No Weapon Formed (Boaz Brown)

by Stimpson, Michelle

  “Not this trip.”

  Seth’s world came to a halt. He’d never ridden in any car without a special seat. “But Miss Osiegbu said we must always sit in a booster or we could get hurt in an accident. She says I have to wear it until I get eighty pounds, which is almost a hundred!”

  Stelson ignored my son’s reasonable plea. He hoisted Seth from his seat with one arm, threw the booster to the floor, and set Seth down in the middle. “Let’s pretend you’re a hundred pounds.”

  “But I don’t want to get hurt,” Seth’s voice threatened to break with sorrow.

  “You won’t,” Stelson assured him. He buckled himself as well as Seth in place while I got out of the car and assumed the driver’s seat. Stelson laid his head against the headrest and covered his eyes with a pair of gloves.

  I checked all my mirrors and eased onto the street again and continue down the Millers’ street.

  “Daddy, what if the police see me? Won’t they give me a fricket?”

  Seth’s mispronunciation tickled me, but Stelson didn’t see the humor. “Everything’s going to be fine, okay? Just…shut it up.”

  I know he did not just tell my baby to shut up! We were close to having another Six Flags moment. Now it was my turn to pull over. “Stelson, get out of the car.”

  “For what?”

  “Get. Out. Now. We need to talk.”

  “I’m so not moving until we get home,” he said.

  I eyed him through the rearview mirror. “I’m not moving another inch with you actin’ a plum fool.”

  “Ooooooh!” from our son.

  “Really, LaShondra? In front of Seth and Zoe?”

  “I asked you to get out.”

  “Not exactly balmy outside. Freakin’ forty-two degrees.”

  “Oooooh!”

  I twisted my body to get a view of my ridin’-dirty Seth. “Honey, I don’t know why your father insists on saying the word freakin’ today. It is a bad word. And we’re going to pray for him to stop this foolishness, okay?”

  “Drive home!” Stelson yelled like somebody who obviously wasn’t in enough pain to shut his own freakin’ mouth! Lord, forgive me.

  “I’m not driving anywhere!” I took my keys out of the ignition and swung open the driver’s door. I opened the back driver’s side door and seized Zoe. “Come on, Seth.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Back to Miss Peaches’ and Momma Miller’s house.”

  “Yeah! But what about Daddy?”

  “He can drive himself home when the sun goes down.” I helped Seth hop onto the concrete. My son, my daughter and I stood there watching my husband play idiot-man.

  “What are you now? A real housewife of Dallas? You should audition. I’m sure they’d cast you,” he said through gritted teeth. He exited the passenger’s side and began walking around the vehicle.

  Suddenly, he went down. Jerking, twitching, convulsing. Clenching his fists. His eyes fixed on one inconsequential point.

  “Stelson!”

  Having worked in public schools with thousands of kids, I knew immediately what was happening.

  “Daddy!” Seth yelled as he ran to Stelson’s side.

  I thrust the baby back into her seat and pulled my cell phone from my pocket simultaneously.

  “9-1-1 what is the location and nature of your emergency?”

  “Corner of Jonah Drive and Bethel. My husband is having a seizure.” I fed her information as I pushed my husband onto his side. A dark spot spread across the crotch of his pants as he lost control of his bladder.

  “Daddy!” my son hollered louder.

  “Seth, baby, run to Peaches’ house—the one with all the cars in front—and tell her to come quickly. Can you do that for Daddy?”

  He took off at breakneck speed toward the Miller house, feet pounding the pavement double-time. I positioned myself to keep an eye on Seth while I comforted Stelson and listened to the operator’s instructions.

  “Turn his head to the side to keep his airway open.”

  “I did.”

  “Good job. Does he have seizures often? Is he epileptic?”

  “No. There’s something else wrong with him but we don’t have a diagnosis.”

  Animal noises escaped my husband’s nose. Eech. Eech. Eech.

  Rubbing his forehead, I coaxed, “You’re going to be okay, baby. I’m here. You rest in the secret place of the Most High. You abide under the shadow of the Almighty.” I couldn’t remember the whole psalm, but I knew at the end there was a promise to those who fear Him. “God is here, too. You’re okay.”

