by Unknown
Just less than ten minutes elapsed, and she heard police sirens in the background. Some very concerned drivers had pulled over and tried to pull her out of the car. It was stubbornly crushed and crammed in place.
“Don’t worry. The police will come with the jaws of life” said a young man who kept his eyes on her. She didn’t say anything, but stared at an earring he had in.
The police came and did their magic. As promised by the young man, they rammed the jaws of life into the car, and removed her delicately from the front seat. She had no concern about herself, but worried about her husband.
She looked at the car in her peripheral vision and it was just a twisted, screwed up pile of steel. It was only a shred of its former self. “Please help my husband! He’s not moving and I don’t know if he’s breathing!” she exclaimed.
They put her into an ambulance, and did the same for him. To her dismay, she couldn’t see him and didn’t know if he was still alive. Without a doubt, his death would be the most tragic part of her life. The muscular giantess, would be beaten to a miserable end.
The ambulances sped away, and she kept repeating the same questions, and the attending EMT kept repeating the same answer. “Is my husband alive? Is he going to be okay?”
“Mam, I honestly don’t know. My job was to get you safely into the ambulance, and I did that. We’ll find out about your husband as soon as we get to the hospital. It’s only ten minutes away.”
That wasn’t good enough for her. She wanted an answer now, not in ten minutes. For just a moment, she fantasized about grabbing him by the throat and squeezing it until he would give her answers.
Even though she was traumatized and injured, she still was able to barely cling onto the fact that a criminal conviction wouldn’t help her. She knew that assaulting an EMT would earn her that. Finally, she sulked and moaned in displeasure, and stopped pestering the EMT.
Her ambulance arrived at the hospital, and the EMT opened the rear door to let her out. They weren’t lollygagging, but they weren’t rushing, either. She concluded that her condition – which she previously thought nothing about – must not be that bad, after all. That was good for her, of course.
Despite any injures she might have, her primary concern was with her husband. She hadn’t seen him since she was pulled from the pathetic remains of the car.
She was rushed into a hospital room, and given an IV. She gently grabbed the hand of the nurse and asked how he husband was doing. Her emotions were a synthesis of anger and worry. She got tired of people passing the buck.
The nurse gently responded by squeezing her hand. She didn’t smile, but didn’t frown, either. “I will contact the doctor as soon as I leave the room. He will tell you about your husband.”
There. She also passed the buck, but at least she knew who she needed to get answers from. Not surprisingly, it was the doctor. She didn’t mind, as long as he would be showing up soon.
“When will the doctor be in?”
“As soon as possible.” the nurse sighed as she walked away from the hospital bed.
She closed her eyes and grimaced because her forearm was aching. She knew she did something to it, but wasn’t sure what. She didn’t even know how to feel about it. She loved her body and always kept it fit. Would the forearm be a permanent issue? Obviously, that would affect certain exercises – such as weightlifting.
The doctor took fifty minutes to arrive, but the fifty minutes was agonizingly long. He was a handsome guy, even though he was a little old. He had dark, brown eyes and short, salt & pepper hair. There was a little belly bulge, but not a lot. He was fairly short – maybe 5’ 7” or so. His voice was smooth, and diplomatic.
“Hi Jennifer. I’m Dr. Beck. I’m so sorry to hear about what happened to you. How are you holding up?”
“Well, my arm hurts. I’m assuming I did something to it?” Even though she felt incredibly guilty and depressed, she kept her composure and started a conversation with the doctor.
He took a second to establish his kindness and attention to her. He put her medical chart on his lap, after scooting to her bedside on a stool. “You’re correct. The lower part of your arm has two major bones – the Ulna, and the Radius. Your radius has a fracture.”
She didn’t move her eyes, nor give any visual cue to what she might be thinking. “Okay.”
He relayed other relevant information to her, most of which she could logically guess. “You’ve got some bruising and some cuts on various parts of your body. Other than that, we haven’t been able to find any other sources of trauma.”
She asked the doctor the coveted question, that she had been trying to get an answer to, for the past hour. “And, how is my husband?”
He very quietly grunted and then spoke to her, softly and kindly. “Your husband has had a traumatic brain injury. He is in the other room, and is unconscious.”
She gasped and almost cried out loud. She definitely wanted to, and felt horrible to the extreme.
The well-experienced doctor saw her response, and he gently held her hand. “I’m so sorry. I really wish I had better news. It’s always been important for me to be honest.”
The next question, along with the shocking answer, was even more damning. “Is he going to die?”
The doctor hated this part of his job. When he went to medical school, his goal was to heal and rehabilitate. “It really could go either way. He’s alive, but he’s in a coma. Sometimes when patients are in comas, they come out in short time. Some come out years later. Some don’t come out at all.”
Chapter 3
Time is a funny creature. Sometimes, it goes incredibly slow. Sometimes, it goes incredibly fast. It has the power to heal, and the power to punish. It heals by eventually assuaging past tragedies. It punishes by making us older. No matter what time does, it is always a big deal.
