I Know the Plans

by Melissa Wardwell

  All worst-case scenarios began to roll around. Will he be able to talk or move? Will she need to get a live-in nurse to help her with his care?

  “If you are ready to see him, you and two others are welcome to come back. The rest will need to take turns.”

  Tiffany looked at all the faces around her, love pouring out from each one. Brad’s parents took hold of her hands and they followed the doctor to Brad’s room.

  The hall seemed to go on forever as they passed each room. Monitors beeping, alarms going off, terms that Tiffany didn’t recognize spoken by the nurses were all just noise to her. It all crashed in around them. She had a small idea of what to expect when she saw her husband in person for the first time in months. She just wasn’t sure she was ready. Would she recognize him from all the doctor told her?

  Sergeant Moore stopped in front of a room, crossed his hands in front of him. “Whenever you are ready,” he glanced between Max, Karen, and Tiffany. “Come on in.”

  He walked in the room ahead of them and her Ked clad feet froze to the tiny square on the floor. Can she do this? Can she see him, the love of her life, looking helpless in a bed? A man who was never lazy, always up and moving was now motionless, and not by choice. She questioned if she could stomach seeing her strong, capable husband looking frail and weak. What you can handle is meaningless compared to what he needs. He needs your support.

  She forgot that she had others with her until Max’s voice filled the tiny space around them. “Father, give Tiffany the courage she needs to walk through this door. Hold her hand as we are now and stay by her side through this. You are the author and creator of our lives. You have a plan that we cannot see. Give us the faith we need to trust Your hand in this. Amen.” Karen echoed his Amen. Tiffany agreed in her heart, her mouth could not.

  Drawing a deep breath, Tiffany crossed the threshold of Brad’s room. One step at a time, Tiff. One foot in front of the other. He needs you. Before she knew it, she was at the curtain that hid him from the hall.

  His feet peeked out from under the white blanket. Her fingers twitched to touch the hairs on his ankles. Her heart raced as she let her eyes follow the trail of his covered legs, one wrapped in a cast. His well-tanned left hand lay rested on his abdomen, a white ring of flesh encircled his ring finger. He couldn’t wear his ring when deployed, yet it was never far from her heart as she wore it on a chain until his returned. There would be no putting it on his finger just yet.

  His right arm lay motionless at his side. IVs and a pressure monitor were attached to his arm and finger. A little red light flashed on the finger monitor.

  She watched his chest, wrapped in white bandages, rise and fall in a steady rhythm. Seeing with her own eye that he was breathing gave her a glimmer of hope.

  That hope gave her what she needed as she looked to the face of the man who held her heart until death us do part. His face was unshaved and marred with cuts and scrapes. He even sported a black eye. The image forced a sob from her lips. Eager to take in the rest of his face, she let her eyes roam. His beard and hair was grayer than when he left. She smiled at the memory of what he called his gray hairs. “It’s chrome, not gray.” None of it mattered to her though. Her Brad was home and that was all she needed.

  Not wanting to wait another second to hold his hand, she stepped to his side and took hold. Watching his face as she did, she saw his eyes flicker with the contact. She thought her heart would beat from her chest.

  The faint shuffle of feet indicated that Max and Karen, as well as Sergeant Moore came closer to the bed.

  Would he open his eyes? What would he say? Can he talk at all? They were all questions that she knew she was not the only one thinking at that moment.

  “Go ahead and say something to him,” Sergeant Moore encouraged.

  She searched for anything that would be familiar to him; maybe an endearing word. A light twitch offered all the encouragement her heart needed.

  “Hello there, handsome. It’s Tiff….”

  First a touch. One simple little squeeze was all it took to make the fog in his head begin to dissipate.

  “Hello there, handsome. It’s Tiff….”

  A voice of an angel shook more of the haze.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  Why would the angel miss me? Should I know the voice?

  Brad struggled to recognize who was talking to him. The touch woke his senses, yet the woman talking left him confused. Was he dead?

  “Brad, sweetie, if you could just give me a sign that you can hear me, like a squeeze or a blink, that would be great. The doctors need you to wake up a little.”

  He wanted nothing more than to wake as well, the confusion and haziness of his mind wouldn’t let him. He made an attempt to take a breath, that was until what ever was in his mouth and down his throat made it difficult, forcing his airway to tighten.

  “Relax, Sergeant Jones. I know it feels weird. You have been intubated,” a different female voice instructed. “Try breathing through your nose.”

  He did as he was told and the need to gag subsided.

  He squeezed the hand that still held his as a reply to understanding. Excitement began to fill the room. That must have been a good thing.

  Movement and hushed voices floated around him. Not knowing what was happening brought frustration. He needed to fight the weakness and weight on his mind and body. He had to open his eyes.

  He felt muscles in his face move and contort. The woman holding his hand encouraged him with her sweet words while she ran a finger or thumb over the back of his hand.

  At last, a glimmer of light seeped through his eyelids making his head hurt. He pushed against the discomfort and made another attempt. He had to see who was holding his hand. He needed to know what was keeping him from breathing deep. He had to know.

