by Becky Siame
“What is it?” I peer at the dark contents and sniff. It was not more liquor, I know that.
“Something to make you throw up. Drink it. I don’t want you choking on your vomit in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, Dad,” I start to protest, but he is adamant. I gulp down the awful-tasting mixture and sure enough, a minute later I stumble to the loo and empty the contents of my stomach.
Nothing can be done for the hangover I’ll have in the morning, but as I crawl into bed, I really don’t care.
“Danny’s giving me a ride home,” Dad says as I pull the covers over me.
“That’s nice,” I murmur. “Dad?”
“Yes, Bella?”
But I forget what I want to ask him and pass out.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“When you let go and move on, you discover something amazing: there is so much more to life than what you previously thought.”
FROM BELLA’S BLOG
http://www.thelightersideoflarge.com/ch18
It’s Monday morning and the waiting room is crowded. Sands looks skeptical. “I didn’t realise lap band surgery is an assembly line,” she says.
“Not everyone is Dr Wilson’s patient, I’m sure,” I reply. It’s not the first time I wish someone else besides Sands could have driven me to the hospital. She is dead set against the surgery and tells me that often. Nevertheless, she is my chosen chauffeur because Riyaan is working an early shift, Mama Rose doesn’t have a vehicle, and I didn’t have the heart to ask Dad, who has spent enough time in the hospital recently.
Dad took the kids to Mika’s last night and Sands picked me up at 5:30 a.m. so we could be at the hospital by 6 a.m. to prep for surgery. I knew I couldn’t face Mika and Tiresa after how I acted at their engagement party. If either of them never talks to me again, I can live with that. But I fear Tiresa is spiteful enough to manipulate Mika into suing for full custody as she threatened and they will accuse me of being a drunk. They have enough witnesses to prove that point. That I cannot live with.
I check in at the front desk and am told to take a seat, but before my butt touches the hard plastic chair, my name is called.
“Good luck,” says Sands, who settles down with a book, How to Win in Business and Crush the Competition.
“See you in a few hours,” I say, nervous and excited. I am about to take a huge leap to being skinny and can’t wait to get started.
I am led into a room and given one of those awful open-front hospital gowns to change into and told to get on the bed and cover up with a blanket. There’s a knock on the door a few minutes later and Dr Wilson, wearing scrubs, walks in. “Ms White, how are you feeling this morning?” he asks cheerfully.
“Fantastic,” I smile.
Dr Wilson goes over a few things about the surgery and how I’ll feel afterward, what I can and can’t do. “When you wake up, you’ll be a little sore, but that’s all. Are you ready?”
“I sure am,” I say. “Let’s get started.”
An orderly wheels me into the operating room, a sterile, echoing place with machines and bright lights. The anesthesiologist introduces herself and a mask is put over my face while other gadgets with wires are hooked up to me. “Ms White, I want you to count to ten backward and you’ll fall asleep,” she instructs.
“Countdown begins,” I joke, my words muffled by the mask. “Ten, nine, eight, seven . . .” When I wake up, I’ll have a new life, I think drowsily.
•
I wake up screaming. Pain, worse than labour pains, grips my stomach. I fight to open my eyes but can’t, the effects of the anesthesia lingering in my system. Running footsteps, voices, and hands on me. I can’t stop screaming. Everyone is talking, their words garbled together.”Ms White, where does it hurt?” a voice, Dr Wilson, I think, asks.
“My stomach!” I shriek. What is wrong with him? I just had lap band surgery. Where else am I going to hurt?
A needle jabs into my arm and the pain subsides as I lose consciousness.
•
Why is the TV so loud? I wonder as I wake up - in hell. My whole body is wracked with pain; it hurts to breathe. And yet the kids have the television blasting. Why are they home? Shouldn’t they be with Mika?
“Bella?” a voice says loudly in my ear. It’s Dad. But why is he shouting? Then I realise the television isn’t on. It’s human voices making the racket. “Bella, can you hear me?” he asks. There is a worry in his voice which causes me concern, but right now I can’t think of anything but the pain, dulled as it is by medication.