In the case of Douglas, it was a bit harsh. In the weeks following the accident, Jennifer would visit him every day, and stay for hours. She would show up in the late morning, and stay until the late afternoon. She would arrive in a dress and was wearing beautiful makeup. She had open-toed shoes and well-manicured nails.
She was doing that because when he woke up – which would be any minute now – he would see her and would love her beauty. He would smile greatly, and they would be forever reunited and would be able to resume their lives together. She knew it, she just knew it.
Over time, the confidence that she had in him healing began to chip. The leaves had browned and colored themselves. The snow had arrived and left. The trees began to bud, and he was still in a coma. Her conversations with the nurses, while diplomatic, promised nothing.
Her visits began to slowly fade. At first, she used the excuse that she was sick, or that the weather was bad, or that she had something really important to attend to. Over many months, even the excuses became less common. They were withering. Dying away.
The visitations she gave him shriveled to just one day a week. She would make him her Friday ritual. Just Fridays. Even when it was one day per week, she didn’t stick around long. She stopped reading to him, and stopped sharing jokes. She would just sit. She would sit and stare at her husband.
Much like with him, she became a shell of her former self. She used to be loving, selfless, and completely compassionate. She still managed to be kind, but many months had convinced her that he was gone. He was gone, and done.
She even was able to convince herself that the accident was not her fault. No, of course not. She wouldn’t have been speeding if he didn’t drag his ass and got into gear. In that case, she wouldn’t need to speed, and therefore, the accident never would have happened. In her mind, that was the truth – as cruel as it sounded.
She even got to the point where she would go home, and question why she was so attracted to him. He sure was a total weakling. He even used her sometimes to open stubborn jars, because he didn’t have the strength to do it. The question she kept asking herself, was, “what did you ever see in him
?”
The testimony and advice that she got from her family didn’t help much, either. The forever-repeating line that she always heard was “it’s a shame what happened to your husband, but he’s not coming out of his coma. It’s time to move on.”
Much like with her husband, she was on life support. Her husband was on physical life support, while her hope was on life support. She would go to bed every night totally alone. She did it for months, and she knew that it would eventually turn into years. Then, more time would pass, and she would be dead.
She often felt like she was in a battle that was going on between God and Satan. God was telling her that she was married, and marriage is a forever institution to exist in both sickness and in health. Satan was telling her that her husband was everything but technically dead, and that she could again date without guilt. The icing on the cake was everyone in her life giving her advice.
She even went to the library to research information on comas. She got frustrated, because there weren’t many definite or clear answers. Everything she found was consistent with what the doctor told her – that the coma may or may not ever end. She couldn’t figure out how the hell to make a decision to move forward with dating, or not.
Then on November 26th, 2015 – she finally made her decision. She would go to the hospital one last time, and say one last goodbye to her husband. Then, she would give herself the grace and forgiveness that she needed to move on with her life.
She walked into the hospital, like she had done dozens of times before. This time, she wasn’t wearing makeup, nail polish, fancy clothes, or anything special at all. She had on blue jeans, a plain, white shirt, and clogs.
When she walked down the hall, she purposely didn’t turn her head to make eye contact. She didn’t want any memories of seeing familiar nurses for the last time. She wanted her memory to be as blank, and plain, as possible. The fewer memories, the better.
When she got into his room, she found some décor that was new, and she initially forgot about what day it was. It was his birthday. She momentarily saddened herself by looking at his small collection of birthday cards, and then shook her head. “It’s his birthday. You didn’t pick his birthday, and that’s got nothing to do with why you’re here” she mumbled quietly.
She put a single rose on his hospital tabletop and looked over at him. He looked the same – lifeless and still. He didn’t look nice, but he at least looked like he was in peace. Nobody could bother him, or traumatize him more. He was safe. He was cared for. Given that he was in a coma, it was the best he could hope for.
She kissed him on the forehead and whispered out just one sentence. “I love you, Douglass.”
She then quickly walked out, and walked away from the hospital room. She couldn’t figure out why, but her saying that to him on this occasion didn’t have the same feeling that it did on her wedding day. To be candid, it was because she really meant it during her wedding day. In this case, she wasn’t as honest or as trusting with it.
When she walked outside and felt the crisp, cool breeze of fall, she felt relieved. She felt like she left her husband in God’s hands. Only God could rectify the situation and bring him back. That was also God’s choosing, and not hers.
She pulled her Apple 5s smart phone from her pants pocket, and speed dialed her mother. “I did it mom. I said goodbye.”
Her mother was one of the very few people who told her daughter to stand by her husband and wait until death, if necessary, to see if he comes out of his coma. She didn’t call her mother to brag about abandoning her husband. She called because she wanted to get it off her chest.
Her mother was quiet, and collective. Jennifer didn’t know what her mom would say, but she knew that something would be said. Finally, she rambled out: “I hope you’ve made the right decision.”
She grew defensive and pointedly replied: “Of course I did! I waited months for him to come out of his coma. I visited him dozens of times, prayed for him, read to him, brought him flowers, etc. What else was I supposed to do?” she angrily asked.
