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Shelly lies in the hospital bed. Still. Silent. Except for the beat of her heart through the monitor. The room dimly lit by a lamp off to the side. The baby in the hospital nursery being monitored by nurses and the doctor.
And me… I stand on the edge of a cliff, head tipped back as I scream at the heavens.
This doesn’t feel like another test. Another measure of my strength. No, this feels like the end. The end of a long obstacle course. One I didn’t choose, but one I can’t seem to escape.
Dr. Webster says Shelly will wake up soon. That her body is exhausted and needs the rest. Her vitals are perfect. It’s just a matter of the anesthesia leaving her system and her mind waking up. Dr. Webster says there is no need to worry.
But worrying is all I can do. It is all I know.
With Shelly’s hand sandwiched between mine, I give her a gentle squeeze. Paint lines my fingertips over each finger, each knuckle. I press my lips to the top of her hand on either side of the IV line.
“I need you to wake up, Andromeda,” I whisper against her skin. The backs of my eyes sting as tears surface and well. I don’t fight the tears. Don’t try to shove them down. No, I let them spill. Let them paint my cheeks. Let them fall from my chin to her hand. “I need you, Shell. Forever. Please,” I choke out.
I close my eyes and lay my head on her fingers. Pray to whatever force, whatever deity is willing to listen. Beg them to help her wake. Open her eyes. Squeeze my hand. Whisper my name. Something.Anything.
Whispering voices in the room startle me from sleep. But I don’t lift my head and greet them. Without seeing, I know it is Nicole and George Reed. They have been in the room almost as much as I since Dr. Webster allowed us. More than once, they suggested I get food or a drink or take a walk down the hall. That they would be here with Shelly and let me know if anything changed.
But I refuse to leave her side. Not for a minute. Food and drinks and walks can wait.
Shelly needs me more than I need anything else right now. Leaving her isn’t an option. I fear what may happen if I leave this room. One step out, one minute away, and everything could change.
“We need to do something, George,” Nicole whispers to her husband. Her voice scratchy and tired. “I can’t stand this. The waiting.” She sniffles. “What kind of doctor tells a mother to be patient while her only daughter lies in a coma? Does the womanhavechildren? Does she have an inkling of what this feels like?” With each word she speaks, her voice escalates in volume.
George shushes her. “Everything will be fine, Nicole.”
“You don’t know that,” she rebuts with a sharp edge to her words. “You can’t be positive.”
He audibly exhales. “You’re right, I don’t know what will happen. But I choose to believe she will wake up any minute. I choose to believe everything will be okay. Is it easy? No.” At this, I twist my head and peek at the two of them on the couch in the room. George points a finger toward the bed and Shelly, but his eyes remain on his wife. “But I won’t give an ounce of my energy to negative thoughts. Not when it comes to our children. Or our grandchild.” He lowers his hand. “She will wake up.” Rising from the couch, he stares down at Nicole for a beat. “I’m going to stretch my legs and get something for us all from the cafeteria.”
Then he storms to the door and leaves without another word.
Although my mind drifts so easily into the dark, I side with Mr. Reed and silently vow to Shelly I will only think positive thoughts. I won’t give in to the darkness that has come to me with such ease in the past.
Shelly will wake up. She will. She has to.
I lift my head and shift in the chair that now has a permanent mold of my body. Nicole catches the movement and swipes at her cheeks.
“Sorry if we woke you.”
“Don’t apologize,” I tell her. “We’re all on edge right now.”
She rises from the couch and shoulders her purse. “I’ll go update whoever is still here. Maybe walk the halls for a bit. Clear my head.”
I nod. “Okay.”
The door quietly clicks shut and it’s just me and Shelly and silence. On a normal day, I love the silence we share. It isn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Many of my favorite moments with Shelly didn’t involve a single word spoken.
But this silence… I never want this type of silence again.
I kiss the back of her hand and stand from the chair. Twisting left and right, forward and backward, I stretch my stiff muscles. I lift my arms over my head and roll my neck. Shake my legs and wiggle my toes. Work my body from head to toe and get my blood flowing.
While her parents are away, I step into the en suite bathroom, leaving the door wide open, and relieve my bladder. Hands soaped up, I run them under the water and rinse away the suds. As I fetch a paper towel from the holder, my ears perk up.
The monitor beeps a different rhythm. Faster. Seemingly louder.
I drop the paper towels in the direction of the bin and dash out of the bathroom. Sidling up to the bed, I take Shelly’s hand in mine and lean over her.
“Shell? Can you hear me?”