“Bella?” another male voice says, too loudly, near my ear. Mika? What is he doing here? Did that mean Tiresa was here, too? Now is not a good time to gripe me out for ruining their engagement party.
Machines sound like they’re beeping all around me. More voices, talking faster and faster. “Liver failure
. . . kidneys shutting down,” says someone I don’t recognise.
“. . . because of blood clots?” a female voice asks. It’s Mama Rose. How’d she get here? I wonder. It takes a minute, but realisation dawns why Dad and Mama Rose are here; why I am in agony.
I am dying.
I don’t know why, but I am dying. Is it because of the lap band surgery? Vague memories of the reading material Dr Wilson’s office gave me filter through my foggy mind. “Side effects include heartburn, diarrhea, constipation, gastritis, ulceration . . . Risks range from perforation of the stomach or esophagus, thrombosis, blood vessel damage, spleen or liver damage . . .”
I would shake my head if I could move it without setting off shafts of pain. I can’t believe I am dying from causes due to lap band surgery. I was worried about dying an early death from obesity-related causes, and, oh the irony, here I lay, doing just that. Because if I hadn’t gotten fat to begin with, I wouldn’t have chosen lap band surgery.
The beeping machines and voices grow louder. “Oh God Bella, hang on,” Mika’s voice rises above the noise. A hand squeezes my hand painfully. I want to scream.
“Sir, please move aside.”
“No, I’m her husband. I can’t leave.”
“Mika, fa’amolemole,” says Mama Rose.
The voices and sound meld together in a whirl as I think about the only thing which matters: Abe and Fi. I can’t die. They need me. I want to cry at the thought of the pain they will endure if I die. I know: my mother died when I was not that much older than Abe.
I fight to wake up and not exist in this drugged state. It takes great effort and pain, but I move my lips.
“Isabella? Honey?” It is Mama Rose speaking. I feel her take my hand.
I struggle to form words but all I hear is a mumble.
“Upu Samoa e sui ai, can you hear me?” she asks.
“Please,” I force the words out in a hoarse whisper which doesn’t sound like me. “Spare me for my children. God, don’t let me die.”
“Iesu, Fa’amolemole fesoasoani mai,” Mama Rose prays. “Isabella, oute alofa ia oe.”
She loves me, I recognise the words even as I lose consciousness. I really am dying.
“Lo matou Tama e,o i le lagi, ia Paia lou Suafa. Ia oo mai lou Malo,ia faia lou finagalo,” Mama Rose begins the Lord’s Prayer, and my last thought is that I can’t believe my short life is ending. Things were looking up - I lost weight; I found Jae; I was drawing again; and I was standing up for myself. And now it is all over.
A babble of voices. “Get her into surgery…” The sound of the bed rails being locked into position. Movement. I open my eyes and squeeze them shut as the brighter lights of the corridor pierce my head. More voices-it sounds like there’s a crowd around my bed.
“Oh God,” I hear Sands.
“Where are they taking her?”
“And who are you?” Mika asks.
“I’m Jae, a good friend of Bella’s.”
“Well, you’re not family, so you need to leave and take your Cat with you.”
“I’m not leaving until I know Bella is all right.”
“She’s my wife, and I’m telling you to leave.”
“You mean ex-wife.”
“Stop it, Mika. Let’s go.” It’s Tiresa.
“I’m not leaving my wife.”
“People, please move out of the way,” a female voice orders.
“Your wife? You don’t have a wife. You have a dying ex and a living fiancée. Which do you prefer?”
“Get out of here before I call security.”
A soft ding of an elevator door opening, and I am pushed inside. A stab of pain in my side causes me to scream.
“Bella!” a male voice calls, but I can’t tell who is speaking through the blur of agony.
•
I wake up in a stupor. Sounds are amplified. The blankets on me feel heavy. I’m too weak or drugged to open my eyes, but I hear a conversation.
“What are you doing here?” Sands.
“When she didn’t return my calls or text messages, I got worried.” Is that Jae? It can’t be.
