When We Met

by Marni Mann

  I searched. The pain was there, constant, like a neighbor, but every time I tried to knock, I couldn’t find the door. “I don’t know.” I swallowed, and there it was—the reminder, the burning, the intolerable stabbing. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “We won’t know until we take X-rays.”

  As we went faster, the tiles were almost too blurry to distinguish. I knew my feet weren’t on the ground, that I wasn’t the one doing the running, but it felt like my body was back there—somewhere—and I had this urge to catch up.

  Except I couldn’t.

  “I can’t feel my toes,” I choked out.

  “That’s okay.”

  “No …” The scorching in my throat tasted like blood. “I can’t feel my fucking toes!” I went to raise my legs, and a whole new level of agony blasted through me, so strong that I gagged. I spit what was in my mouth and shouted, “Fuck!”

  “Just a few more minutes, and the pain will be gone,” the blanket promised.

  There was suddenly stillness, blue swishing around me, buzzing coming in and out of my ears.

  “Nooo,” I howled, clamping down on her hand when she went to turn her back. “Don’t leave me.”

  I needed the blanket tucked around me.

  I needed more promises.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” The brown looked away and then connected with my eyes again. “Caleb, I’m going to touch your legs. Tell me if you can feel anything, okay?”

  I waited.

  I tried taking a breath, the taste of blood even more present than before.

  “Have you started?” I pleaded. “I don’t feel anything.”

  “Don’t worry; you’re doing great,” she said calmly. “I have a pair of scissors in my other hand, and I’m going to release you, so I can cut off your jeans to assess the injuries on your legs.”

  Her fingers were gone, and so was the brown, now just the white tiles blinking above me.

  I expected the pain to take hold at any second, for a scream to fill my mouth again.

  But there was nothing.

  Just more blue from the corners of my eyes and coldness as shreds of clothes were taken away.

  “What the fuck is happening to me?” I shouted.

  The brown returned, the blanket slowly spreading across me, something gentle now pressed against my face. “We have some of the most talented doctors in the world. I promise you’re going to get the best care.”

  A sharpness stuck the crook of my arm.

  “And when you wake up, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.” The brown came closer, tightening around me. “We couldn’t find a cell phone anywhere in your clothes. Is there someone I can call? Wife? Girlfriend? Parent?”

  I reached through the fogginess, grasping at the first thing that came to me. “Hunt Financial.” I swallowed, and more than just spit went down. “Betsy.”

  “I’m going to call her right now,” she said, and the brown disappeared, the blanket lifting off me, leaving me shaking.

  “Come ba—” I yelled before the blackness took over once again.

  “Caleb, honey, we’re here,” I heard in a voice I knew well. “Please open your eyes.”

  I wasn’t sure if my mother was repeating my name over and over, but it was echoing against the walls of my head, the sound like a vibration across a still lake. Each time, it softened a little more.

  Until she added, “Honey, can you try and wake up for me?”

  My throat was extremely sore, my mouth so dry that I could barely part it. My tongue slid through, the weight like cement as it ran across my lips. My eyelids slowly rose, the light blinding me at first. I blinked several times as my mother’s face came into view, concern registering across it.

  “Oh, thank God.” Her head dipped for just a second before she said, “Miles, he’s awake,” far too loudly.

  My father appeared at my other side. “How are you feeling?” he asked as he sat. “Are you in pain? I’ll call the nurse—”

  “Miles, give him a moment to respond, please.”

  My mother moved her chair closer, her hand surrounding mine; my skin was uncomfortable, as though it were asleep.

  “I—” The dryness was worse now, the words sticky. “I hurt like hell.”

  My mother’s other hand was on my face, each stroke feeling like she was picking a scab. “The surgeon said that would happen. He has you on a pain pump.”

  Several bags hung on an IV pole near my father, and the machines behind me were making a noise that was now echoing in my mind.

  “What surgery?” I coughed, and the pain strangled me. “Fuck!” I froze, waiting for the waves to calm, for the stabbing to stop suffocating me.

  “Honey, try to breathe.”

  “Those bombing fucking bastards. Look what they did to my son!”

  “Miles, this is the last thing he needs right now. You have to calm down.”

  “Quiet!” I shouted at them.

  When I could handle the burning, my eyes opened, connecting with hers, wishing they were brown like that afghan she’d once made. I didn’t know why that sounded so good, but I wanted it.

  “What the hell is wrong with me?” I asked her.

  Her chest was moving as though she’d been running. “The surgeon found several fractures in your spinal cord, honey, starting at your thoracic, going all the way to your lumbar.” She turned around, pointing from the middle to her lower back. “In that area that they call T9 to L2, multiple vertebras were crushed.”

  The pain made it hard to swallow, like a fucking boulder was lodged and scraping each time I took a breath. “And what does that mean?”

  “It means, your spine is being held together by a rod,” my father said. “And so help me God, if I get my hands on those motherfuckers, I’m going to kill—”

  “Jesus Christ, Miles,” my mother spit.

  The fog was thickening around me, the longer I stared at her. The only thing keeping me present was the fire in my body that hadn’t dulled a bit.

