I went back to sleep after Danny returned from the shower last night. I went from tossing and turning to instant relaxation when he got into bed with me, his arm over my waist.
It feels weird to be back at work. It feels strange to be known as the girl who was attacked and lost her baby. The baby I kept a secret from everyone.
I’m still working in the trauma unit, and the ER is full of people. Sailors, marines, and their families impatiently wait to be seen. I hear chatter between the medical staff, pagers going off, and the hospital phone ringing constantly.
I hug my cardigan that’s thrown over my scrubs tighter. My body struggles to adjust from the cold weather outside to the heated hospital.
As soon as I walk through the emergency doors, my heart stops, and I’m met with a familiar co-worker across from me by the nurses’ station.
Lori.
I stop in my tracks and look at my close friend, who stands tall before me, just as stunned as I am. I’m about to start tearing up when she closes the distance and hugs me.
“Ari!” she says as she collides with me.
“Lori!” I exclaim back with a smile. “I knew you were coming back, but why didn’t you tell me you were here already?” I push her shoulder playfully.
“I’m sorry! When I got back, my girlfriend and I went to Hawaii for a few weeks. I just returned a few days ago. My bad, my bad.” She holds her hands up like she’s surrendering.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
She immediately acknowledges my pain even through the credible facade I’m putting on, like a mask.
“I heard what happened,” she murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head while doctors pass us by frantically.
“I’m getting better.”
“Okay.” She sighs, not believing the lie I just told her.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“The gang’s back together and I couldn’t be happier,” Lori says, hugging me closer to her body.
“I know…” I swallow the rock in my throat. “It just feels weird. Like I shouldn’t be here; I should be home, crying my eyes out, mourning my brother and baby, but I think I need this. I need to be at work helping people.”
“And that’s totally fine. Do you need to cry? I’ll cry with you. Do you need to eat a mountain of chocolate and pizza? I’ll eat it all with you. Do you need to scream at the world? I’ll scream as loud as I can until I lose my voice.”
My lips lift into a small smile.
“I’ve got you, girl,” Lori tells me, elbowing me playfully.
“Thank you, Lori. How’s Doctor Diaz?” I ask while making my way toward the nurses’ station, clocking in for my shift.
“He’s fine. He’s still there in Iraq. But he should be coming back to the States soon. I wish every doctor was like him. Now we’re stuck with the grumpy Doctor Reese.”
I don’t recognize that name. Have I been gone that long that Doctor Golds left? I knew he was about to retire, but I’ve recently been distracted by my chaotic life to keep up.
“Who?”
“Doctor Reese? The new attending that started last week? He’s a terror to be around. He’s always pissed off. You could do everything right, and he’ll still find a way to be mad at you.”
I look over the list of patients in the ER. The list is long. I’m in for a busy night, but maybe this is what I need. I need to keep my mind distracted from the sadness that wants to drag me down further.
“Great,” I mutter, walking toward the coffee station, in need to fuel my body with vast amounts of caffeine to get me through my first day back, and Lori follows me.
My mind trails to the past as I remember my time in Iraq. Being around Lori triggers that. I had a bigger purpose in my life there. I saved so many lives, including one of my brother’s friends. I also discovered parts of myself I thought never existed inside of me because of a man named Danny Rider. He showed me a lot about myself. Pushing my boundaries, fracturing the shell I hid behind all my life. The first time I ever surrendered myself to someone. I only have good memories of that place, except for the few I have of Shane.
His cold, distant black eyes make me panic whenever I think about him.
Maybe if I distract myself with work, I won’t fall deeper into this depression: the constant heartache, grief, and loss.
When I received news my brother died, it was in North Carolina.
When I got attacked, it was here…in North Carolina.
When I lost my baby…it was here at home.
I may run away from my problems, but this time, I will never apologize for putting myself first.
“That’s enough gossiping, you two.” Someone’s rugged glacial voice cuts our conversation short. I flip over to see him, and he’s staring knives at the both of us.
“Doctor Reese.” Lori crosses her arms defensively.
“Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again,” I apologize.
I say I’m sorry because the last thing I want to do is piss my new boss off. I refuse to get on his bad side on my first day back. I’m a people pleaser, it’s just who I am. I can’t help it sometimes.
“We weren’t gossiping, doctor. We’re talking about work,” Lori snaps back, fearless. Her tone of voice was professional, but I’m internally rooting for her.
I love that she never takes shit from anyone, including our new grumpy doctor in charge of us.
“Either way, get back to work.” He closes his binder, unbothered by Lori’s defense. “There’s a patient that got out of surgery about a week ago, Ms. Alvarez. She’s in room one.” He looks at me with an icy glare. “Please get her to walk. The faster she walks, the faster she can get discharged.”
“Yes, sir.”
After waves of patients poured in, I finally could eat my lunch. Or rather, stuff it down quickly. I had almost forgotten to take my break. I was too busy caring for my patients and ensuring I had the correct medications and dosages.
It’s already been one hell of a shift, and I’m still not halfway through it.
I review my patient’s chart, taking in every detail of her case and history before walking in as usual. I look through the glass to see a young woman with long black hair flipping through the TV channels with the small plastic remote in her hands. She doesn’t notice me yet, but I can see the cast on her ankle.
I had surgery not too long ago…
I hate what comes after. It’s a long journey to recovery. Not everything fixes or heals with surgery. Some things take time.
I finally entered the room with the physical therapist at my side.
“Hello, Ms. Salem.” I walk over to her side, and she turns toward me, startled by my greeting. “We’re here to help you start walking. How are you feeling today? Any pain?” I ask, gripping the armrest and looking at the monitor.
