Marti and my mom stayed with us until 7:30. They were going to take turns spending the night at our house until Clinton was released from the hospital. At least being in their own home would allow Carson and Hudson to have some semblance of routine under the circumstances. For the time being, their parents were elsewhere.
Clinton’s nurse was a middle-aged woman named Judy. Judy was a godsend. Even though she had her share of patients she was in charge of, she did her best to make me feel comfortable. Maintenance had delivered my “bed” earlier in the day. It was one of those tri-fold seats that opened up into a simple bed. It was covered in caramel-colored vinyl and well-used. When Judy came on at seven, the two of us chatted while she took care of Clinton. She had a very warm, nurturing personality that was perfectly suited for her profession.
At nine, she came into my room with a pillow and blanket setting them on my bed. “If you would like another blanket, let me know. We have plenty.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll be fine.”
“It does tend to get chilly at night so don’t be afraid to ask.”
“I’ll let you know,” I replied with a smile and then said, “If my husband calls, will they put the call through with it being after hours and all?”
“There’s a note requesting his call be put through. They know he’s overseas.”
I nodded. “I knew he shouldn’t have left, but he’s so damn stubborn when its work related.”
“I’m sure they’ll get in touch with him. You’ll see.”
Despite the stress and worry from the day, I found myself consumed with irritation where my husband was concerned. Looking back to when he found me that morning in Clinton’s room, he seemed almost annoyed with me for being “overly dramatic.” And maybe, sometimes, I could be that way when our children’s health and wellbeing was the subject, but after losing Spencer, I had a newfound respect for how fragile life was. If something had happened to Clinton because I didn’t react appropriately, I would never forgive myself. I had to accept the fact that I couldn’t help Spencer. It was hard. Even with medical professionals informing me of that fact, it was still hard for me to accept.
The phone rang at four in the morning and I scrambled to answer it. Clinton was still wide awake from his last breathing treatment that ended twenty minutes prior. He always seemed to have an abundance of energy afterwards. No one told me, but I surmised it was some form of stimulant. After the long day I’d had, I could’ve benefitted from a stimulant.
“Hello?”
“Jesus, Jen, what’s going on?”
I’d had so much time to prepare for his call. Hours and hours to prepare. “Where are you?”
“I’m checking in at the hotel in Tainan. They gave me a note to call you at this number. What’s the emergency?” he sounded worried and tired.
“Clinton was admitted into the hospital. He has something called Respiratory Syncytial Virus and he’s being monitored inside an oxygen tent. He has bronchiolitis because of it and they are administering breathing treatments from a nebulizer every two hours or so,” I said giving him the facts first. I’d save the admonishing for the end.
“But how? They said it was a cold when you took him on Saturday.”
“It changed that quickly. Dr. Barnes said he has a mild to moderate case and should be noticeably better tomorrow,” I told him and then remembered it was already tomorrow. “Well, today. This afternoon.”
“So, he’s okay?”
“He should be.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t have a crystal ball, Christopher, to see into the future. Right now, our baby son is in an oxygen tent where his oxygen levels are being monitored by a sensor so he doesn’t become oxygen deprived. I wish I could paint a sunnier picture for you, but I can’t. I told you yesterday morning that he was worse. You said I was being overly dramatic.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should’ve been here with him instead of traveling to the other side of the goddamn world.”
“You were right, okay? And I am sorry I didn’t listen to you.”
I closed my eyes tightly and got a hold of myself. “Yea.” For some reason, being right didn’t give me the same sense of satisfaction I wanted. Not with it coming at Clinton’s expense.
“I can’t leave until 9AM, your time, at the earliest. Shawnda is trying to get me on a flight. How long does Dr. Barnes think he’ll be in for?”
“He hasn’t said. Judy, the one nurse, told me they usually keep them for a few days and that’s provided he doesn’t develop pneumonia.”
“Jesus Christ.” His frustration was loud and clear.
It was wrong of me to throw his error in judgment at him like I did, but I couldn’t stop myself. He should’ve never left.
“Are you there?”
“Yep.”
“You went quiet.”
“I had nothing to add.”
He sighed loudly before saying, “I would have never left if I’d known how serious it was.”
“I told you and you left anyway.”
“We’ll talk about that when I get home.”
“You can count on it,” I said disconnecting without a goodbye.
Chapter Nineteen
Present Day
I followed Chris’ stretcher as a team of four rushed him into the ER. Dr. Kingsley came running in and began ordering everyone about. Her entire demeanor had taken a one-eighty since I’d last seen her.
“Pulse?”
“124.”
“BP?”
“150 over 90.”
I watched from the outer perimeter. My hands still managed to shake while I held them pressed to my mouth.
Chris’ sweaty polo shirt was cut up the center as they connected leads to his chest for an EKG. Another person drew blood from him. Dr. Kingsley watched as a machine began spitting out tape.
“What medications are you on, Chris?” she asked without meeting his eyes.
“None.”
