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The paramedics arrive a moment later, and it’s a blur of activity as they rush to get Tank into the back of the ambulance and to the hospital. The trip could have taken two minutes or it could have been half an hour. I’ll never be sure. All I know is that I haven’t taken my eyes off my husband’s body. The only type of relief I have is the very slow beep coming from the heart rate monitor telling me that for now, he’s still holding on. Still fighting.
The moment we arrive at the hospital, Tank is whisked away, and I’m left behind in the waiting room with nothing but my thoughts. My head drops low into my hands, and soon enough, I’m surrounded by friends and family. I have absolutely no idea how they knew to come. Maybe I called them. Maybe I didn’t. I don’t know.
I sit in a mess of tears as Dani holds onto my hand with every last ounce of strength she possesses. He can’t leave me. He’s going to make it. Tank is the strongest man I’ve ever met. I just know he’ll be okay. Otherwise, I don’t know how I’m going to survive. I can’t help but think that if he were to leave me, at least our little boy could be with his daddy, and the thought gives me some semblance of peace. But I’m not ready for that. Not even close. I’m selfish enough to need to keep him here with me.
My eyes continue looking up at the clock, watching the hours tick by. My nerves get the best of me, and I stand from the chair that I’ve spent the last five hours sitting in and begin pacing the room. Doctors and nurses come in and out of the room, and each time I hold my breath, waiting for them to call my name.
And then finally . . .
A disheveled doctor comes through the doors, seven hours after arriving, and calls my name. “Mrs. Meyers?” he questions the packed waiting room.
I practically sprint to the doctor, desperate for answers. “You’re the wife of Tyler Meyers?” he confirms.
“Yes,” I nearly shout at him.
“Why don’t you take a seat?” he asks as he motions to the available chairs beside us. I hastily take a seat, trying not to yell at him to get on with it.
I wait impatiently as he lowers his exhausted body into the space beside me. He lets out a breath before getting started. “Your husband is now out of surgery and is doing well.” Instant relief takes over me, and I have to force myself to pay attention. “He lost so much blood that we needed to restart his heart three times. However, he’s one hell of a strong man, and he had a lot of fight in him.”
He goes on to discuss the types of internal injuries that were sustained and how they were rectified. I listen intently so I don’t miss a thing, and when he finally says that I can go sit with him, I throw my arms around the good doctor.
“Thank you, so much,” I say as I cry onto his shoulder.
“No need to thank me, sweetheart,” he says as he gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze before awkwardly trying to move away from me. “It’s what I’m here for.”
With that, the doctor disappears through the door, and I follow him until I find a nurse who can give me directions to the recovery ward. My head is way too foggy to remember the directions, even after spending enough time here myself.
Pushing my way through his door, I race to his side and collect his big hand in mine, just the way he’d done for me. I’m silently begging him to wake up so I can see those eyes I thought I would never see again.
An hour later, his hand twitches in mine, and my stare snaps to his handsome face. His eyes begin to open, and it feels like all my Christmases have come at once. A tear escapes my eye as I lean in closer to my husband.
“Tank?” I whisper into the quiet room, desperate for this wait to be over.
He turns his head toward me and squeezes my hand with the faintest smile gracing those perfect lips. “Don’t cry, baby,” he says. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”
Tears of joy spring from my eyes as I look at my incredible husband. “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” I sob.
He lifts his hand out of mine and gently wipes my tears with his thumb. “Are you okay?” he questions, his voice thick with sleep.
“Me?” I nearly shriek, unable to believe he came back to me. “I should be asking you that.”
He tries to sit up, but I fly forward and force his big body back down. “Don’t move,” I warn him. “You have like a million internal stitches.”