  “The surgery was extensive, over ten hours long,” she continued, her voice not the blanket I needed. “You have an immense amount of healing to do, and some of that will take place here, at Mass General.”

  I glanced at the end of the bed, my toes sticking up high against the white covering that was over me. I wiggled them the slightest amount, and an electrical current shot up my body like a fucking blowtorch was under my feet.

  “Will I be able to walk again?”

  Even though the cloudiness was thick, I needed that answer. I needed that word to ring in the wind and hang low across the water.

  “Yes, honey, of course.”

  “When?”

  “Physical therapy will be by tomorrow to get you started on a program.”

  I shook my head; she wasn’t hearing me. “When will my life look normal?”

  “Miles,” my mom threatened when my father went to answer, her reflexes squeezing my hand even harder. “It’s going to take some time, Caleb. The doctor said every case has different circumstances. It all depends on your pain.”

  Based on the amount I was feeling now, it was going to take years.

  She waited until my eyes were on her. “You’re only thirty-three, you’re healthy as a horse, and you’re in excellent shape—that’s all going to benefit you.” She smiled, but it only reached her lips. “There’s no doubt in my mind you’re going to bounce back and be stronger than ever.”

  She was trying to mask her fear.

  Despite the weather in my head, I could see right through it.

  “Goddamn it.” I placed my arm over my eyes, not wanting to see the pity she was also trying to hide, the IV pulling from the movement.

  “How about some water?” she asked. The ice rattled as she held it close to me. “Just a sip?”

  “Get it away from me.”

  She set the cup back down, and the beeping of the machines were the only sounds that filled the room until I heard, “How’s he
feeling? Any nausea from the anesthesia?”

  A small shift of my arm showed me a nurse had entered.

  “He’s in a terrible amount of pain,” my mother replied. “Please give him something else. Whatever you have him on now isn’t working.”

  “I’ll let the doctor know.” The rubber of the nurse’s shoes squeaked as she came over to the bed. There was less tugging on my skin as she adjusted the IV. “If you’re feeling up to it, I can get you some soup. Maybe a few crackers?”

  “Caleb?” my mother inquired when I didn’t answer. “Would you like that?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Honey, you have to gain some strength—”

  “I’m not fucking hungry!”

  “Let’s give him some time,” the nurse said. “The anesthesia is going to take a while to wear off. Some sleep would help him tremendously, and I’ll see about increasing the pain meds.”

  The sound of the nurse’s soles quieted as she left the room, and my mother said, “Can I do anything for you?”

  “Yes.” The word hummed through my chest, adding to the flames that had already ignited, a throbbing that had me clenching the blanket with my other hand. “You can give me some silence.”

  “Pamela, let’s go get some coffee,” my father said. “We’ll be back, son.”

  Once they were gone, the beeping was all that was left.

  And the fucking thoughts in my head.

  But those were as loud as any screams.

  Three

  “How’s your pain?” a nurse asked from my bedside.

  That was the first thing everyone asked whenever they entered my room, followed by a series of much more invasive questions. Privacy no longer existed. I couldn’t even take a goddamn piss on my own since they hadn’t removed the catheter yet.

  “It’s intolerable,” I growled.

  All I could feel was pain. The only time it stopped was when the medication made me pass out, and then the agony would wake me again.

  “On a scale from one to ten—”

  “Ten.”

  “I see,” she said and moved over to my IV. “Hopefully, I can help with that a little.” She began to play with the IV. “I saw in your chart that physical therapy came by and you were able to get on your feet.”

  “I stood for about a second.”

  That was all I had lasted before the intensity of the burning caused me to throw up on the bed.

  “You’re doing better than you think.” She smiled as she checked the tape that held the needle in my arm.

  “Better?” The throbbing made my anger boil. “The morning of the marathon, I ran five miles, just because. Now, standing with a gait belt around my waist and a walker in front of me is the biggest accomplishment of the day.”

  Staying by my side, she moved her hands to her hips. “Baby steps—that’s what I tell all my patients. Healing is a long process. You’ll get there.”

  “Will I?” My teeth ground together as a wave of electrical heat surged through me, my jaw so tight that it was giving me the wildest headache. “Will I be running five miles a day?” My voice was rising, and I couldn’t control it. “And waterskiing off the back of my boat and going skiing down the slopes this winter?”

  Not a single goddamn person in this hospital could answer those questions when I asked them. No one knew what my mobility would be or what my pain would be like, going forward.

  She gently patted my shoulder. “Remember, slow and steady.”

  Slow was a word that only pissed me off.

  Before I glanced away, I studied her eyes, something I did whenever someone came into my room. I knew I was looking for brown, a voice like a blanket, but I remembered nothing else.

  “Hey,” I said as she turned to leave, and I waited for her to face me again. “Do you know the nurse who helped me when I came in? She had brown eyes …” I searched my brain for more, digging through each corridor, coming up blank.

  She narrowed her old, wrinkly lids, blinking her blue eyes several times. “Dear, we’ve been staffed to the hilt, all hands on deck. We had to call in nurses from hospitals outside the city just to cover all the emergencies that had come in. I’m afraid there’s no telling whom it could have been.”

