I needed to talk to someone, and it seemed appropriate to call the man who helped me pull myself out of the abyss.
"Wendy was in a car accident," I push out through clenched teeth, bile swirling in my stomach.
"How is she?" Dr. Wilson asks, his tone measured and even.
"She's in surgery. She was t-boned."
A longer pause before he asks, "How areyou?"
I scoff, shaking my head. "Trying to hold myself together."
"Are you doing your breathing?"
The question is annoying on my frayed nerves. "Yes."
"So, what are the facts, Atlas?"
My anxiety flares violently.
"Well, Dr. Wilson, the facts are that my wife is currently being cut open and operated on. She was hit by a kid who decided texting was more important than paying attention to the road. All because I asked her to go back to the store to get wine. If she hadn't been on that road at that exact moment, she wouldn't have been hit, and we wouldn't be talking right now.Me. I caused this.I tried so fucking hard and for fucking what—for nothing! She was hurt anyway!"
I'm breathing heavily by the end of my rant, my voice raisedto a shout. A nurse peeks into the room to check on me, but I turn away and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to break apart.
Dr. Wilson's voice is still soft when he asks me, "And she's alive?"
"Yes," I grit out.
"Repeat it, Atlas."
I hesitate before I mutter. "She's alive."
"Again, and louder."
"She's alive," I repeat, because there is a faint sense of relief at the words. "She's alive."
"Were you behind the wheel of the other car?"
"No."
"So, you did not cause this."
I huff stubbornly, "Then what did?"
"Life, Atlas. Life happens. People get into car accidents every day; some walk away, and some don't. It's not fucking fair when the ones we love don't walk away, but Wendy is in a hospital right now. Here are the facts: she's being treated. She's in capable hands. That voice in your head is trying to hurt you. It's not real, it's fear, not facts."
I close my eyes and inhale deeply through my nose, holding and exhaling through my mouth. I do it again and again, trying to focus on his words.
"Do you feel better?"
"A little bit."
"Are there people there with you?"
"My dad. My mom is watching the—" my voice breaks as I think of my children. How scared they are, how worried they are for their Mama. "The boys."
"Good. I'm glad you have someone there with you. You can always call me again, too."
"Doc, I..." I clear my throat and push out my fear into the world. "I'm really scared."
