A nurse with kind brown eyes is waiting at the reception desk, her eyes tracking over my body looking for some kind of emergency. Recognition dons on her face as she stands up and extends her upper half to me, attempting to wrap it around my shoulders when I get closer. Dom, that’s her name.
She was here when I did my stint in the hospital after I was discharged. The military hospital wouldn’t cover the expensive prosthetic, or the extra physical therapy I needed after my amputation, so I went the out-of-pocket way instead. Not a lot of men in my position get that treatment, and I’m thankful for the support of my family everyday. I wouldn’t have been able to make it without my parents.
She always snuck me in snacks after her shift was over. Her son had been deployed, but he was one of the unlucky ones that didn’t make it home. She confided in me a lot when we were in that small room. Hopes, dreams, and aspirations–she wanted everything for him. Tears were shed and laughs echoed off the walls, but there was a semblance of friendship forged between us in the moment of loss, for her, her son and for me, acareer and an appendage I never thought I would have to live without.
“Jericho! Good to see you! Everything okay?” She asks, her forehead creasing with concern. I shake my head, attempting to clear my throat but the ball lodged there is refusing to budge.
In a pathetic display, a tear tracks down my face and I hastily brush it away so she doesn’t see how weak I am.
“Is it your leg? Let me call the doctor and I’ll get him down here ASAP.” She picks up the phone and starts to dial a number before I reach out and cover my hand with hers. I attempt to speak again, my voice nothing better than gravel crunching under tires.
“R-R-Raiden.” I finally managed to get out. Dom cocks her head
“Raiden?”
I nod and she sits down at her computer and types his name into whatever database they use. Every second that ticks by feels like it's taking me one step closer to death.
“Yes, I have it right here. He was brought in not too long ago. Are you a family member?”
“Partner,” I answered definitively. Some more typing and she exhales a tired breath.
“I’m sorry, Jericho, but I can’t tell you anything. His emergency contact is listed as a man named Josh, his husband.” Her look of pity has blood roaring in my veins. He’s not Josh’s, not anymore. He’s mine.
“Ex-husband. They’re divorced,” I argue because how can that stop me from seeing him. It can’t, I won’t allow it. I know this hospital like the back of my hand from the amount of time I’ve spent in it. If she won’t allow me back, I’ll find my own way to get back there.
Ema and Rodney burst through the automatic doors, their panic mounting as they scan the room until their eyes land on me.
“Jericho, where is he? Is he okay?” Ema asks, clutching on to her husband's arm while Rodney holds her hand securely in his, using his strength to keep her from crumbling.
“I don’t know, she can’t tell me.”
“Are you Raiden’s parents?” Dom asks, nicely. Her customer service voice is so different from the one she uses with me, nice and professional.
“Yes, we are. Can you tell us what’s going on? Where is he? Is he okay?” Rodney starts peppering her with questions while Ema tries to hold back her sobs. My parents come in next, followed by Hollis, Connor, and Ace.
“The doctor will be right out to talk to you, if you don’t mind taking a seat over here–” she gestures to the unoccupied side of the room. Away from everyone else waiting to be seen. I wonder if their lives are falling apart like mine is right now… Pain like I’ve never known blossoms inside of me and I fight to stay upright as I walk to the area she sent us to. I can’t sit still though. I pace the small space until I start to make myself nauseous from the circles I’m making.
He has to be okay, I just got him back.
I can’t lose him again.
I won’t lose him again.
My own sick mantra keeps me company while everyone else sits and waits for the doctor to come. It feels like hours, but I’m sure it's been less than one when the door pushes open. A man in scrubs and a white surgical hat covering his hair approaches us, a look on his face that doesn’t sit right with me. The fake, sympathetic smile. I’ve seen it countless times from doctors. One after the other telling me that they’re sorry, but they’ve done all they could do. Recommending me to physical therapy and prescribing me enough pain meds to kill a small elephant.
“Family of Raiden,” he announces, walking closer to us and standing in front of the group. I stand off to the side, waitingwith my hands tucked into my pockets while I wait impatiently to see what comes out of his mouth. I just want to see Raiden, hospital practices be damned.
Ema and Rodney stand up from their seats, with my parents behind them, standing in solidarity for whatever is about to come.
“It’s a good thing someone called it in when they did, or he might not have made it.” A collective whoosh is let out of the group. Raiden’s fine. He made it. He’s alive. I always knew my tiny dancer was a fighter. “However–” the joy I felt a moment ago quickly dissipates the longer the doctor talks. He uses big words, over the top nouns to sound fancy and put his degree to use.
But the only words I can hear and truly process are three.
Medically induced coma.
29
JERICHO
