Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 149606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 499(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 499(@300wpm)
“I’m going to respectfully tell you there’s no fucking way I’m leaving.”
Sighing, the gray-haired doctor walks to the other side of Ember’s bed, checks the various monitors she’s hooked up to, then gives me a well-trained, compassionate smile. He takes his glasses off and puts them in the front pocket of his white coat.
I shift in the hard chair and lean my elbows into the mattress. I’ll spend the rest of my life sitting next to this bed as long as my wife is in it.
“It’s been over seventy-two hours,” he says, his tone softer. “Clinically, she—”
I snap my head up to glare at him. “Don’t start that technical mumbo-jumbo doctor talk again. I don’t want to hear it.”
He clears his throat. “Fine. No more white-coat talk. I’ll talk to you man to man. Husband to husband. Your wife’s injuries...the brain trauma is severe. I believe she’s slipping into a permanent vegetative state.”
Pressure builds in my chest, constricting my heart and lungs. A ball of thick agony rolls up into my throat, choking me.
Suffocating me.
I can’t breathe.
Hot tears well in my eyes as I reach up and gently stroke Ember’s cheek.
She’s sleeping. She’ll wake up.
“The chances of her recovering are extremely slim,” the doctor says. “I’m very sorry.”
I close my eyes, let out a deep breath. I refuse to look at his face and hear his words.
“You don’t know her. You don’t know us.”
“You’re right, but I do know a lot about brains, trauma, oxygen, and all the things you won’t listen to. I know how unfair this is. I know who you are, how talented and loved you both are. I took my sixteen-year-old son to one of your concerts. I wish I had better news. But—”
“She’s going to wake up. Every thought of my future since I was fifteen years old includes her. If she were gone, I’d feel it. I’d know.” My voice cracks, and I slowly shake my head. “I don’t give a shit how crazy that might sound with all your medical knowledge. Love is stronger than all that.” I tug the edge of the faded, light-blue blanket up, almost to her shoulder, and slip her hand into mine again. Her palm feels warmer. I’m sure it does. “She needs rest. And quiet. Do you know how noisy this place is? She gets headaches…sometimes she has to sleep in a quiet room for a few days to feel better. I don’t have to be a brain surgeon to know that after hitting her head…” I swallow hard over the ever-present lump in my throat. “She might need a little extra rest. Right?”
It turns out even her headaches weren’t regular headaches. A tiny benign tumor was found in her brain when she underwent surgery the night of the accident. Something the size of a marble had been causing the headaches, the dizziness, the noise intolerance, the sudden mood shifts. And most likely, the stumble and fall off the cliff.
He nods skeptically. “Yes, I’m sure that’s all true, Mr. Valentine, but this isn’t a headache that’s going to go away. I truly wish it were. The damage is extensive. The tests show—”
“Please.” I put my hand up to stop him. “I don’t want anymore negative talk around her. She’s here, right in front of us. She hears us—”
“There is no indication she can hear us.”
“There’s no indication she can’t, either. Enough with the doom and gloom comments. She needs love, rest, and positive energy. Ember’s a happy person. A light. Nothing—no one—brings her down. If you can’t get on board with that, then we want a new doctor.”
His attention shifts to my hand clasping Ember’s. “I can get on board with that, Mr. Valentine.”
“Good.”
“There’s an entire waiting room full of your loved ones. Let one of them take you home. Ember’s not going to wake up while you’re gone. You need to take care of yourself. I understand your devotion. In fact, I admire it greatly, but if you don’t take care of yourself, I’ll have no choice but to restrict visitation.”
I push my hair out of my face to level my gaze at him. “Did you just threaten to keep me away from my wife?”
He leans back. “No. Simply stating the facts needed to take care of my patient in every way, which is currently extending to you. You haven’t left this room. Your family is worried. You’re about to drop, and we can’t risk you passing out in here and creating chaos.”
I swore I wouldn’t leave her side until she woke up. But one day stretched to two. Then three. Almost four. I’m so exhausted, I feel delirious. I smell bad. Hunger and heartache are dueling it out in my gut. My hair is sticking to the back of my neck. The dried blood on my T-shirt is crunchy and scratching my skin.