My sobs ring out in the room, audible over the beeping of the machines and the mechanical clacking sound of the machine as it helps him to breathe. Pain eviscerates me on all sides, and I clutch an arm around my middle, whimpering and sobbing as I stare at my comatose boyfriend.
Nothing could have prepared me for this.
This is truly awful.
Way worse than I imagined.
I want to die.
I want to trade places with him and be the one hooked up to machines and tubes with half my body in a plaster cast. “I’m so sorry, Garrick,” I sob. “This is all my fault, and I am so, so sorry. I wish I could go back and do everything differently,” I cry, tentatively reaching out to touch his hand. His flesh is warm, but it offers little comfort. Curling my hand underneath his, I am careful not to displace the tubing that links to a drip. “I love you, and I need you to wake up, baby. Please wake up. Please be okay.” I cling to his hand, dusting soft kisses over his skin as I pray and beg and plead.
“Come on, honey,” Mom says sometime later, materializing at my side with the nurse. I hadn’t even heard them coming into the room. “You need to rest.”
Sympathy splays across the young nurse’s face as she hands me a box of tissues. I wipe my nose and rub at my eyes as tears continue to leak my sorrow. Placing one last kiss on his hand, I raise bleary eyes to his face. “I love you, Garrick. Please don’t give up. Keep fighting. I’ll be back. Every day. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t ever leave you.”
Silent tears stream down my face as I’m wheeled out of the room. Ivy bitchface is out in the hallway, waiting to see her son, but we purposely avoid looking at one another. Tracing the ink on my wrist with my fingers the entire way back to my room, I hope the matching Celtic shield knot on Garrick’s skin lives up to the symbolism. That it protects him and imbues him with power, strength, and endurance because he’s going to need every bit of help he can get.
* * *
The next few days pass by in a numbed daze. It seems I’ve broken my tear ducts, and now I can’t produce a single tear. My vocal cords won’t cooperate either. I’m like a living corpse. A shell of a person who has lost the will to survive. Seeing Garrick like that has irreparably broken me. I’m drowning in guilt and self-loathing, and I pray every night, begging God to take my life force and funnel it to Garrick. To sacrifice me so the best man I know can live.
Mom and Nana sit by my bed all day—taking it in turns at nights—and they chat away, trying to engage me in conversation, but I just lie there, staring into space, running everything through my sore head, wishing I had a time machine so I could go back and change the events of that day.
Hadley shows up every evening after her exams, and she does her best to cheer me up as well, but it’s useless. She burst into tears when she visited Garrick, and I know she’s been in contact with Hudson. Poor Hudson. He wants to be here, but he’s on the East Coast, taking his finals this week at Brown. I’ve been texting with him every day, and I know he’s purposely checking in on me because it’s what Garrick would expect of him.
I know everyone is worried about me, and I want to stop moping so it lessens their concern, but I can’t summon the strength to fake it. Mom, Nana, and Hads play my favorite music, bring my favorite foods, and stream my favorite movies and shows to raise my spirits, but it’s a futile exercise.
The only thing that would lift my spirits is Garrick waking up, and he’s showing no signs of it.
Dawn and Hugh have been keeping us updated, much to Ivy’s disgust. If she had her way, I’d have been kicked out of the hospital by now and banned from visiting her son’s bedside. Hugh has promised me he won’t let her do that, and I’m so grateful for his support and graciousness.
I hate seeing Garrick in such a condition, but it would be so much worse if I couldn’t see him at all.
I have been visiting him as much as I can in between sleeping and trying to heal.
Hudson’s father, Harvey Edwards, is one of the country’s most skilled neurosurgeon’s and he is the primary neurosurgeon assigned to Garrick. It’s fortunate he works here, and this hospital is an acute care hospital and home to one of the largest and most experienced neurology and neurosurgery teams in the US.
Harvey has consulted with esteemed colleagues, and they are discussing every aspect of Garrick’s case. The more time passes without him coming out of the coma, the less likely it is he will, or so we’ve been told. Nerves have been severed in his spinal cord, and Harvey has warned us it’s likely he’ll suffer some form of paralysis. He underwent brain surgery to relieve pressure on his brain, and while the surgery was a success, they can’t say what the aftereffects of his brain trauma might be either.
Hugh relayed that shocking news this morning, and after initially being inconsolable, I’ve decided to worry about one thing at a time. Right now, Garrick waking up is the priority, and it’s what I’m focusing on.
As long as he is alive.
What happens after that can be dealt with one step at a time. So, for now, I’m trying to put those other fears into a box to worry about at a later point.
When Saturday rolls around, my doctor arrives to confirm I’m being discharged at noon. While Mom handles the paperwork, I get dressed and pack up my things. The nurse helps me with my arm sling, and then I make the solo journey on foot to Garrick’s room to see him. I’m still weak, and my ribs throb like a bitch, so it takes far longer to get to the ICU, but I need to start reclaiming some independence.
A set routine is in place where I visit him for an hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon after Ivy is gone, and I usually spend a couple hours at night sitting with Hugh by Garrick’s bedside. We talk to him and among ourselves, trying to remain upbeat, but it’s challenging.
Hugh regales me with stories from Garrick’s childhood, and it’s bittersweet learning of all his boyish escapades. Sometimes, we’re too heartsore to talk, so we play Garrick’s favorite songs. I asked Dawn and Mom to bring in some photos, and I pinned them and some of his get well cards to the walls because you’re not allowed plants or flowers in the ICU, and I wanted to do something to make it look less clinical and more homey.
Dawn visits every day, but she can’t stay for too long as someone has to be home for the twins. They are still at school, and they have a ton of after-school activities. Dawn and Hugh are keen not to disrupt their schedules, believing normalcy is important. John and Jacob are only eight and this has been super hard on them. They adore their big brother, and seeing him like this reduced them to tears, so the decision was taken not to have them visit every day. It’s too much for them to handle.
I’m seated by Garrick’s bed, holding his hand and staring at his face, willing him to wake up, like I always do, when there’s a knock at the door. I glance over my shoulder as Ellen and Will step into the room. They haven’t been able to visit all week because of exams, but Ellen has been calling and texting when she can.
“Hey, babe,” Ellen rushes to my side, leaning down to hug me gently. “How are you holding up?”
I offer her a feeble smile and a weak shrug. Behind her, I watch the devastation wreaked on Will’s face as he sees his friend for the first time since the accident. Tears prick his eyes, and he scrubs a hand back and forth across his mouth as he stares at Garrick. Will is leaning against the wall, like he needs it to prop him up, struggling to hold back tears.