  I looked up and saw the entire Miller family heading toward us. I promise you, they resembled the cavalry.

  Peaches forced me to drink a warm cup of hot chocolate. “Next best thing to coffee.”

  I sipped tenuously to satisfy her bossy-yet-nurturing nature. “Thank you.”

  Peaches, Quinn and one of her brothers, Monty, had followed Stelson and me in the ambulance. Stelson had regained some consciousness and control of his body in the ambulance. After ruling out drug use, the emergency room physician ordered some kind of specialized MRI, something we’d been trying to convince the doctors to do all along. Shame it took a seizure and an emergency room trip for them to get with the program.

  Peaches, Quinn, Monty and I perched in a waiting room. The soft yellow paint and bright lights cast a soft shadow on everyone waiting patiently for news. I had to give it to the hospital, the chairs lining the perimeter of the room provided adequate cushioning, and we would know since we’d been sitting for an hour and a half.

  “You all right?” Peaches asked for the fifth time since they took Stelson for the MRI.

  “Yes,” I answered, annoyed.

  “I’m not. That was traumatic,” she said.

  Quinn intervened. “But you kept your cool, LaShondra, by God’s grace.”

  He was sho’ nuff right about the grace. Peaches sat back in her chair and resumed the game of Solitaire on her phone. Quinn studied the television. I wished for nothing more than a trip home so I could fall apart in my prayer closet. The image of my tall, strong, manly husband writhing on the ground while my son stood over him yelling, terrorized me beyond belief…This is too much, Lord.

  I approached the nurse’s station and asked how much longer it would be before we were able to see my husband.

  “Last name?”

  “Brown.”

  She studied her screen. “Oh, an M-R-I. We only have one in machine operation tonight. So it may be another half hour or so before he’s ready.”

  “Thanks.”

  With some idea of the timeframe, Peaches ran me home so I could get supplies for Zoe and clothes for me in case I had to spend the night at the hospital.

  “I’ll be right back,” I told Peaches.

  “You sure?” she tilted her head, concerned.

  “Yeah.”

  “If you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming in.”

  I released my purse at the door and rushed straight to the prayer room. A stream of pent-up emotion flowed out of my eyes as I prayed to my Father between heaving sobs. This was the big one. The ugly cry. The epic bubble-snot, head-jerking cry.

  God, I don’t even know what to say. Stelson had a seizure. You were there, weren’t You? Why didn’t You stop it? And my baby saw it. Father, this is crazy. I need You now. This very second.

  As I prayed, I remembered reading Smokie Norful’s testimony behind his first big hit, I Need You Now. Like Stelson, Norful’s father was lying in a hospital bed. He had wires running everywhere from his body, and the singer had felt the same way I felt, which is why the song resonated with so many people. Not a second or another minute. From deep within me, I began to hum the tune.

  And then a scripture came. I will never forsake you. And then a translation from somewhere popped up in my head. For God Himself has said I will not in any way fail you. Scripture after scripture, promise after promise flooded me as The Comforter personally lift
ed my head with His Words. All those scriptures Momma made me memorize, all those hours in consecration and study kicked in and took over.

  “Thank you, Lord,” I said aloud. Knowing that He was there for me, I could be there for Stelson.

  Peaches rapped on the front door. “Shondra!”

  I let her in. “Come on in,” I said, wiping my eyes.

  “Girl, I knew you were in here breaking down.” Peaches snatched me into a hug and squeezed the rest of my tears onto her shoulder.

  We were both slobbering messes by the time she let go. “We’d better get back.”

  “Yeah. Let me get what I came home for.”

  “I know kids. I’ll get Zoe’s and Seth’s stuff.” I pointed her to the kids’ hallway and she headed to Zoe’s room while I went to the master bedroom for my things.

  I took a tote bag from my closet and filled it with another shirt, a pair of jeans and fresh undergarments. I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste, a comb and a brush.

