by Witt, L. A.
He shrugged. “We’ll find a way. I hear Canada’s nice in the summer anyway.”
I laughed. “I don’t know; might be fun if there’s ten feet of snow on the ground.”
“Maybe so.” He chuckled. “Has Sam ever been snowboarding?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it.”
“Well, it’s high time he learned.” Damon put his hand over mine again. “Canada it is.”
Despite a different fan of outdated magazines on a table and a different diver trying in vain to get to a different bubbling treasure chest, this waiting room was just as close to purgatory as the one in the specialist’s office. No, not just as close. Closer. A deeper circle of “please let this be over soon,” and there was nothing I could do except wait.
I’d stayed with Alex in pre-op until the drugs started kicking in. When the nurses wheeled him out, I’d headed for the waiting room, but I’d made the mistake of pausing to look back.
For the last two hours, I’d replayed the image of those double doors banging shut with cold finality, cutting off the already fading sound of the gurney’s wheels. Over, and over, and over, my mind’s eye had watched those doors shut. That was the moment when the nerves set in. That was when he was gone, and there was that small but unsettling fear that he was really gone.
Magazines couldn’t hold my attention. The diver was about to drive me mad. I finally put the magazine in my hand on the table and got up. I paced the deserted waiting room, desperate to relieve this nervous energy.
With each step, the ache in my hips and lower back reminded me of everything we’d done last night. We’d both been insatiable, even more than I could remember during those scorching nights in our past life. Though neither of us had spoken about it, the thought had lurked in the back of my mind that this could be the last night like this. The last time until he’d recovered from the surgery at least, but possibly the last time at all. I hadn’t let myself think of all the things that could happen in the operating room, but from the first article of clothing that hit the floor, I’d done everything I could to make sure Alex had the night of his life.
It was a wonder we’d managed to get out of bed in time for him to get to pre-op at the crack of dawn.
Somehow, we’d made it. Now he was back there, I was up here, and I waited.
Pacing the floor, I prayed to God that Alex came through with the ability to live a normal life. A normal life with the ability to walk and the ability to shift from male to female when he needed to. Knowing what I did now, I understood how Alex’s ability to shift had permeated his life on every level, to depths I still couldn’t fathom. It may have seemed foolish for him to risk life and limb to maybe regain that ability, but going on as a static might well have killed him anyway. Slowly, from the inside out, it would have killed him. At least this way, there was a chance, however slim that chance may have been.
“Mr. Bryce?”
At the sound of my name, I spun around. “Yes?”
A nurse approached with a clipboard in her hand.
“Is he out of surgery?” I asked. No, he couldn’t be. He’d only been back there a little over an hour and a half.
“Not yet, no.” The seriousness in her expression made my pulse jump. “We’ve run into some difficulty with one of the implants, and since you have his power of attorney, we need your consent to perform an additional procedure to remove it.”
My mouth went dry, and I willed my knees not to collapse under me. “What’s wrong?”
“The third implant has moved since the original X-rays were taken,” she said. “It’s up in his neck now, floating between the sixth and eighth vertebrae.”
“It hasn’t embedded itself?”
“It’s hard to say. Dr. Rowland won’t know for sure until he gets in and sees it. But it’s possible.”
“So, what needs to be done?”
“It’s a riskier and more delicate procedure to remove the implant in its current location. It’ll require keeping him under anesthesia significantly longer, and because of the device’s proximity to the spinal cord, there is a substantially greater risk of damage, including paralysis.”
“Or death?” I asked, barely forcing the words out.
She nodded. “Yes. The incision for the other two implants is through his abdomen, but for this one, the surgeon will need to go in through the back of his neck. The risks are listed on this form.” She held up the consent form.
With my heart in my throat, I took the clipboard from her. “What happens if I don’t consent to it?”
“We’ll leave that device in place, and when he’s conscious, he can make the decision to have an additional procedure to remove it.”
My gut twisted and somersaulted. Alex wanted this thing out. There was no way he could afford a second surgery. But how far was he willing to go? He’d told me his wishes, given me the go-ahead to consent to anything short of prolonged life support. He’d want me to sign the form.
I read over the list of risks, potential side effects, all the things that could happen to Alex if I signed on the dotted line at the bottom of the page. It was impossible to say which complications were likely and which were just listed to save the hospital’s ass in a lawsuit, but words like “death” and “paralysis” and “brain damage” jumped out at me like they were written in bright, screaming red.
Forcing my hand to stay steady, I signed the form. Please, God, don’t let me be signing his death warrant.
I handed it back to the nurse. “How long do you think it’ll be now?”
“Difficult to say. At least a few more hours. We’ll let you know as soon as he’s moved to recovery.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
With my written permission to cut into Alex’s neck, the nurse left, and I was once again alone with the ancient magazines and the Sisyphean diver. I wanted to pace, but I wasn’t sure I could rely on my legs to stay under me. Instead, I sank into a chair, resting my elbows on my knees and clasping my fingers in front of my lips.
