Now and Then

Mar 29, 2006, 02:58 PM

Duplicate of post in Creative Corner. Thought it would fit here too.

EVERY NOW AND THEN

Now
"You can see him," a non-descript nurse in scrubs bristled as she scurried by. The cement-block wall that was holding me up was bone-chilling cold. As was the nurse. As was the corridor. I made sure to get some air deep into my lungs before I stepped into the recovery room. Sometimes I forget to breathe.

At first glance my husband looked fine. A half-groggy smile of recognition fell across his face when he opened his eyes. "Hi hon," he slurred before he drifted off to sleep again.

"Okay, we're gonna sit you up and get you dressed so you can go home," the non-descript nurse said. Maybe this won't be so bad after all. She slipped an arm behind his back and sat him up.

We'd been at the hospital for three and a half hours now, just long enough for a drive-by shoulder surgery. The doctor told me all had gone well and gave me instructions on what to do once I got him home. "Get him in the chair for a few hours," he'd told me. The chair, a clunky-looking, electronic arm-raising contraption that had been delivered the day before.

"I, ah, I, ca-can't b-b-breathe," my husband stutters to the nurse. My heart flips. I see panic on his ashen white face as he tries to draw a breath. Then another. He is gasping now; the nurse tries to calm him down. "It's just a reaction to the medication," she assures him. I hold my breath and brace myself against the rising clang-clang of my warning bell that has begun to ring. I hold my breath as my husband struggles to catch his.

In a flash I am gone.

Then
I sit up lightning fast when my heart stops ticking and starts pounding instead. I hear a loud, rattling gurgle and I know this is not another dream. Alarmed, I scramble out of bed sensing danger. Anxiety twists my stomach tight around my lungs till I stop breathing, then rushes me to my brother's room where I flip on the light. Stephen's chest is heaving. Up and up it rises as he tries to draw an impossible breath.

Now
"Are you in pain?" the nurse asks and I am back. I check to make sure my feet are firmly on the ground. "I'm going to get him a blanket and something for the pain," she says and disappears. Through his chattering teeth and blue lips he tries to spit out words and draw in some air. "I, ah, uh, I" get blended together with whirs, beeps and whooshes of machinery. I reach out to rub his arm, stroke his forehead, anything to try and reassure him. "It's okay, hon," I say unconvincingly as my whole body shakes. When the skin on my fingertips makes contact with his I pull my hand away so fast that I'm startled. He's so damn cold.

Then
A burnt bottle cap and a hypodermic needle are on his night-stand. "Stephen?" No response. I see his lips are purple. "Oh my God, Stephen!" I move in slow motion and touch his cold, clammy arm then jerk my hand back with fright. I have touched the dead.

Now
The nurse is back with the anesthesiologist who calls my husband buddy and reminds him he is having a reaction to the medication. "Remember we talked about it? Remember I told you it might seem like you can't breathe?" My gasping, gurgling husband can barely nod. The nurse puts the pill on his tongue and holds the plastic cup full of water to his lips. "Swallow," she gently persuades him. He is asleep in minutes. I am shaken to the core.

Then
With rubbery legs I fall into Brian and David's room, trying not to panic. "Brian wake up, there's something wrong with Stephen. ******* it Brian! WAKE UP!" But he's high on heroin and doesn't react right away. "David! GET UP! There's something wrong with Stephen." David opens his eyes and hears the gurgle. He rushes into Stephen's room, takes one look and slaps him across the face. Hard. I turn my face to the wall and try to escape by pushing into it with all my might.

Now
When hubby wakes, he is wobbly but breathing without trouble. I am nervous to take him home so soon. I have not regrouped yet from the breathing mishap and I am not a medical professional. My danger alarm is still ringing as I get him in the car. And pull away with instructions to call if I have any questions. I drive real slow, afraid that a bump will hurt him. I don't want to hurt him.

"I'm not feeling so well," he tells me in the middle of a busy intersection.

"Do you need me to pull over?" I ask, thinking he might need to throw up.

When he doesn't answer I look over and find he is slumped forward in the seat. "Hon?" He's passed out. My heart is pounding yet I am still thinking clearly. I am in crisis mode, my hands are trembling, yet I signal safely and turn. I don't know what to do. I'll call 911. I'll ask someone for help. Oh please don't let him die.

Then
I don't know what to do, where to go, how to help. I want to wake my mother up but don't want her to see this. Brian is up now, sitting on Stephen's chest. Slap - Slap - "Stephen, wake up" Slap - Slap. I don't understand why they're hurting him. Please oh - please don't slap the dying.

