“Shit…” I hear him blow out a long breath. “Like, what? He’s not gonna walk again and stuff?”
“No bro, more like he’s not gonna move again. He’s a quadriplegic—can’t move from the neck down. His spine and skull are not connected or something like that. He needs surgery.” Saying it out loud doesn’t make if feel any more real. The numbness is still firmly in place.
“I don’t know what to say…that’s, that’s…Jesus, I mean are you okay?” I think about his questions for a beat too long. “Ethan? You still there man?”
“Yeah, I’m still here. Look dude, my mom’s about to walk back in so I’ll talk to you later,” I lie.
“Okay, later then. Call me if you need anything…at all, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I reply as I end the call and lean back on the bed closing my eyes. I know full well that I won't call him or anyone else for help. I never have before in the last eighteen years, and I don’t plan to start now. Blair’s face flashes behind my eyes and I get a weird sensation in my chest. I don’t know how or why, even, but suddenly I feel like if I did want to call anyone, I’m pretty sure it would be her.
“You can go in dear,” the lady at the nurse's station prompts as I hover at the door to my father's room. Mom smiles at her and opens the door, slipping inside quietly. I’m frozen to the spot; the door’s cracked, and the room is dark. He’s lying with tubes and wires protruding from every available patch of visible skin. There’s a ventilator pipe, at least that’s what I’m assuming it is, bandaged to his throat. His face is ashen; I can’t make out his eyes clearly from here, just shadows that look to have sunken into dark pools of anguish against his uncharacteristically pale skin. The blood rushes in my ears, and I’m suddenly dizzy. I spin on my heels, fully intending to make a retreat when the lady from the desk appears at my side and leads me to a bench seat in the hall.
“It’s a lot to take in. Do you want me to get you a glass of water?” She smiles.
“No, I’m good. Thanks. Just a little dizzy.”
“You know, the wires and machines look scary and intense, but it’s still him in there, under all of them,” she offers. I don’t tell her that’s what I’m afraid of.
“The pipe in his neck…is that for him to breathe?”
“Sorry, I can’t discuss that with—”
“I’m family,” I interrupt. “He’s my dad.”
She gives me a sad smile, a pitying smile.
I hate pity.
“It’s not a ventilator; it’s a suction drain. Your father's lungs are filling with fluid, and the pipe drains that for him.”
“Can he still talk?”
“He can. Why don’t you go in and say hello? I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you,” she says standing. She’s an older woman, small with greying blonde hair, and I feel like I should be the one helping her, not the other way around. I follow suit, and she pushes the door open to his room. Mom’s standing at the foot of the bed with her head slumped into her shoulders.
“Get him out,” he whisper-shouts and Mom’s head spins around. She has tears streaming down her blotchy red cheeks.
“I said get him out of here!” he shouts louder this time. Mom’s face crumples and I’m roused from my momentary paralysis by the sensation of being pulled back through the door and back out into the hall. The lady, doctor, nurse—whatever the hell she is—looks briefly horrified before her professionalism kicks in and her face smooths over.
“I’m so sorry,” she says quietly. Mom appears, and the lady backs away. We both silently take a seat back down on the bench. I know the answer before I even ask the question, but it doesn’t stop me from confirming it.
“He blames me?”
Her silence speaks volumes; I watch as she squeezes her eyes tightly shut. She looks as though she’s in physical pain. I don’t wait for anything else. I have my answer. I’m moving through the ward and barging through the main doors, sending them crashing into the walls, causing a thunderous boom before I let go of the breath I’m holding.
My numbness has morphed into something else.
Ice.
I feel a glacial bitterness descend as I move through the building as fast as I can. Suspended in a surreal state, I look down and realize I’ve taken my cell from my pocket and my thumb is hovering above the call button. I stop in my tracks, take a deep breath, and then another, and then another. My chest is burning and I feel like I can’t breathe properly. I look back down at the display and don’t think, I just press call.
“Ethan?” The sound of her voice is my oxygen. I draw in a long breath through my nose, dousing the fire in my lungs. I pause and close my eyes; my shoulders relax and drop.
“Hi, Blair.”