“Calls? Bella hasn’t heard from you in a while. You didn’t dump her?”
“Dump her? Is that what she thinks because I didn’t make it to the engagement party? But I left her a message.”
“She never got the message. And yeah, she thinks you dumped her.”
“Is that her phone?”
“Yes. I brought her here Monday morning and she gave me her purse to hold.”
“How is she?”
“They’re still trying to stabilize her. All her systems and organs are out of whack.”
“How did lap band surgery cause this?” Anger, frustration in the voice.
“Blood clots are a possible side effect of the surgery.”
“But they had to run tests to see if she was okay. They had to have known something wasn’t right for them to form.”
“They did run tests and she was fine.” A pause. “I see you’ve been calling her a lot recently.”
“Like I said...”
“But she says you haven’t called her and she’s been upset for going on two weeks now. There isn’t a message about not going to the party.”
“Maybe she deleted it accidentally. Why don’t you check all incoming calls and messages since I’m on trial?”
A soft knock and the sound of a door opening. “Frank” says Sands.
“Am I interrupting?” Dad asks.
“No,” Sands replies.
“I’m Jae, a friend of Bella’s.”
“Bella’s spoken of you quite a bit. So good of you to come.”
A rustle. “I’ve got to get back to the gym. Please call me if anything changes.”
“Yes, dear, I will,” Dad says.
Footsteps and the door opens and shuts.
“There’s nothing to do but wait. If you’d like, I can call you when we hear something.”
“Thanks, but I think I’d like to stay here a while.”
It can’t be Jae, I think as I drift toward unconsciousness. I must be dreaming.
•
I wake up with a start, gasping for air, then sink down into the bed again. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve woken like that. It feels like I’ve taken my last breath and then I desperately gulp air to hang on through one more breathing cycle.
I drift in and out of consciousness for hours? Days? I lose track of time. The room is lit only by sunlight streaming through the window. Sometimes I think I see Dad sitting next to me; sometimes I know it’s Mama Rose because she sings Samoan songs and hymns. For the most part I rely on my hearing; my sight is blurred, from sedation or sickness, I don’t know.
Dreams and reality blur, too. I think Abe and Fi are in the room and I’m so happy to see them, but then they disappear and I’m glad they can’t see how sick I am. I dream I’m drawing in my sketchbook but then I mess up and try to erase that part of the sketch, but the mistake keeps growing and growing, spreading across the page so that I can’t erase any of it.
“Bella,” a deep voice says and I look up to see Jae holding my hand. A thrill shoots through my body to see him again; yet I am also horrified that he sees me in such pain. Another part of me is angry. I snatch my hand away from his. “What are you doing here?” I demand. “So now you show up. Why didn’t you call me? Why did you leave me? Why? Why? Don’t you know how much I care for you, and you dump me. Don’t you care that you broke my heart? Left me all alone? Why? Why?”
I break down weeping as my emotions run amok, my true feelings for Jae bursting forth. “I don’t know what you saw in me, but my life became better with you. And then you left me, just like Mika. You just left.”
Jae takes my hand again. “Come on,” he smiles and pulls me over to two quad bikes. We hop on and I forget about him dumping me. We’re laughing as we race over the rugged terrain. I want to be angry, but I can’t stop laughing. I’m so happy to be with Jae again. I don’t want this time to end, dream or not. I’m with Jae and that’s all that matters.
Such a feeling of freedom and exhilaration floods through me. I’m alive! I think. I’m not dying in a hospital. I’m alive! I have life and goals and dreams and two wonderful kids and Jae, and that’s all that matters.
I gasp for air again, coming off the bed in a lurch.
“Bella?” a deep voice says. I open my eyes, squinting against the sunlight. Is it Jae? My body feels like it’s been run over by a semi-truck and then beaten with cricket bats.
“Jae?” I whisper. My throat feels raw.
