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He saw my look of determination and carefully picked his way through them to hoist himself up on the edge of my hospital bed so that he was next to me.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you something. It hit me while I was off in dreamland.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m listening, baby girl.”
“I love you, Trace.”
“I love you, Lindsey. Haven’t you been listening?”
Now it was my turn to be puzzled. He saw the frown crease my forehead.
“I’ve told you that each and every day for the past three weeks. Will you ever get with the program?”
He leaned over and gently kissed my lips several times and I knew that God had done me well.
We were still cuddling when the nurse came in and seemed pleased that I was awake.
“Well, finally,” she said, shooing Taz out of the bed to take my vitals.
“I knew you’d be coming around,” she said, taking my wrist to verify my identification band. “I told this one as much every day seeing him here, moping around with that hang-dog look. It takes a while for those injuries to heal and the infection to clear up. Your surgery was done by one of the best, Ms. Dennison. He flew in from Boston General to reconstruct your bowel. You were lucky to have him.”
Surgery? Reconstruct my bowel?
Taz was watching me closely, reading my confusion. He cleared his throat. The nurse looked at him and I saw him shake his head “no” a couple of times. What in the hell was that about?
“Where’s my mother?” I asked, finally realizing that it was strange for her not to be here since I had apparently skirted death by the skin of my teeth.
The nurse was clearly puzzled that I had asked that question.
“Sweetie,” Taz said, taking my hand again. “You are at Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville. You were air-lifted here once you were assessed at the trauma center in Atlanta because of the type of injuries you sustained.”
I nodded, waiting for him to continue.
“Your mother suffered a bit of a setback with the news of what had happened to you. She’s at Walter Reed now. She lost one of the twins.”
Oh my God! This has got to be killing her.
“Is she going to be okay?”
“Everyone is hoping. They have to do surgery on her tomorrow. This happened just a couple of days ago. She got really, really ill. She has been here to see you several times, but only briefly. It was too much on her, babe. She didn’t obey doctor’s orders, she insisted Slate bring her here. It’s been a mess.”
“What surgery?” I asked.
“They need to do some type of laser surgery so the remaining twin gets enough blood from the placenta on account of that TTTS condition.”
“Oh God, Oh God, Taz.”
“I know, baby. I know. But your mom wants you to focus on recovery, okay? That’s why I’m here. She knows I won’t let you slack off.”
He was trying to tease me now to make me feel better. I once again prayed to God that everything would be okay for Mom and her baby. How much worse could anything get?
The nurse was recording my blood pressure, checking my urine output from the catheter bag.
“Now,” she said, “Let me check your colostomy bags.”
