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My eyes widened, and I shook my head. J.R. could not know about this, ever. He would never forgive himself. He would never forgive me.
“You’re going to be okay,” Kelley continued. “But they want you to see a therapist. I think you should, too. If you can’t talk to me about what’s going on, maybe you can talk to someone else. Rach, nothing is ever so bad that you have to kill yourself.”
She didn’t understand. Killing myself had more to do with ridding others of me, not the other way around. I was a burden on Kelley. I had left J.R. The two people I loved the most in this world didn’t deserve to be hurt by me, anymore.
“I can’t believe you would do this.” She shook her head. “Do you not know that you’re my best friend? I thought I lost you tonight.” I saw tears in her eyes, and I wasn’t sure that I’d ever seen her cry. I’d seen her sad, but I had never seen her cry.
I signaled for her to get me a pen and paper. She wiped her cheek, and then she dug through her purse and fished out a notepad and pen.
I wrote,I’m sorry.
Kelley nodded her head. “I love you, Rach.”
I write back,I love you too.
“I’m going to let the doctor know you’re awake. I’ll be back in a little while.”
I nodded and watched her leave. I tried to ignore the guilt I felt in my heart, but it was no use. I had made Kelley cry. I’d never seen her so upset, and I couldn’t imagine how afraid she was to find me the way she did. I was a terrible friend.
The doctor walked in with a couple of nurses following him. Kelley wasn’t there, but I thought maybe she was getting coffee.What time is it, anyway?The doctor introduced himself, read my chart, and then checked my vitals. Next, he began to teach me about what my body had gone through while I was unconscious. He told me that my stomach had to be pumped and that my veins were cleansed with a drug that counteracted the opioids I took.
He removed the tube from my throat, and I choked as it slid out of my mouth. A nurse handed me a plastic cup with water in it, and I took a sip. The doctor sat on a stool next to the bed, and he looked at me with his arms folded—the way a concerned parent would look at their teenager when they find out they are on drugs.
“We want to get you some help, Rachel,” the doctor said.
I nodded. I wasn’t sure that I was ready to speak yet.
“Your friend agrees.”
I nodded again.
“I’ve got a friend who happens to be a great therapist. I want you to go see her.”
“Okay,” I tried to say, but my voice was hoarse.
“Do you want help, Rachel?” he asked me.
I guessed if I couldn’t die, then I should get help. At that point, I’d take what I could get. Dying would have been easier, but a therapist could work, too.
My throat ached too much to talk, so I simply nodded my head.
“Good. I’ve made you an appointment.” He ripped off a piece of paper from his notepad. “In two days, at two p.m.” He put the paper on the table next to me. “You’re very lucky to have lived through what just happened to your body. I want you to think about that. You have a purpose here, Rachel. You and your baby.”
My heart stopped. My eyes widened. I stared at the doctor in horror. “Baby?”
The doctor nodded. “We’ll need to keep an extra eye on the baby. For now, the baby is fine. Healthy heartbeat.”
“I didn’t know that I was pregnant. I never would have…”
Tears surfaced immediately, and I fought the urge to cry; but it came without warning. The doctor handed me a Kleenex, and he sat quietly, letting me cry. He looked sympathetic, and I wished he wouldn’t look at me like that.
Finally, when I was able to speak, I rasped out, “I’ll get help. For the baby. For me.”
He nodded and then patted my arm. “I think you’re going to be just fine. Both of you. You just have to work some things out. You have a purpose, Rachel.”
I didn’t know why, but it was encouraging to hear a doctor tell me this. I just nodded my head at him and wiped my nose with the Kleenex.
Kelley drove me home, and she was quiet. I was ashamed of myself for doing this to her. It would have been worse had I actually died. She might not have ever forgiven herself. She didn’t deserve to live the rest of her life with that on her shoulders. These are the things you don’t think about when you decide to kill yourself—the after-effect.