  The light fluttered through his lids again as a blur of images moving around him came into view.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living, Sergeant Jones. It is good to see you,” the man surrounded in white stated. He had heard the voice before; he just wasn’t sure how long ago. “I’m Sergeant Moore and I’ll be taking over your care.”

  Brad tried to ask where he was, but the doctor was quick to stop him. “You need to try not to talk right now. We are going to remove the intubation first.” That’s what that is. “Then we can talk. Well, I will talk while you listen.” The man smiled but something in his eyes told Brad something else was up.

  Brad glanced in the direction of the angel who held his hand, the haze madking it hard to see.

  “He seems agitated,” the woman stated.

  “It’s normal when patients are coming out of the sedation. He’ll calm down once we take out the tube and the medicine wears off.”

  He hoped so.

  The nurse gave instructions to blow out as pain radiated through his lungs and chest. In no time, he could take a deep breath. It was soon followed by a painful coughing fit. “That’s good, Mr. Jones. You need to cough that up.”

  Exhaustion washed over him as his eyes began to close again. He didn’t want to sleep, but he couldn’t help it.

  Visions of gunfire and explosions unsettled his rest. Screams of men rang through the air around him. He fought against his need for sleep just so he could escape the horror.

  A gentle shushing called to him through the carnage in his dream. The tenderness that emanated from the voice calmed the terror. Peace filled his heart, chasing everything away.

  He wasn’t sure how long he was asleep, but for the first time in as long as he could remember he felt rested.

  A familiar touch on his hand brought him back to the beeping sounds and hushed tones. A hint of pain in his head finished the job, waking him from his sleep.

  “Hello there, sunshine,” the woman said from her place at his left.

  After taking a mental evaluation of his body, he turned his head to the voice to respond. He needed to thank this angel for her comfort and kindness.

  “Hi,
” was all he could muster.

  “Good,” a male voice interrupted. He recalled it being that of the doctor. “He’s awake.”

  The doctor leaned in toward him, “Can you see my face, Sergeant Jones?”

  Sergeant, must mean I am in the military. That explains the dreams.

  “I am going to ask you simple, short answer questions as I don’t want you to talk too much. Do you know where you are?” the doctor asked.

  “Yes. Hospital.”

  “Correct. Do you know why you are here?”

  “Hurt.”

  “Correct. Do you know how you were hurt?”

  Brad searched his memory for an answer. “War?”

  “Yes, kind of. Is that a guess or do you know it for sure? Be honest.”

  “Guess. Bad dreams.”

  “We thought you were. You looked distressed.

  “Do you know what year it is?”

  Brad searched his mind for the answer again. Why is this so hard? “Not really.”

  “That’s okay.”

  A whimper came from his left; from his angel.

  He turned to her again. “Do you recognize this woman?” the doctor asked.

  Brad strained to remember. He did his best to summon a memory of his angel’s face. He wanted to find her in the deep corners of his hazy mind. It was clear that he meant something to her, he just couldn’t figure out what.

  This can’t be good

  CHAPTER 5

  Tiffany’s heart beat wild like a hammer in her chest. Her lungs struggled to capture a full breath of air. She did all she could to keep a calm face, because she knew Brad was struggling with Sergeant Moore’s questions.

  Lord, what is happening?

  “Brad, do you recognize her?” the doctor asked again.

  Brad’s face twisted and contorted as he watched her face. His eyes moved from her forehead to her chin, then her nose and cheeks. At last, his eyes landed on hers. Pity crossed his scraped features.

  That’s when she knew.

  “I’m sorry. I wish I did.”

  He confirmed her fear. He didn’t know her.

  She looked to Sergeant Moore, giving all she had to keep it together. He did not feel bad about not knowing who she was. Even though everything in her was screaming why?

  “Who is she to me?” panic laced his voice.

  Sergeant Moore put a hand on Brad’s shoulder, “Just relax. This happens from time to time. You might have some swelling still that is putting pressure on the brain. Take a deep breath. We will figure this all out.” The doctors voice was calm while his focus shifted between her and Brad, she saw the concern in his eyes. Her heart froze.

  “Mirror. Can I see a mirror please?” Brad’s voice strained. The calm word wasn’t working for him either.

  The doctor got up to get one off the wall and Brad tugged on her hand. “I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat. “What are we?”

  This was her make or break moment. She could wallow in self-pity or pull up her boot straps and live up to their vows. Knowing that she did not want to risk losing him completely, and suffer like Emma and Ryan did after his accident, she mentally put her emotions on the shelf. Brad needed her.

  “My name is Tiffany. I am your wife.”

  “How long?”

  “Almost ten years.” She gave him short answers so that she didn’t overwhelm him with information.

  “Children?”

  “None. We were working on that,” she couldn’t help the blush that warmed her face. A hesitant smile crossed his face. He may not remember, but he gets it.

  “I guess that is good.”

  She caught movement at the corner. Sergeant Moore remained by the mirror, watching their interaction closely. He gave her nod to continue. She figured he needed to know these things.

  “Yes. Something like this would be hard to explain.”

  Brad nodded as he stared at his feet. He may not remember her, but she remembered his mannerisms. He was thinking. He was searching for something. Her own memory sparked as a phrase she would ask when he became contemplative. Maybe saying it to him now would help. At this point, she would try anything.