And he wasn’t to my knowledge. Chris was always the picture of health. Until then.
“Any Viagra today?” He shook his head. “Good. It can cause an extreme drop in blood pressure if it’s mixed with certain other medications,” she told him as she then looked to me for my response. Apparently, all of his bragging earlier made her inclined to believe otherwise.
I took a deep breath and shook my head no. My face and hands were wet. That was when I realized fat tears were falling in a torrent.
“Ma’am,” a woman in scrubs put a hand on my shoulder. “We need you to take a seat in the waiting area. We’ll give you an update as soon as we can.”
I resisted at first, but she was firm. I went out and found a seat. Thankfully, it wasn’t as busy as it had been just a few hours ago. I’d never been in that position. Waiting on Chris through a health crisis. I couldn’t even call anyone. My phone was dead. Hospitals probably had phones available for such situations, but I didn’t know what I’d say. Calling before I knew any information wasn’t a good idea.
I found an old magazine that I paged through halfheartedly. I couldn’t remember a single picture or article from it. My mind kept going back to the hideous argument I’d had with my husband. The one where I went into detail about what my former lover and I had done the last time we were together. I wished I could take it back. All of it. That couldn’t happen. I’d made my bed, as my mother would remind me. What was that other saying? Words can kill. God, the things that went through one’s head during moments like that. I was a bundle of nerves and tired clichés.
“Mrs. Gardner?”
I looked up to see the same woman who had sent me away. She motioned for me to follow her. I got up from my chair and made a beeline to her.
She smiled and said, “Your husband is stable and he’s asking for you. Dr. Kingsley said you could go in while she’s still waiting on some lab work.”
“Was it a heart attack?” I asked tailing behind her.
; “Dr. Kingsley will talk to you both when she has everything back.”
Chris wasn’t flat out on the stretcher like he had been when I was sent out. They had him sitting up. He was still receiving oxygen, but his color had returned. I went over to him and immediately grabbed up his hand in mine and held it to my chest.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Exhausted, but better.”
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“You think you were scared? I thought for sure I was a goner.”
I laughed at his candidness. “Should I call our family?”
He shook his head. “Wait and see.”
I nodded my head. “That’s what I figured.”
Despite my better judgment, I gave in to the urge to sweep his bangs back. His skin felt warm to the touch as my hand lingered longer than necessary. I could feel my emotions getting the better of me again. My eyes migrated from the almost v-shaped wrinkle of a frown line between his brows to settle on his jade green eyes.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things,” I said to him before I lost my nerve. “I wouldn’t blame you if you really did hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
I simply nodded and looked away. “You should. I’m a horrible person.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Gardner,” Dr. Kingsley said grabbing our attention as she came in and pulled up a tall stool on wheels. “I have your labs back with good news.”
“It wasn’t a heart attack?” Chris asked.
She smiled. “It wasn’t. My initial instinct upon presentation was a panic attack and that’s what it was. If someone’s never experienced either, it can sometimes be mistaken for a heart attack. You did the right thing by coming into the ER. One should never ignore symptoms like that,” she told him as she pulled his chart up against herself and crossed her arms in front of her. “When I asked you what activity you were involved in when the symptoms started, you said you were having an argument. I know I don’t need to tell you stress isn’t good for your health. Today’s panic attack could be next month’s cardiac arrest. My advice, take it easy. Get lots of sleep. You already have a great exercise regimen and you are conscientious about your diet, but the work schedule you described isn’t healthy. You’re heading into middle age, Mr. Gardner and attempting to burn the candle at both ends. I don’t need to tell you how that scenario ends.” She paused and looked at me before continuing with, “Can I enlist you with the task of keeping him calm for a few days?”
“Sure.” I felt my face go hot.
I knew what she was getting at; no arguing with my husband. She was just being tactful about it.
Even with telling her I would, I didn’t know if I could guarantee it. What was the right thing to do? We’d managed to argue heatedly all weekend. Going home together would be just as bad. He’d had his panic attack after my announcement about packing up and leaving as soon as we went home. We were damned either way.
As I drove to the cottage, I silently thanked the Lord above when Chris turned on the radio. It was loud enough to get his point across. Neither of us would be compelled to fill the void with conversation with the music going. And I knew it was a total act of avoidance. I was more than okay with it. Another argument could have Chris stroking out or something equally cardiac-like in nature. I had enough guilt on my plate without doing the man in.
It wasn’t until we turned onto the side road the cottage was located on that he said, “I’m sorry for tricking you into this weekend. It was wrong.”
“I wish things would have worked out differently, Christopher. I truly do.”
“Not as much as I do.”
“We probably shouldn’t get into this right now. I promised Dr. Kingsley,” I told him, “Besides, I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”
I parked feeling restless and jittery. I knew it was a byproduct of my adrenaline rush from earlier. When I thought I was going to lose him. I swallowed a lump down as the very idea of it got the better of me. I brushed tears away with the heels of my hands.
“Jenny?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
“No. I’m not. Not really.”