His eyes are full of worry, but he smiles. “Water,” I say. He turns and pours a cup of water from a pink plastic jug. “Here you go,” he says, reaching down by the side of the bed. The top rises, putting me in a semi-sitting position before he holds the cup to my lips. The water is ice cold and tastes good as it slides down my throat. I drink it all and he fills it again. I drink that, too. He sets it aside and strokes my hair back from my forehead.
“It’s good to see you awake,” he says.
“What happened?” I ask. Was I in an accident, because is sure feels like it.
He cups my face in his hand, his voice racked with emotion. “You almost died, beautiful.”
“How?” I ask. “How long have I been here?”
“Five days. It’s Saturday today,” he replies. “You developed two huge blood clots from the lap band surgery and they almost killed you. Your body started to shut down and we thought you wouldn’t make it on Wednesday.”
“I suppose a shag’s out of the question,” I say in a feeble attempt at humour. It feels so good to be lucid and not feel drugged, although the aches and pains and what just came out of my mouth are quickly changing my mind about that.
Jae chuckles, stroking my cheek. “But you rallied Thursday afternoon so they moved you down to the ward. The doctors kept you sedated to let your body heal faster. I’m surprised you’re awake now. They weren’t planning to ease up on the meds until tomorrow.”
“Oh,” I say, musing over it all. “But what are you doing here? I mean, I’m glad you’re here,” I add. I know why the doctors have me drugged. Besides the aches and pains, there is a sharp pain in my stomach.
Jae smoothes back my hair again. “I’m here because I care for you, Bella.” He smiles.
“Oh,” I say again, happy but exhausted. As curious as I am to hear more and find out the reason for the silence from him in the last few weeks, the pain is beginning to sap my limited strength and I don’t feel as if I can talk anymore.
“Should I call a nurse?” he looks worried. “Is there anything I can get for you? Anything you need?”
“Yes,” I nod.
“Name it,” he says, leaning close.
I close my eyes. “I can use a hug.”
There is a pause as Jae takes his hand away from my head. Then I feel him ease into bed next to me, placing his arm around my shoulders. I rest my head on his chest and drift off to sleep, knowing no dream can compare with being in Jae’s arms.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Life is unfair and
tragedy strikes indiscriminately, but if you keep getting back up when knocked down, you win in the end.”
FROM BELLA’S BLOG
http://www.thelightersideoflarge.com/ch19
Jae walks into my room at nine a.m., looking like a ray of sunshine, though a ray of sunshine dressed in jeans, a green polo top and black twill jacket. “Good morning, beautiful,” he says.
I laugh - my full, robust, infectious laugh. I can’t help it. A handsome man is calling me beautiful when I know I don’t look it, certainly not after a near-death experience and two weeks laid up in a hospital bed. “It is a good morning,” I reach out and he bends down to give me a hug. “You’re here and I get to go home today!”
Not that two weeks of having Jae visit every day has been a bad thing. On the contrary, I can’t remember a time when I was happier. At first I thought the visits would taper off and end, but day after day, Jae stopped by every morning on his way to work. By doing so, he got to know Dad quite well and meet Abe and Fi and Mama Rose. Dad and Jae get on like wildfire. I discover Jae is a big fan of literature - a quality which endures him to my librarian Dad. Abe thinks he is a cool guy; Fi wanted to know if I kiss him a lot. When Jae promises to take them for a day out at Go 4 It, he pretty much seals his reputation in their eyes as, “one of the most choicest dudes ever,” as Abe puts it.
Mama Rose remains aloof. She is polite in every respect, but he is not Samoan. Any redeeming virtues and qualities he has cannot compare with the divine endowment of Samoan blood. “If only he is Samoan, he would have my blessing,” she declares one morning after he leaves.
“Mama Rose,” I retort, “the way you go on about being Samoan, you’d think Jae needs all the blessings he can get to counteract being white.”
“Don’t be sassy, Isabella,” she chides. I throw up my hands in surrender. Some things never change.
But some things do, like the positive change of having Jae in my life. “That’s wonderful. So they’re finally letting you leave,” Jae smiles and sits on the edge of the bed next to me. “I’ll drive you home myself. Your chariot awaits, my lady.”