“You just found out why I’ve changed the subject whenever you’ve brought up getting married,” he’d said that night I’d gone to check on my girlfriend and found a man with a spinal headache, “and right now, you have your hands folded so tight in front of your lips that your knuckles are turning white.”
I pulled my hands apart and leaned back in the chair. Staring up at the ceiling, I pretended not to feel the tingling of blood rushing back into my fingers. It was hard to believe it had only been a couple of months since that night. The rug had been yanked out from under both of us, and if there was any chance of getting that rug back under our feet, this was it. Right here, right now, with whatever happened in the operating room. Whatever happened with my permission.
I gulped.
In my pocket, my phone vibrated. When I pulled it out, there was a text from Sam.
Any word on Alex?
No sense worrying him with the newly complicated procedure, so I wrote back, Not yet. Hopefully soon.
I sent the message and waited.
Sam and I exchanged a few more texts. Tabitha called to see if I’d heard anything. Alex’s friend and coworker Ken called a little while after that. The magazines got older. The diver didn’t get any closer to the treasure chest. The hands on the clock went around and around and around. Every set of approaching footsteps was a nurse coming to give me bad news. Every summons on the hospital intercom was someone urgently needed in that specific operating room.
“Mr. Bryce?”
I almost jumped out of my skin. A different nurse entered the waiting room with another clipboard in hand. My heart beat faster, pushing cold water through my veins.
“Yes?” I said, almost choking on the word.
“I thought you’d like to know Alex is in recovery now.”
A rush of relief swept through me. “How’s he doing?”
“Still heavily sedated, but he came through the procedure without any complications.”
More relief. “Will he be abl
e to walk?”
“Too early to tell,” she said. “As far as the surgeon could see, there was no damage to the spinal cord, but we’ll have to wait until he’s fully conscious to see if he responds to stimuli.”
I swallowed. “When can I see him?”
“Soon.” She smiled. “I’ll come get you as soon as he’s awake and settled into his room.”
“Thank you.”
As soon as she turned to go, I slumped back against the chair and sighed, my head spinning and stomach fluttering as a full day’s worth of fear evaporated. I wouldn’t know for a while if Alex was absolutely okay—if he could walk, if he could shift—but he’d made it through. As far as I could tell, the worst was over.
Thank God. The worst was over.
My eyes fluttered open. Both mind and vision were still cloudy, and it took a moment to orient myself. Sunlight poured in through huge windows, illuminating my familiar-yet-unfamiliar surroundings. I didn’t recognize this particular room, but between the bland pastel walls and the halo of beeping machinery all around my head, I realized after a moment that this was a hospital room.
I tried to turn my head, but couldn’t.
What the hell?
I tried again. It wasn’t just the pain—and Jesus Christ, there was plenty of pain—at the base of my neck.
I. Couldn’t. Move.
Panic swept through me. I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move. Oh, God, I—
My fingers closed around cool sheets and coarse blankets, and something dug into the back of one hand. The haze of sleep and drugs cleared a little more. I could move and feel my hands, so it wasn’t paralysis.
With one hand, I reached up to touch my neck. Ah, that was it. A hard brace kept my head still. As my awareness spread, I realized the brace bit into my jaw and collarbones. How had I not noticed it before? I sure as fuck noticed it now.
I raised my other hand so I could see what was digging in. An IV. That shouldn’t have surprised me.
So I could still feel my hands. I could move my arms. What about everything else?
Without thinking about it, I tried to move my hip a little and was rewarded with a fraction of an inch of movement and a blazing hot surge of pain.
Bad idea, Alex. Bad idea.
Wracking my brain, I tried to remember how the hell I got here. There were dreamlike images of people looking down at me, voices that sounded hundreds of miles away, and that vague sense of panic that accompanied being disoriented. The memory might have prompted a shudder, but my body didn’t dare let that shudder come to life. Not with the pain already loitering along various parts of my spine and above my hip. That must have been where they’d cut in. I distantly remembered Dr. Rowland saying it was an abdominal incision. At least the drugs had worn off enough for me to realize it would be a bad idea to try prodding the spot to see if it was where the incision had been made.
Footsteps would have turned my head had it not been for the stupid brace. Oh, and the pain.
“Damon?” I murmured. Damn, my mouth was dry.
A nurse leaned over the bed so I could see her face. “We’ll bring him in shortly. Just want to make sure you’re doing okay first.”
“You tell me,” I muttered.
She smiled. “Well, you’re awake. That’s a good sign.” She pressed something into my hand and closed my fingers around it. “This is a morphine pump. When you need something for the pain, just press the button, okay?”
I ran my thumb over it, and as soon as I found the button, I pressed it.
“Good,” she said. “Don’t try to be a martyr about it, either. If it hurts, push the button. Don’t wait until it’s unbearable.”
“Duly noted,” I whispered.
“Mr. Nichols?” Dr. Rowland’s male voice preceded the appearance of his face by about two seconds. “How are we feeling?”
“Ask me again after you tell me how things went.”
He smiled. “It went well. Very well. We were able to remove all three implants.”
I exhaled. “Thank God.”