Now
"I really think I need to go home," he says when he opens his eyes and sees we're in a parking lot. I try to sound calm when I answer but my fingers gripping the steering wheel have cut off all circulation and now I'm the one who feels like passing out.

Home sweet home and he's feeling better. He looks like hell. I get him into the chair to start his exercises. The slow mechanical arm lifts his and within seconds he's feeling ill. "I don't feel so good. I think I'm gonna throw up." But before I can even grab the bucket, he passes out.

Then
"I’m going downstairs to get Ma." Hysteria pulses through my veins and catches in my throat.

"No! Don't wake her up! And no cops," Brian warns.

"Get a bucket of water! Now!" David snaps, but I see his eyes are pleading.

Off I go down the curved wooden staircase, putting extra lead in my feet in hopes of waking my mother, who sleeps on the sofa since Dad died. I clang pots and pans around, find a large bowl and fill it with cold water. I’m trying to hurry when I hear her voice come from the darkness in the living room.

"What is it? What’s wrong?" I hear panic in those simple words.

"Something's wrong with Stephen. He can't breathe and he's turning blue," I sputter, relieved she's awake but so damn sad this is all happening.

Now
"Oh my God! Hon!" The panic has taken over when I see he has bitten down on his tongue. His eyes are open and rolled back in his head. I try to open his mouth. Try to pry open that clamped jaw so he doesn't choke to death on his vomit. Choke on his vomit and die like my brother. A voice yells, screams at me. Open his mouth so he won't die! But I can't. He's going to die and I can't save him. Slap-slap-slap. "******* it, wake up!" I command. Slap-slap.

Then
It's utter chaos now, slapping, screaming, splashing. I think I’ll burst with fear. My mother yells at David, "Hurry up and call an ambulance!" As he runs to the phone she adds, "And tell them not to use the siren!" Guilt and shame make her say that. She doesn't want the neighbors to know the house reeks of addicts.

Both the police and medics are here, shouting their tough guy orders. The commotion and confusion are too much for me to take, so I drift down the hall to my parent's vacant bedroom. I rest my head on the cool window and watch the raindrops flicker, red - white - red - white - red - white. As the ambulance drives away into the pre- dawn hours, I fog up the glass with my living breath and write with a shaky finger.

Please don't die.

Now
"Hi Hon," my husband says and smiles. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I breathe. It's just that every now and then I fall apart.

© 2005 SN

Mar 29, 2006, 02:58 PM

Duplicate of post in Creative Corner. Thought it would fit here too.

EVERY NOW AND THEN

Now
"You can see him," a non-descript nurse in scrubs bristled as she scurried by. The cement-block wall that was holding me up was bone-chilling cold. As was the nurse. As was the corridor. I made sure to get some air deep into my lungs before I stepped into the recovery room. Sometimes I forget to breathe.

At first glance my husband looked fine. A half-groggy smile of recognition fell across his face when he opened his eyes. "Hi hon," he slurred before he drifted off to sleep again.

"Okay, we're gonna sit you up and get you dressed so you can go home," the non-descript nurse said. Maybe this won't be so bad after all. She slipped an arm behind his back and sat him up.

We'd been at the hospital for three and a half hours now, just long enough for a drive-by shoulder surgery. The doctor told me all had gone well and gave me instructions on what to do once I got him home. "Get him in the chair for a few hours," he'd told me. The chair, a clunky-looking, electronic arm-raising contraption that had been delivered the day before.

"I, ah, I, ca-can't b-b-breathe," my husband stutters to the nurse. My heart flips. I see panic on his ashen white face as he tries to draw a breath. Then another. He is gasping now; the nurse tries to calm him down. "It's just a reaction to the medication," she assures him. I hold my breath and brace myself against the rising clang-clang of my warning bell that has begun to ring. I hold my breath as my husband struggles to catch his.

In a flash I am gone.

Then
I sit up lightning fast when my heart stops ticking and starts pounding instead. I hear a loud, rattling gurgle and I know this is not another dream. Alarmed, I scramble out of bed sensing danger. Anxiety twists my stomach tight around my lungs till I stop breathing, then rushes me to my brother's room where I flip on the light. Stephen's chest is heaving. Up and up it rises as he tries to draw an impossible breath.

Now
"Are you in pain?" the nurse asks and I am back. I check to make sure my feet are firmly on the ground. "I'm going to get him a blanket and something for the pain," she says and disappears. Through his chattering teeth and blue lips he tries to spit out words and draw in some air. "I, ah, uh, I" get blended together with whirs, beeps and whooshes of machinery. I reach out to rub his arm, stroke his forehead, anything to try and reassure him. "It's okay, hon," I say unconvincingly as my whole body shakes. When the skin on my fingertips makes contact with his I pull my hand away so fast that I'm startled. He's so damn cold.