Her mom quietly swallowed and gave it one last-ditch effort for her daughter’s marriage. “Would you please come talk to Reverend Clack about your husband? Please! Just one meeting?”
“Mother, I’m not religious and will not talk to him, but I’ll talk to you later” she hung up the phone and huffed with a bit of anger.
On her way home, she was both angry and depressed. On the one hand, she asked herself why her husband didn’t invent a drug that would bring people out of a traumatic brain injury. Inventing drugs, after all, was his job. Conversely, she had a glimpse of truth and conceded to herself that he was working on so many drugs, that it wouldn’t be possible for him to cover absolutely everything.
She closed the door of her Ford Taurus and started the engine. The car was okay, but it was a few notches down from a Grand Marquis. Her husband wasn’t alive anymore, and she didn’t have his comfortable salary. Subconsciously, that made her mad because she wasn’t a twenty year old kid anymore. She expected to have more in her life.
She put the car in drive and slowly accelerated away. She couldn’t figure out if she was happy or sad. She had just left the man she married in the hospital. She had expected to grow old with him, and be with him forever. That dampened the mood, quite a bit.
She had another feeling, though. She felt very free. She always enjoyed feeling free and able to do whatever she wanted. The freedom that came to her felt really good. She wouldn’t be tied down anymore. She could visit people, date whoever she wanted, and go see new places. For that, she felt wonderful.
For just a moment, she wondered if her husband felt anything. She had a basic understanding of what a coma is, but what could a patient sense or feel? What emotions could be experienced? Another huge question, was whether her husband would ever come out of his coma, and experience anything again?
She shook her head as she tried to release any remaining guilt that had grown in her mind. “It’s not your fault that he’s not waking up and coming out of the coma. You didn’t put him in the coma. He’s not to blame, but you’re not to blame, either.”
She was assuredly to blame, since her recklessness caused the accident. That was just the truth. She just refused to admit it.
Chapter 4
She pushed herself really hard on the stair master machine, and increased the speed. She saw just a hint of cellulite on her legs and she wanted all of it gone. She was getting older, and it was getting harder to maintain the muscle. Her saving grace was her diehard determination.
The sweat was pouring off her body. She breathed deep and kept stepping, and stepping some more. After twenty minutes, she took a leap off the machine and jogged in place for a few seconds. “Phew! That was good.”
Her Nike shoes didn’t make a sound when she leaped onto the floor. She went over to a large, padded mat. She planted her shoes onto the mat and slowly squatted down. When her butt touched the floor, she moved her legs ahead and plopped them onto the mat.
It was time for cooldown stretches. She reached ahead and just barely grasped the toe of her shoe. She moaned softly because the stretch felt so good. Actually, it felt great.
A tall, muscular guy walked over and sat himself beside her. He was six and a half feet tall, with brown hair and brown eyes. His hair was short, and flat – it was a crew cut. His arms were huge, legs were huge, and even his neck was huge. She didn’t know how old he was – but he looked a little young – maybe twenty eight years old.
She turned her head and glanced at him. She didn’t say a word, but was thinking, “Now here’s a man! Young, muscular, and he works out.” she smiled at him and turned her head back to look in front of her.
He was an alpha male. She didn’t know it at the time, but he was also a professional badass.
“Hey. How are you?” he stood beside her and leaned forward while keeping his feet firmly in place. He was stretching his Achilles tendon muscles.
Jennifer s
neakily looked back at him. She kept her eyes slightly lowered, because she wanted to stare at his chest. She did it ever so slightly that he wouldn’t notice. “Good. Just stretching”.
She felt like an idiot who was stating the obvious. Why else would she be laying on the floor and reaching forward to touch her toes? She cracked a giggle when she realized it was a silly comment.
“Mm.” he straightened himself and stood up completely straight. He reached down with his hands and kept them at the side.
When he did that, she spotted a tattoo on him that was very unique and somewhat strange. It had a seal that was wearing a military vest, that was complete with a strap of large bullets, grenades, and a knife. The seal’s body morphed so that it had two arms – that was holding an M16 rifle. “Sorry if I’m too nosy, but what does your tattoo mean?”
He stood up and tightened the drawstring on his black, plain shorts. “Oh, that’s a Navy Seal tattoo. I was in the military.”
“You’re a Navy Seal?” she inquired.
He took three long squats, and then stood up. He stood on his toes, and his calves had big arches in them. “Yes, ma’am. Former Navy Seal.”
She never met a Navy Seal, and wasn’t ready to believe that he was one. She poked him further. “I’ve never seen that tattoo before.”
He grossly moved his head in a semicircle, and popped and cracked it a bit. “That’s a tattoo that only the guys in my unit had. I had to get it after serving. They keep their units on a really short leash, you know?”
That started the conversation, but it didn’t end there. She wasn’t sure if she would feel like a slut for giving him her telephone number. At any rate, that’s what she did. She especially felt like a slut because she wasn’t legally divorced yet.
That night, they talked and talked on the phone. Before she knew it, her cellphone was chiming with a low battery signal. “I’m sorry I have to go. The battery is only good for about four hours.”