I want you to lift up with all your strength. Try to pick your legs up.” I did so. I could feel her pushing against me, but I didn't want to lose. I wanted to show everyone there that I could do this. I could beat them at their own game and prove I was okay. I made it three inches off the bed, she told me, then had to lay them back down. I was out of breath. It seemed stupid to me that just by lifting my legs I could get so tired. “Alright, I'm gonna give you a moment to catch your breath, then I want you to try and walk for me. We're not gonna walk very far, just from here next to the bed over to the bathroom door. Think you can do that?” Honestly, I didn't think I could. But I wasn't going to tell her that. I refused to give in.
“Yeah,” I said. “I can do that.”
“Good. Now first we're gonna have to take your catheter out.”
“Catheter?” I asked. I knew what it was, but didn’t realize I had one.
“Mhmm. Now it shouldn't hurt because of the medication you're on, but it just might so I want here's what we're gonna do. You'll lay back down and try to relax. The most you should feel is just some pressure. There might be a burning sensation, but it should go away momentarily. Are you ready?” Was I ready? How do you honestly answer a question like that, especially when you're about to have a rubber tube pulled out of a very tender spot. I grunted something that sounded like “yes,” and she proceeded to remove it.
There was a burning sensation, much stronger than I'd expected. I tried not to show on my face just how much stronger it was, but I was failing. I took deep breaths and waited for it to pass. There I was
, in a hospital bed and in more pain than any of the cutting or showers had ever caused. It hurt so much. I gave the burning time to go away, though it took a minute. The nurse was by my side the whole time. She kept an eye on my stats and how I was doing.
When I got to the point where I thought I was able to relax again, I just laid there. What had I done to deserve this? Why couldn't I be back in the hotel room, watching classic movies and dealing with this in my own way? Was that too much to ask? All I wanted was to help make all the pain go away. I didn't wanna end up in a place that would give me more pain.
“Robert,” the nurse said, “do you still wanna try and walk or would you like me to come back later today?” I weighed the options. Walking now and getting rid of her for the day, or not walk and lay there in agony waiting for her return.
“Yeah,” I struggled to say. “Let's go ahead and try to walk.”
She raised the bed back up. Dad watched me, the nurse watched me, and I avoided eye contact by watching the bed.
“There,” she said when she was content with the height of the bed. “Okay, let's go.”
I strained with everything inside of me just to rotate around to where I could get off the bed. My legs felt like they were full of lead: hard and heavy. I didn't have the strength to lift myself off the bed. I wanted to do it, I really did. I didn't wanna bow down, beg for help, and see the look in their eye of satisfaction. I never got the chance.
“Here,” Dad said, “let me help you up.” He put both hands in my right armpit, then the nurse came over and did the same with my left armpit.
“One, two, three,” they counted together then lifted me up. The room immediately started spinning. I was trying very hard not to let on that I was disoriented. I waited a moment or two, giving myself a chance to get my bearings. There was a tingly sensation inside of me. The room wasn't spinning so much as it was just distorted. I had trouble balancing, but I used the bed as a slight prop to keep myself from falling over.