Then
A burnt bottle cap and a hypodermic needle are on his night-stand. "Stephen?" No response. I see his lips are purple. "Oh my God, Stephen!" I move in slow motion and touch his cold, clammy arm then jerk my hand back with fright. I have touched the dead.

Now
The nurse is back with the anesthesiologist who calls my husband buddy and reminds him he is having a reaction to the medication. "Remember we talked about it? Remember I told you it might seem like you can't breathe?" My gasping, gurgling husband can barely nod. The nurse puts the pill on his tongue and holds the plastic cup full of water to his lips. "Swallow," she gently persuades him. He is asleep in minutes. I am shaken to the core.

Then
With rubbery legs I fall into Brian and David's room, trying not to panic. "Brian wake up, there's something wrong with Stephen. ******* it Brian! WAKE UP!" But he's high on heroin and doesn't react right away. "David! GET UP! There's something wrong with Stephen." David opens his eyes and hears the gurgle. He rushes into Stephen's room, takes one look and slaps him across the face. Hard. I turn my face to the wall and try to escape by pushing into it with all my might.

Now
When hubby wakes, he is wobbly but breathing without trouble. I am nervous to take him home so soon. I have not regrouped yet from the breathing mishap and I am not a medical professional. My danger alarm is still ringing as I get him in the car. And pull away with instructions to call if I have any questions. I drive real slow, afraid that a bump will hurt him. I don't want to hurt him.

"I'm not feeling so well," he tells me in the middle of a busy intersection.

"Do you need me to pull over?" I ask, thinking he might need to throw up.

When he doesn't answer I look over and find he is slumped forward in the seat. "Hon?" He's passed out. My heart is pounding yet I am still thinking clearly. I am in crisis mode, my hands are trembling, yet I signal safely and turn. I don't know what to do. I'll call 911. I'll ask someone for help. Oh please don't let him die.

Then
I don't know what to do, where to go, how to help. I want to wake my mother up but don't want her to see this. Brian is up now, sitting on Stephen's chest. Slap - Slap - "Stephen, wake up" Slap - Slap. I don't understand why they're hurting him. Please oh - please don't slap the dying.

Now
"I really think I need to go home," he says when he opens his eyes and sees we're in a parking lot. I try to sound calm when I answer but my fingers gripping the steering wheel have cut off all circulation and now I'm the one who feels like passing out.

Home sweet home and he's feeling better. He looks like hell. I get him into the chair to start his exercises. The slow mechanical arm lifts his and within seconds he's feeling ill. "I don't feel so good. I think I'm gonna throw up." But before I can even grab the bucket, he passes out.

Then
"I’m going downstairs to get Ma." Hysteria pulses through my veins and catches in my throat.

"No! Don't wake her up! And no cops," Brian warns.

"Get a bucket of water! Now!" David snaps, but I see his eyes are pleading.

Off I go down the curved wooden staircase, putting extra lead in my feet in hopes of waking my mother, who sleeps on the sofa since Dad died. I clang pots and pans around, find a large bowl and fill it with cold water. I’m trying to hurry when I hear her voice come from the darkness in the living room.

"What is it? What’s wrong?" I hear panic in those simple words.

"Something's wrong with Stephen. He can't breathe and he's turning blue," I sputter, relieved she's awake but so damn sad this is all happening.

Now
"Oh my God! Hon!" The panic has taken over when I see he has bitten down on his tongue. His eyes are open and rolled back in his head. I try to open his mouth. Try to pry open that clamped jaw so he doesn't choke to death on his vomit. Choke on his vomit and die like my brother. A voice yells, screams at me. Open his mouth so he won't die! But I can't. He's going to die and I can't save him. Slap-slap-slap. "******* it, wake up!" I command. Slap-slap.

Then
It's utter chaos now, slapping, screaming, splashing. I think I’ll burst with fear. My mother yells at David, "Hurry up and call an ambulance!" As he runs to the phone she adds, "And tell them not to use the siren!" Guilt and shame make her say that. She doesn't want the neighbors to know the house reeks of addicts.

Both the police and medics are here, shouting their tough guy orders. The commotion and confusion are too much for me to take, so I drift down the hall to my parent's vacant bedroom. I rest my head on the cool window and watch the raindrops flicker, red - white - red - white - red - white. As the ambulance drives away into the pre- dawn hours, I fog up the glass with my living breath and write with a shaky finger.

Please don't die.

Now
"Hi Hon," my husband says and smiles. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I breathe. It's just that every now and then I fall apart.

© 2005 SN