  I got Stelson’s toothbrush, too. And that’s when I heard Stelson’s computer ding in his adjacent office. He must have left it on.

  I moved the mouse, expecting to see some work-related file pop up on the screen. Instead, a discussion thread appeared. The title: Sick and don’t know why. In the upper right, I saw my husband’s screen name. BrownBrother. I sat in his leather chair. Scrolled down and read my husband’s heart on a 15-inch screen.

  I have no idea what’s wrong with me. I’ve alienated my wife, my kids, my mother, my church family. My biggest fear is that I’ll leave them like my father left me. He died when I was nine.

  Beneath his confession, dozens of people responded, telling him that they were praying for him. That what he felt was normal. They’d been there and done that and he shouldn’t feel guilty. He should tell his wife what he felt she needed to know, but feel free to come online and vent with them. They’d be right there for him.

  The conversation took place over several days.

  I clicked my husband’s name and saw that he’d been a part of several discussions full of encouragement, venting, and amateur medical advice. The weight of his despair shocked me. I didn’t know.

  “Shondra?”

  “Yeah, I’m coming. Just shutting down Stelson’s computer.”

  I couldn’t process what I’d just read at the moment. I closed the top without exiting the site. “Let’s go.”

  Just as we rejoined Monty in the waiting room, a nurse dressed in tie-dyed scrubs stepped in. “Mrs. Brown?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dr. Coyle would like to speak with you.”

  Peaches literally pushed me so my feet would move.

  I followed the nurse beyond the white swinging double doors, to Stelson’s bedside. He was upright, wearing a light blue hospital gown. The miniscule upturn of his lips nearly crushed my decidedly confident demeanor.

  Words would have betrayed me. I pecked his forehead with my lips and concentrated on breathing normally.

  “Mrs. Brown, your husband has asked that you be present as we discuss the findings. I think that’s best, especially considering this whole episode may be foggy for him.”

  “I understand.”

  Dr. Coyle sat down on his stool and turned on both his laptop and a monitor at the foot of Stelson’s hospital bed.

  The days of doctors slapping X-rays and scanned results against luminescent panels must have passed without me knowing. All this technology—he’d better have an answer.

  “I need to forewarn you. These findings are…concerning,” he prefaced.

  Stelson slipped his hand into mine and squeezed once. I reciprocated, taking it further by lacing our fingers together. Whatever the doctor said, we’d have to face it together. Period.

  Chapter 26

  “The scan revealed old lesions.”

  “Lesions?” I gasped.

  “Yes, but they were old. Whatever you’ve got, you’ve had for a while or you’re experiencing a relapse.”

  “I’ve never been this sick.”

  “I have a few questions for you, Mr. Brown.” Dr. Coyle swiveled the laptop toward himself and pressed a few buttons. “In addition to the headaches, have you experienced numbness in your hands or feet?”

  I was relieved to hear him ask questions that sounded foreign.

  Until Stelson answered, “Yes.”

  What?!

  The doctor continued, “Dizziness, off-balance?”

  “Yes.”

  I choked Stelson’s hand. He wriggled out of my grasp and rested the hand on top of the white linens.

  “Fatigue?”

  “Yes.”

  “Difficulty breathing?”

  “No.”

  Thank God for one no! Dr. Coyle was going to have to put me on a stretcher in a minute. Why was my husband hiding all these symptoms from me?

  “Blurred vision?”

  “Yes.”

  The doctor took off his glasses and got busy clicking and scrolling away.

  Stelson avoided my glare, keeping his eyes on the doctor alone.

  “Well, there’s good news and bad news. The good news is, now that we know you have lesions on your brain, we can narrow this down to a specific category. The bad news is, the types of syndromes and diseases we’re likely dealing with can bring life-changing, life-long challenges.”

  Immediately, something inside me rejected this report. Not because I didn’t want to believe it, but because the Witness inside said the doctor wasn’t accurate. The same Witness, the Holy Spirit, had spoken when Stelson’s headaches started. I knew then that we weren’t dealing with migraines, just as I knew when the doctor was speaking that Stelson’s problem, while serious, was not in line with the doctor’s suggestion.