“Do you still love me, Jen?”
“I’ll always love you, Chris. I’m just not sure I’m in love with you anymore. I think I have the two confused.”
He released his seat belt. “That’s where we differ because I know I’m still in love with you.”
“Even after what I did?”
“Yes,” he stated with conviction. “I don’t know if that makes me a hopeless romantic or a fucking idiot.”
I smiled a little. “I don’t know. Maybe not an idiot. More like a masochist.”
“I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You’ve been my partner and by my side for longer than I was independent.”
“The adjustment won’t be easy for either of us. Nor the kids. I’m worried the most about Clinton. His maturity level is not in accordance with his peers. It’s nowhere near the level Hudson and Carson were at that age. He’s so moody. His anger gets set off so easily and he really lacks impulse control at times,” I stated some of the concerns I’d had for quite a while and never mentioned to him.
“Do you think we should consult with a psychologist? Maybe get him into counseling?”
“After the last APR meeting, I spoke to our school psychologist. I asked if she could sit down with Clinton and just talk with him.”
“Does he know she’s the school psychologist?”
The longer we sat in the enclosed SUV, the hotter it became. I considered starting the engine again so the A/C could blast. Instead, I opened the door and got out. Not that the temperature was drastically different outside. At least the air wasn’t stuffy. I pushed my door closed about the same time Chris did his.
I began walking towards the lake. Not at all accustomed to the feel of my walking cast yet. The height difference between my sock-covered foot and the cast made me list to the right a bit.
Chris ambled along beside me his hands in the pockets of his shorts and his shirt split down the middle. He was waiting for me to answer his question, but he didn’t want to push me. Both of us were walking on egg shells with the other to avoid another argument. Maybe his health scare was the push we both needed to put everything into perspective.
“Clinton knows who Dr. Wald is and it’s for that reason she recommended an outside therapist. She felt that Clinton would put up a wall based on the fact that I worked with her. He may feel everything was being reported back to me instead of being confidential.”
“I wish you would have told me such plans were being discussed,” Chris said without a trace of hostility.
“I tried, Chris,” I said in return. “I told you in April I was concerned. Again last month. Your input was to tell me I knew what was best.”
“I guess I’ve done that a lot.”
“Yes. You have.”
“It wasn’t fair of me to shrug off my share of parenting responsibilities onto you.”
We reached a section of rocky shoreline sheltered by an ancient willow tree. I carefully bent down and collected a few flat stones. Straightening up, I began to attempt skipping them along the milk pond surface of the water. My first one hit the water at an angle and quickly broke the surface sinking instantly. The next was just right; hitting, skipping, hitting, and skipping before succumbing to physics.
“I remember doing this at your parent’s pond on a few occasions,” Chris said with a nostalgic chuckle before he took a turn and managed to get four skips out of his throw.
“I taught the boys how to do this at Mom and Dad’s, too.” The memory made me smile.
“I also recall a very special Fourth of July at that pond the summer after you graduated high school.”
I stopped throwing for a moment and ran my thumb over the smooth flat side of the stone in my hand. “That was nothing like skipping rocks as I recall. A memora
ble learning experience nonetheless,” I admitted.
“Every time I look back at that evening, I thank God your parents didn’t come home early. Your father would have killed me.”
“It definitely wasn’t our most cautious experience.”
“But you weren’t scared. Not even one bit, were you?”
It was my turn to chuckle. “Nope. I knew what I wanted and I wasn’t going to allow fear to stand in my way.”
Chris laughed with a deep rumble. “I was so far gone that night, if your dad had shown up, I think I may have said something to the effects of, ‘I’m very sorry, Sir, but if you’ll just give me five more minutes in Heaven, I’ll gladly let you kick my ass around the county and back when I’m done.’ Somehow, I think that may have only made matters worse.”
“You would have been swimming with the fishes for sure,” I agreed. “At least I would have known where to visit you.”
“In the pond. Very convenient.”
“Indeed.”
He skipped another stone. Due to his superior strength over that of my own, he could get more speed into his throw and make his rock skip faster and farther. He rubbed his hands together to get the dirt off of them. He was out of stones.
What he said next, took me by surprise, “It was two years ago on a Friday afternoon in late June.”
“What was?”
“School was out and the boys left for the weekend with your father. They went to a car show down state. I returned from a business trip the night before and you came home at lunch time after finishing up with packing your classroom for the summer.”
“Go on.”
“My sleep cycle was completely out of whack from being in Asia and I was trying to catch up on it only I didn’t want to sleep the day away. I heard you come home and when I found you downstairs, you were making a sandwich. You offered to make one for me. You did as I recall, but I never got to eat it. While you were putting stuff away in the fridge, I watched you bend over to put something in the bottom drawer and that was all it took. I had to have you. You were against the idea at first because it was the middle of the day and all. You didn’t feel the very public kitchen was a good place and then I reminded you we had the house to ourselves until Sunday evening.”
Seventy-Two Hours Page 14