Her blood pressure and oxygen levels are normal, and so is her heart rate.
So far, so good.
At first, she seems puzzled by me, but then she eyes me so intensely I’m lost.
“Look, I know why you guys are here, and I’m telling you, I’m not ready right now. I won’t walk; I just had surgery a week ago,” she complains, crossing her hands over her chest.
I frown at her refusal. I have to get her to walk out of this bed. The longer she sits for hours, the more she’s prone to blood clots.
“Ms. Salem, this is Mr. Cameron, our amazing physical therapist. We have to get you to walk, at least for five minutes, and then we’ll leave you alone, I promise,” I request with an encouraging smile.
Mr. Cameron’s shoulders sag. He usually wants them to walk more than just five minutes, but this was my best attempt to help her.
“We shouldn’t push her so much. Let’s start with baby steps,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice low.
“No. I’m not ready.” Ms. Salem fusses, protesting, unbothered. She shakes her head violently, her black hair jittering.
Mr. Cameron sighs, frustrated with impatience, crossing his arms disapprovingly.
Before we walked in, he informed me she had been fighting her required therapy every time he tried to help her.
I clear my throat, my vision piercing him for his attention, demanding it. I place my hand in front of him, motioning for him to stop, mouthing the words, I’ve got this.
“What are you watching?” I ask, walking toward her.
I have to help her, but in ways that don’t seem unemotional or cold or treat her as if she’s just another patient.
This poor woman needs to be treated with understanding and fortitude. If I were in her place with no family or friends to help me get through surgery or to learn how to walk again, I’d want at least one person to understand me.
I know this young woman hasn’t had any visitors since she checked into the hospital with a broken ankle severed so severely she needed emergency surgery to fix it, or she would have had an amputation.
She looks at me with overwhelming disgust before rolling her eyes and returning to the television.
“It’s a movie…a sad one.”
“Oh…what’s it about?” I grab a chair and sit beside her bed. Mr. Cameron watches us, disgruntled.
“It’s about a girl…” She coughs to conceal her voice breaking. “It’s just a movie.” She doesn’t want to talk, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. She’s closed off; it reminds me of the new version of myself.
“Tell me. I’ve never seen this one,” I tell her. The actress in the movie is crying on a tombstone, and I’m already intrigued. She’s kneeling on the floor, bawling, clutching her chest, struggling to breathe.
“It’s…about a sister who lost her older brother in a car crash,” she deadpans, still not bothering to look at me. But then I noticed the ache pricking at her throat when she said ‘crash’. “It’s my favorite movie now…now that I lost my older brother earlier this year the same way.” She stares at her fingers, massaging them nervously. “He was my best friend. I don’t have a lot of family that cared for me, but he did. He was like a second dad to me.” She whispers to the point where I almost can’t hear her.
The monitor beeps louder, and the grief contorts on her face. She’s breathing slowly but harder—her heart rate spikes, signaling a panic attack. I’m an expert at detecting those these days and a complete failure at dissolving my own.
Paul was everything to my mother and I. He was the foundation that kept our family together.
“I know what that kind of pain feels like,” I concede as I look at the girl who continues to cry for her brother in the movie.
“Don’t pretend to know what pain looks like,” Ms. Salem snaps at me, her voice rising. “Don’t pretend to act like you can relate to me. You’re a pretty girl, probably a successful nurse in her twenties.” Her eyes scan me up and down like she’s reading me. “I’m sure you have a hot boyfriend obsessed with you. I know girls like you. You probably have a sheltered life with possibilities handed to you. You don’t know what struggle is like. You don’t know what losing your brother in a crash is like. So please…stop pretending.” She spits her words, full of hatred.
She doesn’t know that my brother is dead and that I grieved for my baby soon after, and that’s okay.
I’m pretending to be all right.
I’m pretending to be fine when I’m not.
I have to because that’s what I need to do.
I swallow the sorrow that fills my stomach when the thoughts of grief seep into me. I swear I can feel my baby kick inside me as the anguish slithers in my chest again, constricting my lungs.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes tight for a split second, regaining stability.
“I lost my brother too…not long ago,” I confess. “I looked up to him my entire life, and then…” I sigh. “Then he was gone in a split second. It was like he was here and then—” I bite my lip as I lose myself further. “He was…gone.”
The last encounter with Paul flashes through my head like a movie. It’s blurry but the emotions are still crystal clear…like it was yesterday.
He was leaving our house for his deployment. His fifth one, and he was excited to be with all his teammates after a weekend of partying with friends outside of the house.
Even though we lived separate lives, our love for each other never bottomed. Our bond is imperishable.
I never was worried about him leaving for deployments. Never.
Because he always came back home. He always kept his promise to us. I was too naïve back then to think he would return in a casket.
I clear my throat, stopping the giant rock from growing. The short memory of him waving at my mother and me through the driver’s seat in his Bronco. His aviator sunglasses on, one hand on the steering wheel as he blasted Mana into his car. Him driving to base…vanishes when Mr. Cameron clears his throat, snapping me out of my reverie of the fall morning a year ago.
“But I do know that our big brothers wouldn’t want us to keep going like this. I’m sure your big brother would want you to try to walk for him.” I smile at her, and she finally looks back at me, her dark brown eyes watery with grief, and I offer her my hand.
She looks at my hand and then back at me.
She wipes her tears as Mr. Cameron meets me at my hip, his hands intertwined, ready to help.
“Fine, just five minutes.”
