Sara stays as long as she can before the nurses usher her out so I can get some rest, but I’m not tired. Suddenly, I’m wide awake and the last thing I want to do is sleep. A nurse comes in asking how I’m feeling, and I have to admit the pain has been building slowly since all the chaos of the day died down, and I’m relieved when I feel the soothing effects of the morphine drip. That’s nice. Maybe I’ll actually be able to do something normal, like watch TV or read or daydream about Logan with the soreness kept at bay, and then … I’m asleep. Good drugs.
When I wake the next morning, it is to see Dr. Ahmari waiting for me to rouse. She examines me, and when she's removing the bandage on my upper abdominal area, I get the first glimpse of my stomach. I’m one gigantic bruise. Dark purple and blue bruising covers nearly every inch of my stomach. The sutures are actually staples and one incision sits a couple of inches below my left breast, while the other is situated above and to the left of my belly button. The incisions are both many inches wide. They apparently had to open a considerable area to locate and stop all the bleeding. And it looks exactly as you would expect. The skin is puckered and bunched under the staples and is scabbed over in places. It just adds to the horrific sight of my body. I choke back the tears at the sight of myself, thinking my body suddenly looks foreign to me. I don’t recognize any part of my torso at the moment. The cracked ribs are throbbing, and with every breath I take it feels as though the ribs are being pushed outward and trying to force their way out of my chest. The pain is bad. But Dr. Ahmari has scaled back the morphine. She wants to move me over to prescription pills I’ll be able to take home with me when I’m released. Release? Now she has my attention.
“So when will I be released?” I ask hopefully. And while Dr. Ahmari doesn’t tell me the answer I want to hear, which is right now, she does make me happy when she says tomorrow.
Ronnie’s hairdresser shows up about noon that day and does a remarkably good job. I end up with a short pixie cut somewhere along the lines of the classic Audrey Hepburn look, but I’m no Audrey. Given what she had to work with, I’ve decided she’s a genius. I look normal, facial swelling, bruising, and abrasions notwithstanding. But it is unarguably the first time in a few days I’ve felt some semblance of normalcy. If I can just stay away from a mirror!
Every time the door opens, I expect to see Logan come in, and I’m both ridiculously nervous and eager to see him. I know it will only reignite my pain for him, and it will hurt all the more when he returns to Colorado, but after the last few days I just want him near me—even if only for a minute. I know I’ll regret it later, but I just need one more minute of his time now. But he doesn’t show, and come evening when the Harringtons finally go home for the first time in a long time, I give up thinking I’ll see him. I know I could ask, but of course I can’t do that without sounding too overly interested in him.
A nurse comes in shortly later and takes my vitals. She starts going through all the things I need to accomplish before I can be discharged. Apparently you have to graduate from patient to normal person in order to get out of a hospital. And apparently that means I have to go poop on command like a dog, which I don’t want to do. I also have to walk to the end of the hall without assistance, which I again don’t want to do. I’ve been out of bed since that morning, taking myself to the bathroom to pee, but the end of the hall is a long way away … I think. I haven’t actually been out of my room since waking up in it two days before, but still, I bet it’s a long ways away. And then going to the bathroom… It just doesn’t sound like a whole lot of fun right now, so I think I’ll take a pass. But the nurse isn’t buying it.
She insists that I have to have a bowel movement before they’ll let me leave. Pooping on command has never really been my thing, and the idea of using my tummy muscles, or any muscle in my torso at all right now, is very unpleasant. The few times I’ve had to cough have been agony, and I can’t imagine going to the bathroom is any better. But short of busting myself out of this joint, I’m going to have to break down and make this happen. I think I hate nurses. And by the end of the night, I’ve dubbed mine the poop nurse. She’s incessant. She wants me to go home. I get it. And I’m sure it’s all for my own good, blah blah blah. But I hate her all the same. After much soul searching, a laxative, and a malicious silent curse at my poop nurse, I’m finally a good little hospital patient, and she signs off on my discharge requirements, but I still hate her. We’re not going to be friends. But I get to go home tomorrow, or more accurately, to the Harringtons’.
They’ve asked me to stay at their home for a couple of weeks while I recover so Ronnie can keep an eye on me. I’m relieved. Not that Sara would make a bad caretaker, but I’ve avoided spending more time than I have to at Logan’s apartment. I live there, but it is so filled with memories of him, and I escape as often as I can. Fortunately for me, I’ve been working lots of hours and have kept somewhat busy with Sara. But being laid up in bed for the next week or so at his apartment would be hard.
I drift off to sleep that night wondering what it will be like to see Logan again. It is the most confusing feeling in the world. I want to see him so much that I ache for him, but at the same time I know it will bring me nothing but pain. Who knows, maybe he’s had to return to Denver already and isn’t coming back to Grand Rapids. I have no way to know, and I’m frenzied just thinking about him.
Chapter 28
I sit silently in the chair, waiting for her to wake. I’ve been anxious to see her again for the many days that I’ve been in Detroit, and I’ve been craving this moment like no other in my life. Restraint will be difficult, impossible perhaps, but I have to be near her now.
I arrived back from Detroit just this morning, and Rowan has been at my parents for two days now. They have Rowan in Sara’s old bedroom, and she is sleeping soundly on the bed. Sara and my mother are out shopping, and my father is at the office. I assured Mom that I’d look out for Rowan while they were away, and I couldn’t disguise the frenzied, anxious look on my face as they left. My mother’s leer tells me she’s noticed my odd behavior, but I’ve given up caring about that anymore.
When her eyes open, and I see her beautiful gaze on mine, I melt. It has been far too long since I’ve seen her amazing round blue eyes. I’ve forgotten just how blue they are, and I instantly sigh as though I’ve been holding my breath for the last long months apart. She gasps as she registers my presence and tries to sit up quickly before she winces and drops her back to her pillow. The pain on her face has me up and moving to her side instantly, and I climb to the bed sitting next to her. I’m afraid to touch her, afraid to kiss her, afraid even to move, lest the mattress should shift and cause her more pain. She’s always been delicate to me, and now in her injured state she is like a crumbling fall leaf I’m so desperately trying to save.
She reaches over for my hand and clasps it as tears flood her eyes. I can’t tell if it’s happiness or sadness or full-on despair. And I’m instantly fighting back my own tears with a clenched jaw. After long moments of this struggle against my emotions, and when I finally feel like I’m in control enough to speak without crying, I ask the only question I can think to say, regretting its stupidity immediately. “Are you okay?” Duh.
“I am. I’m sorry. I’m just really emotional, and I … didn’t know if I’d see you before you went back to Denver, and I just … um … I’m sorry. I’ve just missed you.”