  “What kinds of diseases?” Stelson asked.

  I didn’t want to hear the answer and from the way Dr. Coyle rolled his head to the left, he didn’t want to say too much. “There are quite a few.”

  “Name one,” Stelson pushed.

  “Well…there’s MS, cerebral infarction, systemic lupus, epilepsy…it’s too early to tell. We’re going to keep you here overnight as a precaution. I recommend you work closely with your regular doctor to chase this down.”

  “Will do,” Stelson agreed.

  Dr. Coyle reattached his glasses to his face and patted Stelson on the shoulder. “Are you having any discomfort now?”

  “No.”

  “Great. I’ll check in with you again tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dr. Coyle left the room.

  I threw my hands in the air. They landed on my hips. I took a deep breath and tried my best to address Stelson without raising his blood pressure. “What was that?”

  He rocked his head left and right on the pillow. “The truth.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had all these other symptoms?”

  “If this guy’s a doctor and he can’t help me, why would I tell you?”

  “Because I’m your wife. Because we’re here for each other.”

  “Are we?” he questioned. “The sicker I get, the more we fight. Telling you would only make you worry more, which makes you more irritable.”

  I’m the irritable one? Thank God I caught the accusation before it escaped my mouth. Lord knows we didn’t need another argument.

  We did the only thing I knew to do: pray.

  I texted Peaches and asked her and Quinn to visit with Stelson. We all prayed again, then I walked with Peaches and Quinn to the elevator. Monty pressed the ‘down’ button and the door chimed almost immediately. “I’ll go pull the car around so Quinn won’t have to hop around so much.”

  “Thanks for coming, Monty,” I said.

  “You got it. See you later, Shondra. I’ll text you in a few. Y’all can meet me at the emergency entrance, Peaches.”

  Monty boarded the elevator.

  “Momma says don’t worry about the kids,” Peaches said. “Focus on Stelson.”

  I reached i
n my purse, searching for my wallet. “Here, let me give you something in case we end up staying longer and Zoe runs out of milk.”

  “Girl, please. We got this. Plus, you know Momma’s already whipped up mashed potatoes. Zoe will not go hungry.”

  “Please thank her for me tonight,” I begged.

  “Do you need anything before we go?” Peaches offered.

  “No. You being here was more than enough. I’m a basket case right now. I feel like I’m just going through the motions,” I confessed to them as much as myself. “Stelson has been so…not himself lately. And I’ve been fussing at him, thinking he needed to will himself to snap out of it. I didn’t know he was battling something so insidious. I can’t imagine how much pain he was in. Lesions on his brain. That’s like…lesions.”

  “He was definitely in a lot of pain,” Quinn seconded.

  Confused, I asked, “What? How did you know?”

  Quinn glanced at Peaches. She nodded. Obviously, they knew something I didn’t.

  “Tonight, while you two were gone, Stelson asked me if I had any leftover pain medication from my surgery. Said he’d even pay me for them.”

  God, he’s serious!

  “I was going to call you later and tell you, but then this happened,” Peaches said.

  “Quinn, I’m so sorry—”

  “No need to apologize, Shondra. Stelson’s my brother in Christ, but he has flesh. No telling what any of us might do under the wrong circumstances.”

  As an educator, I always had the greatest respect for doctors, partly because they stayed in school so long. And yet, there we were, surrounded by all this computerization and a doctor who’d studied and practiced long enough to handle critical patients in a major hospital, and we walked out of there Christmas day basically with a note telling us to go see another doctor.

  This is ridiculous.

  With Stelson pretty much resting in bed the rest of the day, Daddy and Jonathan came to our house so Seth could have some kind of semblance of a Christmas surrounded by family and friends.

  I noticed something about my father while he was in our living room: He wasn’t nearly as bold and abrasive when he wasn’t in his own house. He spoke to Stelson cordially and minded his manners. Held his tongue quite well, actually. Perhaps this was something he’d learned to do back in the ‘60s, when he’d perfected his public persona for mixed company.