Discovering Chapter Fourteen: Part One of Two
I also posted Chapter Thirteen (Parts One and Two) today : http://muchtvsocfic.livejournal.com/tag/discovering+chapter+thirteen
Title: Discovering
Chapter: Fourteen: Part One of Two
Season: Mid-Season Three
Beta: the marvelous beachtree (see previous chapter for gushing)
Constant Warning: There be shameful hurt/comfort in these waters.
Discovering
Chapter Fourteen: Part One of Two
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
2 Days Ago
Neil has been gone a few hours. It’s almost midnight. I’ve been holed up in my recliner, flipping through the newspaper, but I realize how late it is and I step out of the room to give a few overdue updates.
I don’t want to make the first phone call, but I recognize I have to. Dawn. I really should call Dawn. I sigh and count to ten and just do it. The phone rings and rings and rings with no answer.
This whole time her son has been in the hospital, she’s never called to check on him and I want to believe it’s because she’s perhaps on another binge and not because she doesn’t give a damn. For now, there’s nothing else I can do to connect mother to son, so I hang up.
Kirsten is the next call.
Seth answers with his usual hyper series of rapid fire questions.
“How’s Ryan?”
“Did he say anything?”
“Can I talk to him?”
I tell him, “Better, a little, no.”
I make him put the phone on speaker while I update him and Kirsten on Ryan’s condition before talking exclusively to my wife.
“Are you alright?” is the first thing she asks and somehow her gently question makes me feel worse rather than better.
I want her here with me and Ryan.
I miss her so much. It hurts a little more each time we talk.
Even in the bad times, we’re a team, Kirsten and me.
I need her here.
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “Neil has been helping. I’m getting sleep, eating.”
“I’ve been focusing on Ryan,” she says, “But I forget sometimes, how draining this has to be on you.”
Again, her comforting words have exactly the opposite effect they mean to and I feel my eyes getting watery so I take a deep breath as I force my voice to be steady and I say, “Honey, honestly, I’m fine. Neil and Summer have been invaluable. I owe Neil ten rounds of golf when all this is over. And we owe our son a kick in the ass for anything he’s ever done to mistreat his girlfriend.”
Kirsten laughs for the first time since I told her about Ryan’s accident.
We all seem slightly more relaxed since Ryan was freed from the ventilator.
“Is there anything else you aren’t telling me about Ryan’s condition?” she asks before hanging up. “Don’t keep anything from me Sandy. I’m not the same…fragile person as I was before rehab.”
I am doomed to hell. Each phone conversation with her is another coal on the lying, liar fire I’m burning.
“There’s nothing else,” I say. “I’ve told you everything.”
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I peek in on Ryan before I make one last phone call. His color is improving. He’s looking more pale than flat out grey. It’s a sad day when you’re happy that your kid’s pallor is the same as a ghost’s.
His cheeks remain flushed and his skin continues to be too warm, but it’s not nearly as clammy as it was before.
I keep watching him breathe little puffs into the oxygen mask, slow and steadier. More natural. And despite the fact that I know he should be breathing deeper and there’s a harsh, dry intermittent cough, it’s still a beautiful sight, seeing Ryan breathing on his own.
Dr. De Graff predicted that given his level of exhaustion and a sedation hangover, Ryan wouldn’t begin to wake up and be aware of his surroundings until early tomorrow afternoon, but he’s starting to give me little signs that he’s going to return to the land of the living sooner rather than later.
His head has been shifting back and forth, and despite the two IV’s, he’s managed to angle his right arm onto the pillow, instead of pressed against his side as it has been for his duration of the CCU stay.
He’s been moving his right leg, but the left leg, encased in gauze and the soft cast, and mounted on top of two pillows, hasn’t budged.
But maybe De Graf is right about Ryan not waking up completely because despite the small movements, his eyes have remained firmly shut, even with the brief interruptions of coughing.
Still, there’s no tube anymore to prevent us from speaking to each other and…I just want Ryan to wake up and talk to me and tell me what he’s feeling and understand that he’s going to be alright.
I’d like to settle into my chair, but I promised my ma I’d call tonight, so I stop at the nurses’ station to make sure with Sasha that everything is alright then I find my spot in the waiting room and call The Nana.
“Stanford,” she answers. “Is it me or does three-thirty in the morning not qualify as last night.”
“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I lost track of time. I didn’t realize how late it was. I meant to call you earlier.”
“Uh-huh,” says, adding sarcastically, “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to being the last one to hear about things happening in your life.”
She’s just trying to relax me, I know that, and she’s not really mad at all, which is obvious when her tone softens and she asks, “How’s Ryan? He’s much better, am I right? That kid is a fighter. Tough as nails.”
I smile.
I love my ma. She’s a pain in the ass….but I love her.
“Yes. He’s much, much better.”
I check off all the updates.
No more vent.
A little communication.
Breathing is improved but not perfect.
Fever is still too high.
There is probably another infection, maybe pneumonia. Maybe another surgery on the leg.
Maybe this….maybe that.
I tell her more than I tell my own wife and son because it feels okay to do it, although it shouldn’t.
But I’m not worried about my mom. Ma hasn’t been in rehab.
“Eh,” she says when I’m done telling her everything. “Doctors smockters. They told me I was dying and I’m still here, aren’t I? He’ll be fine.”
“I’m still scared,” I say after a moment of silence. “I’m still terrified for him even though I know things will probably be okay.”
“You’re a parent,” she tells me. “You don’t think I don’t wake up every morning hoping all my kids are happy and healthy? It’s what parents do. It’s what makes you an excellent father.”
“I’m far from excellent,” I confess. “I’m not even competent. I shouldn’t have let Ryan into that building.”
“Are you still on that?” she scoffs. “Sandy, please, listen to an old woman. Do you have any idea how many things I have regretted doing in my life, especially when it comes to you children? There’s a million things I could have done differently but what’s done is done and that’s life. Maybe you shouldn’t have sent him in that building but you did and you know what? Don’t do it next time. There. It’s that simple. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and move on. Concentrate on your son.”
She’s right. Doesn’t make me feel better…but she’s right.
“You’re right,” I concede. “Sophie Cohen. Always right.”
“Dear God, can I have that in writing?” she asks, joking, “Actually give it to me in duplicate so I can give that too skinny wife of yours a copy.”
I love my ma so much.
“Bye,” I say about to tag on, ‘I love you,’ but she beats me to the punch with a rarely said, “I love you Sandy. You’re a good son and a good father.”
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
To be continued in Chapter Fourteen, Part Two