“Just waiting on the lab to make sure the devices were completely intact, but I’m optimistic about that. Now, we did have to perform an additional procedure to remove the third.” He gestured at my neck. “That’s why you’re wearing the brace temporarily, to keep from disturbing the incision.”
“Lovely.”
“All in all, though, as far as I can tell, everything was successful. Since you’re awake, I’d like to run through a few quick tests. Then we’re going to have you up and out of bed.”
I blinked. “You—what?”
“We told you that in pre-op,” the nurse said with a laugh. “You’ll be up and around within the hour.”
I groaned. If the pain was this bad while I was flat, I could only imagine trying to get around.
“We’ll get to that,” Dr. Rowland said.
“I’m going to go out to the waiting room and let his friend know he’s in his room,” the nurse said to Dr. Rowland.
To me, Dr. Rowland said, “Are you up for visitors?”
“Yeah. Please, I want to see him.”
The doctor nodded at the nurse, and her footsteps faded out of the room.
Dr. Rowland moved to the end of the bed. He squeezed my toes. “Can you feel that?”
“Yes.”
“Wiggle your toes.”
I did, and his satisfied nod sent a rush of relief through me.
“Can you bend your knee?” He slipped his hand under it and rested the other on my shin, and I grimaced as I pulled my knee up slightly, the effort sending fresh pain from my hip to my side. “There, that’s fine for now.” He eased my leg back down. Other leg, same deal. He tapped a pen up and down my arms and legs, then had me follow the pen with my eyes. The second part was challenging because the morphine was starting to kick in, but apparently I tracked it well enough to satisfy Dr. Rowland.
“Looks like you made it, kid.” He squeezed my arm. “We’ll know more once you’re up and moving around, but so far the response to stimuli is normal. Doesn’t appear to be any paralysis or nerve damage.”
I closed my eyes. It remained to be seen if I could shift, but my body was still in one piece. The worst was over.
“You have your schedule of follow-up visits,” Dr. Rowland went on. When I opened my eyes, he pointed an emphatic finger at me. “No matter how tempting it is, and I know it will be, do not attempt a shift until I give you the all-clear. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Good.” He squeezed my arm again. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”
“Probably not a good thing to do while you’re operating on someone.”
Dr. Rowland laughed and patted my shoulder. “Looks like your sense of humor made it through intact, too.”
“Might pull through after all, then,” I said dryly.
He chuckled and turned to go. The morphine had set in pretty well by then, and my eyelids were heavy, so I closed my eyes again.
It was going to be a long three months between now and when I could try shifting again. I didn’t expect to draw an easy breath until that day. At least the implants were out, though. Finally. My body was mine again, even if it turned out to be too damaged to shift.
Footsteps worked their way into the drugged haze. I blinked a few times, wondering if the nurses really expected me to get out of bed now. Just a few more minutes. Please don’t make me walk yet.
“Hey, you.” Damon’s voice brought a smile to my lips. When he leaned over me, his face made my heart flutter.
“Hey,” I said. “Good to see you.”
“Good to see you among the land of the living.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “How are you feeling?”
I moistened my parched lips. “Like shit.”
“That’s not surprising.” He slipped his hand into mine and squeezed gently. Concern furrowed his brow. “Did the doctor say anything about nerve damage?”
“So far, so good. Everything seems
to be able to move, and as much as I wish it were, nothing’s numb.”
Some of the tension left Damon’s shoulders. “That’s definitely good news.”
I grinned. “You just want to make sure the important parts work.”
“Well, I want that to work, too.” He leaned down again to kiss me lightly. “But I’m really glad to hear it doesn’t sound like anything’s damaged.”
“Me too.”
He glanced over his shoulder, then back to me. “Oh, by the way, I brought something for you.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“No, but I think you’ll like it.” He turned toward the door and nodded at someone else.
At the sound of light footsteps, I looked toward the door as much as I could, and my heart skipped.
“Sam,” I whispered.
“Hey.” She squeezed my hand. “You look like you’re ready to run a marathon.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that. Actually, they’re going to make me get up and walk pretty soon. Not looking forward to that.”
“Already?” Sam said. “Sadists.”
Damon chuckled. “They’re not sadists. They gave him a morphine pump.”
I held out the pump. “You walk the halls for me, you can have this.”
“I wish,” he said, laughing. “By the way, I talked to Ken and Tabitha. Ken and his wife will probably stop by this evening if you’re up for it, and Tabitha said she’d come by in the morning.”
“Cool,” I said. “Hopefully I won’t be drugged out of my head when they show up.”
“If you are,” Sam said, “we could always video it and put it on YouTube.”
I flipped her off, and the three of us laughed.
“I don’t know,” Damon said. “I think Tabitha would get a kick out of seeing you fucked up on morphine.”
“Yes, she would.” I rolled my eyes. “God, that’s just what I need.”
“It’ll be entertaining,” Sam said.
“You’re both evil.”
“That’s why you love us,” she said.
“Birds of a feather, right?” Damon said.
“Yeah. That.”
He chuckled, then leaned down and kissed me gently again. “Well, at least this part’s over.”