  “I can see your gears turning. What are you thinking, darling? You can ask me anything.”

  “Okay, am I a good man?” Worry at her answer flashed in his eyes. Had he forgotten who he was?

  “The best.” And the she saw relief. “Someday I will tell you about how great of a man you are, when you are ready.”

  “Job?” his brows furrowed at the question.

  “You are a sergeant in the United States Army. You have served for a very long time. You are up for retirement in three years, I believe.”

  “I like guns then. Cool,” he laughed, which then caused a coughing fit. The doctor approached the bed, putting his stethoscope in place. He placed the round end to Brad’s chest and back to listen to the cough.

  Concern crossed the doctor’s face, “Cough some more if you can, Jones. It sounds like you have some fluid on your lungs.”

  A hand rested on her shoulder, pulling her focus. “Mrs. Jones, why don’t you go out into the waiting room while we run a couple of tests.” Brad’s cough sounded painful and dangerous. “Someone will come and get you when we are finished.”

  She wanted to tell Brad that she would return, but the coughs grew more intense. There was no way she would be of any help or comfort to him right now.

  The walk back to the waiting room was even longer than when she went in. The halls seemed to bend and twist with each step she made. Everything was different now. He doesn’t remember. She might take him home, but they can’t resume life as they knew it. He would be a stranger in his own skin, in his home, with her. What would that mean for them?

  Pull it together, girl, the doctor didn’t say this was forever.

  But what if it was? Would he want to divorce like her brother had with Emma? Or, would he want to stick it out? She would honor whatever he wanted. At least she hoped she could. There were too many questions with very few answers.

  She stopped at the doors that closed off the Critical Care Unit. Her family and closest friends on the other side, some pacing the floor, heads low, and lips moving; others talked to one another. Karen and Max had left the room between Brad’s moments of awake and sleep. They didn’t know what was going on with him.

  “How do I tell them, Lord? I can’t. I can’t show them a hopeful face when I have no hope right now.” She whispered into the steril atmosphere.

  Stepping away from the door, she leaned her back and head against the wall. Fear, worry, anger – all emotions she was not used to feeling hit her in one breath. “God, if this is Your plan, I’m just telling you now that it sucks!”

  When tears stopped flowing and she could breathe normal again, Tiffany got up from the floor and pushed through the doors. “Ready or not, here I go. Help me, Lord.”

  All eyes on her were; eyes full of hope that the prognosis was good. She would have to let them down. The thing was, she doubted her ability to voice what she saw and heard.

  “Would you like some help?”

  The familiar voice of Sergeant Moore came from beside her. She must have been in such a fog that she hadn’t noticed the opening of the door, let alone stopping in the middle of the hall. Having someone who knew what was going on would be better to give the news.

  Tiffany nodded to affirm that it would be better.

  He took charge, pulling out a seat for her while inviting the others to pull up a chair. She only saw lips move as Sergeant Moore explained what happened and their loved ones asked questions. Various glances her way radiated with pity. Tears traveled down faces. Everyone there loved him like he was one of their own. Brad spoke frequently that when he couldn’t spend time with his brothers in arms, those that sat around her now filled that brotherhood void.

  She looked to Ryan and caught a glimpse of a tear running down his face. It was because of Brad that Ryan was even alive. His heroics that day t
en years ago changed everyone’s lives in the Daniels family. Now he wouldn’t even remember it. He wouldn’t recall the close-knit life they shared.

  When the doctor left, her family huddled around her. Their love radiated, filling in the cracks of her broken heart. Pastor Cross took her hands and began to pray. His prayer for God’s will and plans to become clear. For peace to be felt and that she would feel strengthened.

  Did she have it in her to agree in the prayer? At the moment, she could hardly think. Praying was the last thing on her mind. She wasn’t sure God even heard her prayers. None of them seem to have been answered. Her womb remained battered and empty, her husband was gone more than not, and now he didn’t even know who she was.

  Where was the kind and loving God Pastor Cross preached about? Why did He have to let this happen? She could handle missing limbs, but to have her other half not know who she was seemed to be too much.

  Later that evening, after the long two-hour drive home, Tiffany trudged into the house with their parents trailing behind. Snow began to fall in heavy, fluffy flakes halfway home. With as cold as it had been, she was sure that her trip back the next day would be dangerous.

  When she reached for the front door handle, it turned before she could grasp it. Greeting her with an unsure smile was Ryder. He studied her and their parents, his brow dropped in concern. “Is he okay?” he asked as he moved to one side to let them in from the cold.

  She didn’t answer right away, no one did, really. They just hung their coats on the rack and put hats and gloves in the sleeves. Ryder had become a dear friend to her, telling him was inevitable. She needed a friend who was not emotionally invested in the situation; someone to help her think clearly. First, she had to get her in-laws and parents settled in their rooms for the night.

  The weight of the world hung heavy on her shoulders as she made her way to the kitchen. The scent of coffee, hopefully decaf, called to her. One cup, a chat with Ryder, and maybe a soak to release her aching muscles. That would be the perfect end of the long, agonizing day.