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I suppose I could be really bitter about the way it all unfolded. I could rage against what has happened to me. What I’ve become. Brain injuries are atrocious. Every day is two steps forward, one step back. But Ann is right. How can I stay mad, when the world is filled with so much beauty?
As we stare at the purples and the blues of a day gone by, Ann reminds me that life is about the journey, not the destination, and what a journey this has been.
Without the ability to speak, it sometimes feels like all of my other senses are heightened, like everything is coming at once. When it gets to be too much, as it often does, I press a little red button attached to my IV and into my bloodstream something magically goes to help me relax. I let go, and it’s like I’m floating up, up, and away. It’s like I stop trying to contain it all in the ball of my fist, and it flows through me like a river. Now is one of those times.
Ann asked me early on if I know what the three Ps are. I didn’t then. But I learned. And now I know why. The three Ps are the key to any kind of success.
Passion: Without passion, you may as well forget your mission.
Patience: Patience enables you to stay the course even under the most difficult of circumstances.
Perseverance: Be persistent in pursuit of your goals and dreams.
Hope is not an option. It’s imperative. The three Ps are the only choice, really. Anger will not get me what I want.
The good news is, Ann is working on getting me a voice box. It’s difficult, because it has to be perfect. She says if I can’t have my own voice, that I need to at least sound like me. She tells me not to worry when I seem impatient. Ann believes short cuts are the root of all evil.
Paul is making great advances, and someday, when I get out of here, we’ll track down the man who got Ethan’s eyes and Chet’s heart. She says she plans to leave Paul —that the two of us can
live and work together. She says it will be perfect, and even though I know it’s not true, I can’t help but feel nothing but appreciation for every single lovely little lie she tells.
As the sun sinks lower into the sky, and my eyelids grow heavy from the weight of the day and the drugs, Ann tells me it’s a miracle we found each other on a planet of seven billion people. She says not to worry about any of it, she says the speech she gave tonight at her book signing was in honor of me. She told her fans not to spend a minute of their time worrying. Instead, she says we should focus on love and love alone. Love will see us through. We get one wild and precious life, and what a waste it would be not to realize what we have while we have it. She said, in the end we’re all made of star dust, and to dust we shall return. Ashes, ashes. We all fall down.
As I drift off, she tells me they probably had no idea what she was talking about, which is probably for the best. Someday, they will.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
HER
She wakes up on the operating table. I tell her not to worry, everything has gone according to plan. What I don’t tell her is whose plan. I can’t just yet—and, maybe not ever. It matters little anyhow. What’s done is done. I inject something into her IV to help with the panic she is feeling. It’s a scary thing to wake up tied down, in the dark, without your sight.
Although, fear does wonders for a relationship, I know this better than anyone. Still, I don’t want her to be afraid.
“I’m sorry Sadie couldn’t be here,” I tell her softly. “She wanted to be. She really did. But you know how she feels about blood.”
Ann is quite drowsy and it’s unlikely she’ll remember what I’ve told her later but just in case, I explain what’s happened. “You shouldn’t feel any pain? You’ll let me know though won’t you?”
Her expression is loose, and I know this is a positive sign. The drugs are working their magic. I pull the sheet up to her chest. Patients often complain of being cold when waking after anesthesia. “I know you’re probably wondering what this is all about and to what extent. Well, darling, I’ve performed enucleation surgery.”
Her vitals change. I watch the monitor for several seconds. Sometimes this can be a pain response. This time, I don’t think so. She does have some concept of what I’m saying. “I know you know this but I’m going to be thorough for the sake of being thorough. You know how I hate when details are left out. And I know how you hate loose ends. Although, I’m sure all of that is behind us now. Anyway—enucleation is the surgical removal of the eyeball, or in your case my love, both eyeballs. Not to worry though,” I say patting her arm. “The muscles that were attached to the outside of the eyeball to control its movement and other tissues that surrounded your eye within the bony socket of the skull have been left intact. In time, if you’re good, these muscles will be attached to a round, marble-like implant that will replace the tissue and volume lost. Attaching these muscles to the implant will offer some movement of the artificial eye after surgery.”
I know that she isn’t yet lucid enough to offer a response but I also know that she is worried about her appearance. My wife is always worried over her appearance and I want to put her at ease, so I say: For now, a small plastic conformer that resembles half an almond shell has been placed behind the eyelids to maintain their shape. In addition, a single stitch has been placed in your eyelids to temporarily sew them together. The conformer will serve as a placeholder for the artificial eye that, like I said, if you’re good, will be fitted in a few weeks, after the swelling subsides. You’ll understand that we need sufficient healing to take place before we discuss the next steps. The good news: I’ve picked out the perfect shade of green for your new eyes. You know how I’ve always loved green eyes. They’re so rare and a redhead really should have green eyes. I know you’ll like them. Even better, with a few modifications, your condition shouldn’t affect your work inside the home. You can still manage the hotline and you can still write. We'll just have to keep you out of the public eye,” I say pausing to clear my throat, “sorry for the pun. We’ll have to keep you close to home for a bit—until the proper announcements can be made. You’ve suffered giant cell arteritis.”
When I was summoned to Sadie’s hospital room and she handed me this wonderful little story of hers, I must say, it was quite eye-opening. I hadn’t realized how many mistakes my wife had made. Sadie had video evidence I wouldn’t want anyone to see, in addition to audio recordings from my home ready to be sent to the police. Ann was negligent. Incredibly so. Suffice it to say, I learned a lot. I learned that some things are hard to see until they’re right up close and spelled out with ink.
The truth is, Ann invited her in. She invited a whole series of unfortunate circumstances upon our family. In a way, she asked for this. An eye for an eye, I suppose. Or in my wife’s case, both eyes. Really, it’s not like I had a choice.
It was one of Sadie’s conditions. I tried to warn Ann about her. I tried to take care of the problem. But the problem just keeps coming back. As they say, love is blind.
Ann whimpers indicating the drugs are wearing off. She absently reaches for my hand and I let her have it. “I know you’re confused,” I whisper, smoothing her hair. She grips my hand, digging her nails into my skin. I take her hand from mine and force it to relax. I know what she’s thinking the way you do when you’ve been with a person long enough. She doesn't recall what I’ve just told her. She’s thinking, what have you done?
“Shhhh,” I tell her, knowing how much she likes it when I read her mind. “I’ll explain it all again in time.”
In time, she’ll ask why I didn’t just kill Sadie Hightower. I could have. I could have done us all a favor and finally ridded my family of her all together. But something Sadie said made sense. She said this situation could help people. She said it could help Ann’s career. It could show that we can all overcome things, no matter our circumstances. Partly, that is true. But something bigger and more profound occurred to me. Something I realized as I read her story.
My wife will never stop. If it weren’t Sadie, it would always be someone else. Sadie is the lesser of all evils, so far as I’m concerned. At least with her, it isn’t my wife she’s in love with. It’s the fame, the acknowledgement. The celebrity. The desire to be needed. The desire to not be left behind.
And now, with my wife blind, Sadie is needed. Without a doubt, Ann’s life will be indefinitely more limited from this point forward. But it isn’t the end of the world and as Sadie proposed, she is here to help with that.