  I nodded, and as she left, I looked toward the window. Although two of the panes were covered in blinds, one was open. The view was of another wing, dark brick and mirrored glass that shimmered under the sunlight. Nothing like the sights of Dubai that I should have been staring at right now. But anything beat the white walls or the television that had only shown the bombing on replay.

  I couldn’t put myself through watching it again.

  Aside from the beeping, my room was silent. Within the next hour, that would all change once my assistant arrived to discuss the matters that needed my immediate attention, and then my parents would be by along with Joe once he was able to escape work. Their faces would be filled with pity as they stared at me in this bed.

  That was almost as torturous as this injury.

  My door was like a turnstile, making it impossible for me to get much sleep. Aside from my personal visitors, there was a constant rotation of hospital staff. Someone checking my lungs, another taking my blood, doctors coming in to speak to me, the kitchen delivering meals. With each interruption, my patience weakened.

  The pain was the one thing that never left.

  The rod caused the rest of my body to stiffen, my ass ached, and there was a fire in my legs that wouldn’t dull, a numbness from my knees down.

  Nighttime made it worse.

  When the lights were off, the hallway kept my room barely aglow, and I heard shoes squeaking by every few seconds, a flash of blue each time. I wanted to crawl out of my fucking skin.

  Skin that didn’t even feel like my own anymore.

  When I couldn’t take another second, I reached for the intercom attached to the bed and pressed the call button.

  “Can I help you?” a woman said through the speaker.

  “I need my nurse.”

  “I’ll let her know. She’ll be there as soon as possible,” she said and then disconnected the call.

  Each time the rubber soles got louder, a pang of hope filled my chest that my nurse would soon hit something on the IV and the agony would be gone for a little while. But each time, the sound continued past my room, never stopping in here.

  Stillness wasn’t something I’d practiced before my injury. Now, lying in this bed, I thought of nothing but my future, fearing what it was going to look like. If it was going to be spent on my back, attached to a goddamn mattress, constantly screaming out in pain.

  I took risks for a living, gambling my clients’ money as their financial advisor, living a lifestyle that was more active than anyone I knew.

  I wasn’t afraid of anything.

  Until this.

  Until even the smallest shift came with a debilitating amount of torture.

  “Hi,” a woman said from my doorway, breaking me of my thoughts. “Your nurse is helping another patient, but I have a free second. Is there something I can help you with?”

  She came in, checking the machines as though she could find the answer there.

  I looked toward the window, squeezing the blanket in my fists. “You can go get her—that’s what you can do.”

  There was pressure on the back of my pillow as she tried to move it. “Lift your head for me.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “I can tell your neck is bothering you, and I can give you some relief.”

  There was a calmness to her voice, a tone I hadn’t heard the whole time I’d been in this room, enough that it made me raise my head. She immediately cupped the back with her hand, taking the weight off my neck while she adjusted things.

  “How’s that?” she asked as she set me back down.

  The ache in my head was suddenly gone. “Better.”

  “What else can I do?”

  When I didn’t answer, she began pressing the
buttons on the bed, lifting my upper body a few inches, doing the same to the bottom so my legs were now raised a little higher.

  “This position will take some of the pressure off your lower back.”

  The difference was small but enough to notice.

  “You’re absolutely miserable, aren’t you?”

  I sighed, the pain only allowing me to release so much. “You have no fucking idea.” The reminder was there again when I inhaled, stabbing me with a kitchen full of knives. “I can’t take this anymore.” I hugged my hands around my thigh, hoping the pressure would alleviate some of the electricity. “They’ll pump me with meds, allowing me to pass out, but then I’m awake less than an hour later, the gnawing even more intense than before. You have to do something. I’m losing my fucking mind here.”

  She pulled something out of her pocket and held it up to her ear. “Hey, it’s Whitney. Can you please let Rebecca know I’m helping her patient in room 614 and then tell my CNA to please check on mine? Thank you.”

  The phone went back in her pocket, and then her hand was on mine. “Just give me a few seconds. I promise I’m going to make you feel better.”

  She was quickly moving around, grabbing things off the counter before she disappeared into the bathroom. The doorway lit up when she flipped on the light, the sound of water filling the quietness. When she returned, she placed a basin on the table next to me.

  “Unless that’s filled with something that’s going to numb me, you might as well stop now. I don’t give a shit if I smell.”

  She dropped a washcloth into the water. “You’re going to have to trust me. Can you do that?”

  My jaw tightened, my nostrils flaring as I exhaled; these excruciating sensations made me the angriest son of a bitch.

  “I’ll take silence over telling me to fuck off,” she said, and she began to peel the covering down my body, removing it from the bed and placing it on the chair.

  The cold air made me clench, the gown doing very little to keep me warm. Soon, that was off, too, along with my compression socks, leaving me naked, aside from the towel over my groin. She took the washcloth out of the basin and pressed it against my forehead. The warm, soapy water dripped down my face while her hand circled over each cheek.