Again, for the second time in my life, my heart physically aches. It’s beating the shit out of me from the inside out, and I’m having trouble catching my breath. Whoever the hell said, “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger...” can kiss my ass.
“Olive!” I shout, worthlessly. “Olive, sweetie, wake up!” A warm hand clenches around my shoulder, and a chest presses against my back, but I don’t turn around. I don’t care who is behind me—who is trying to show me sympathy or comfort. My little girl is lying in front of me unconscious, from a goddamn seven-foot tall fall. “Is she going to be okay? I need to know. Is she?” No one responds, so I grab one of the EMTs by the shoulder, the one who doesn’t have his hands on Olive. I yank at him until he turns around. “Is she going to be okay?”
“I’m not a doctor,” he says. “I’m not able to give you any definite answers.”
The hand that was on my shoulder is lowered to my bicep and another hand rests over my other bicep. The hands squeeze harder, but I still don’t turn around. I will not take my eyes off of Olive. As the EMT I was just speaking to moves to the side, I see that Olive is missing her shoe. She looks uncared for; she doesn’t look like my daughter.
The two minutes it takes to have her strapped down on the gurney feel like an hour—an hour of impatiently waiting for her to blink or say the word, “Daddy”.
“Sir, you can ride along with us.”
The hands around my arms release and a voice echoes in my ears. “I’ll meet you there,” she says.
As the EMTs rush by me, the wind of their speed knocks into me. I run, unable to feel the soles of my shoes hitting the ground, or hear the panic in everyone’s voices, or focus on the dozens of children lining the hall with fear in their eyes. I know it’s all there, but I feel locked inside of a tunnel with only darkness at the other end.
I climb into the back of the ambulance, still forced to sit far enough away from Olive that I can’t touch her. Maybe if she knew I was here, she’d wake up. “Olive,” I call softly. “Can you hear me?”
The EMT I’m sitting beside looks over at me and shakes his head slightly as if to tell me not to bother. Why wouldn’t I bother? “She’s alive, isn’t she?” I spew angrily.
“Yes, she is,” he says. “I’m just afraid she can’t hear you.”
“You don’t know that,” I grit. “You’re not a doctor, remember?”
“Take it easy, sir,” he says, remaining calm.Unlike me.
“Take it easy? Take it easy?” I shout. “My wife died giving birth to this little girl. She is my entire fucking world. I wanted to homeschool her just so I knew she’d be safe. So don’t you tell me to take it easy—you understand?”
“That’s irrational,” he says, looking away from me. Cocky, arrogant, doctor wannabe.
I want to hit him. I want to punch him square in the goddamn jaw right now, but I know they’d kick me out of this claustrophobic vehicle, so I shut my mouth and clench my jaw.
We arrive at the hospital. This hospital—this horrible place of death that I promised myself I would never to walk into again, and yet here I am. It already stole Ellie and now it’s threatening to take my sweet, little Olive.
As I walk down the endless hall of white, an image flashes through my blurry mind—Olive at two days old in the car seat I spent hours learning how to take apart and put back together, just to make sure I knew exactly how to operate it when it came time. She was buckled in snuggly, looking up at me as I held the seat firmly within my embrace. I remember thinkingit’s just you and me nowas I wondered how I was going to do this—be this little girl’s sole provider for every single thing she needs. Then I wondered how I got to that point, and why? How could I ever imagine leaving this hospital without Ellie? That wasn’t the plan.
The sight of the EMTs rushing Olive into one of the triage areas pulls me from my thoughts. A nurse greets us just as Olive is transferred from the gurney to a bed. “Sir, you’re quite pale,” she says as she pulls up a chair and taps the armrest. “Have a seat.” I do as she asks because I don’t think my legs are strong enough to support the weight of my heart any longer. “A doctor will be here momentarily.” She places her hand on my shoulder and I look up at her.
A familiar face stares back at me, but I don’t say much to confirm the similar question swimming through her eyes.Yes, I do look familiar. Yes, you were the one who handed Olive to me just as she was born and just as my wife died.I’m guessing I only lookfamiliarto her. This hospital sees hundreds of people a day, I’m sure. “Thank you,” I say.
“Mr. Cole,” she sighs. “It has been a while.” Her bottom lip quivers and her eyes fill with tears. “We’ll give your little girl the best care possible. I promise.”
“You remember me?” I ask, shock lacing my hoarse voice.
“I have never forgotten you. I could never forget you. You and Olive have weighed heavily on my mind for years. I think of you often, wondering how you are doing.” She breaks her stare from my eyes and focuses on Olive. “She looks just like her. She’s beautiful.” The nurse squeezes her hand around my shoulder and croaks, “I’ll be right back.”
As promised, a doctor comes jogging around the corner and up to Olive’s bedside. He introduces himself and then checks Olive over from head to toe, inspecting her pupils and neck first. He turns to me, saying, “We need to send her for a CT scan right away.” He lifts the phone and puts in the order to whoever is on the other end of the line. In less than two minutes Olive’s bed is being rolled out of the room and down the hall. When we enter the new area, I’m asked to remain in the waiting room because I can’t go in with her for the CT scan. Once again, I’m forced to sit in a waiting room, waiting to hear the destiny of the one living person I love.
“Can I get you some tea or coffee?” the nurse asks—the same nurse who remembers me. The same nurse who was able to communicate that Ellie wasn’t going to make it with only a look in her eyes. She doesn’t have that look now, but maybe she’s gotten more experienced at hiding her emotions.
I shake my head and drop my face into my hands. “My name is Caroline,” the nurse says quietly as she takes the seat next to me. “You’re doing a wonderful job with Olive.”
I lift my face from my hands and look at her with nothing but question. How in the world could anyone sit here and tell me I’m doing a wonderful job? My daughter is lying unconscious in a hospital bed. I’m thinking that’s qualification to have someone second guess my ability to care for a child, never mind doing anything less than an okay job. “I beg to differ,” I reply, sounding less cynical than I truly feel.
“Oh, honey, her clothes match, her hair had two barrettes evenly placed on both sides of a straight part down the center of her head. Her socks match. Her teeth are clean. Her belly is full. These are only the few things I noticed within the minute she arrived here. I know it isn’t much, but I could immediately tell she is a cared-for child.” Caroline takes my left hand from my lap and points to my ring finger. “And you’re caring for her yourself, aren’t you?” She knows about Ellie, which means she’s questioning if I moved on.
“Yes,” I respond, looking at my empty finger along with her. I struggled with the decision to take my ring off. I finally did last year and placed it in a box with Ellie’s ring.
“Olive is going to be okay,” Caroline tells me.
