Page 60 of All I Have Left
The doctor nods. “In a sense, yes. The tube down his throat is helping him breathe and the one attached to his side, that one is a chest tube. Because one of his ribs punctured his lung, it’s needed for the lung to heal.”
Still seated in a wheelchair, I sigh, tears rolling down my cheeks. “When will he wake up? ”
“It’s going to be a slow process here. We want the swelling to go down first. Right now he has a piece of his skull left off for the swelling and we’ll keep him heavily sedated to allow time for that.
He’s strong. He’s fighting. That’s all we can ask for at the moment.
” The doctor shifts beside me, his eyes intent on mine, his words gentle and reassuring by the way he delivers them.
“Judging by his past surgeries and file I received from the Army, he’s a fighter through and through. ”
They had his file? Surgeries? He’s a fighter? That, that part I knew. I wanted to ask what he’s been through, the parts of his life he’s yet to tell me about, but I think it’s the least of my worries at this point.
“We don’t know exactly how much damage has been done or even how much of his memory was lost, if any,” he continues, gesturing to scans on the monitors. “With a head injury this severe,” he shakes his head, “it’s too hard to tell this soon. He needs time and then we can see how it goes.”
This severe? The word hits my chest like a bullet. “You’ve seen this kind of injury before, right?” My words come out strained, my stomach twisting. “Did they pull through?”
His face falters, as if he doesn’t want to give me a dire outcome. Not this poor fragile girl in front of him who can’t even stand on her own two feet. “Sometimes. Everyone is different though. The time it takes to get to surgery from the time of the incident factors greatly in this.”
“But his heart stopped beating.”
“It did, but we were able to get him intubated right away. We had the OR on standby and into surgery soon after. And he’s not brain dead.
Like I said, he squeezed my hand, was able to open his eyes and respond with a thumbs-up that he heard me.
Those are all good indications here, Evie.
” I nod, unsure if I understand what he’s saying, or I’m just nodding because he’s talking to me and I feel like I have to.
A certain amount of jealous hits me. Only for the fact that he got to see him with his eyes open and he got to squeeze his hand .
“Grayson’s young, relatively healthy given the last year he’s had, and I have a good feeling he’s going to surprise us all.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I don’t know why, but I keep going back to the negative side of it all. Maybe because it’s hard to believe—looking at the man on the bed—he can pull through this.
The doctor kneels next to me, smiling. “Evie, let’s take it one hour at a time. And when he makes it an hour, we take it two hours, and so on.”
My chin shakes. “If he wakes up, will he remember what happened?”
The doctor breathes slow and steady, his eyes moving from mine to Grayson on the bed.
“It’s hard to say, but I would guess because of where the fracture was, if anything it would be his short-term memory, hearing in his left ear possibly, and with the memory even that’s hard to judge.
It could be just this incident, or he may remember everything up until he was unconscious.
Or nothing from the last month. We don’t know.
” He places his hand on my shoulder, rubbing it.
“It’s so hard to speculate this kind of thing until he’s awake and the swelling goes down.
It’s not going to happen right away though.
You need to prepare yourself. These injuries are very complicated and the recovery time is lengthy. ”
I don’t care how long it takes for him to recover.
I mean, I do, but no matter what, I’ll be right here waiting for him.
I think about his memory and what that could mean.
What if he forgets me or the time we’ve spent together?
Oh God, what if he remembers me being raped?
That had to have been unbearable to see.
The waiting to know is torture, but at least he’s alive.
“Can I touch him?” I ask, unsure.
“Yes, just be mindful of the tubes. Talk to him,” he urges, motioning to Grayson. “I’ll give you some time alone with him.”
The whoosh of the doors opening and closing send a gentle breeze through the dimly lit room. I’m next to his bed, my wheelchair so close my knees touch the metal edges .
Now that I’m alone with him, I don’t know what to say to him, or even if I need to say anything.
Reaching for his right hand, I touch my fingertips to it first. His other hand is in what looks to be a splint and I’m assuming it’s broken.
I feel horrible having dragged him to try to get him to the truck.
At the first touch of his skin, I notice how warm it is. Blinded by tears, I fumble with words. My chest hurts so bad that pain radiates through me as I drag in each labored breath. Regret fills me next, for letting this happen to him.
“I’m so sorry,” I cry, knowing it’s not enough. “I’m here for you and I’m not going anywhere. I will be here when you wake up, and every day after that, no matter what.”
My eyes drift to his face for the first time.
He has a neck collar on and there’s a tube running from underneath the bandage on his head down to the floor.
There are more tubes attached to his mouth and it’s in that moment I see his face more clearly.
He doesn’t look the same. Extremely pale, his face is swollen with deep black marks underneath both his eyes.
I look up at the heart monitors and then back at his face. “Please fight, Grayson. Fight for us. I can’t lose you again.”
I know it’s selfish of me to want him here with me, but after everything we’ve been through, is it? Is having him healthy and in my life too much to ask?