I resist all of these things as if I can will them away just by refusing to acknowledge them, but they are very real, and some days they limit my ability to go about even this life here in Sydney with Molly. Usually I try to spin it so that she joins me and we can make it a peaceful, relaxing time of togetherness, but some days I have to nap just to get through the afternoon. On those days, I wouldn’t make it through a working day even if my job had me sitting at a desk crunching numbers.
The neurologist has told me that all of these things are normal for someone with a brain injury – and even once I’m walking, and even once my memory returns some of these symptoms may persist for the rest of my life. This reality would be difficult enough to accept had the accident been some freak occurrence, but that isn’t the case here.
I stop and I stare out at the water and for just a moment, I swallow hard. It is difficult to acknowledge, even just quietly within myself, but Molly is right: this accident happened because I was in a dangerous place doing a dangerous job. It could have been avoided. There is a chance that I will spend the rest of my life suffering the after-effects of an injury that I brought upon myself.
Even as I acknowledge this, the drive to return to the field resurges and I tell myself again and again that it is worth it. My job is amazing – it defines me – it is who I am. I sit in my wheelchair and nurse my headache and know that I brought all of that on myself and yet I still can’t wait to get back to work.
I force myself to imagine what my home life would look like if Molly did issue me an ultimatum and I did choose the job I love. I picture myself returning to the terrace alone, but however hard I try, I can’t even imagine it. I try to tell myself that life would simply go back to the way it was before her, but this lie is so unconvincing that I cannot even pretend to buy it.
I simply cannot imagine life after Molly. I do love my work, and it is fulfilling, but if it is all that I have, isn’t my life actually empty?
And then, there is the baby… How would Molly raise a child on her own? She is more than capable of meeting the challenge, but I try to imagine what that would look like. I think about our childhoods and the different ways that we approach life. Ideally, our baby will have the benefits of both of our strengths, and the balance of both of our weaknesses. I suspect even Molly knows that she was spoilt by the excesses of her upbringing in the same way I know that I was damaged by the sheer lack in mine.
But would Molly even know to ensure that our child has a rounded education – not just the best schools, but a broad range of experiences? Would she push our baby too hard academically in the same way that her parents pushed Declan? Might she expose it to the things that she missed out on – would she ensure that it understands and appreciates its privilege, that it has an opportunity to be a person who understands the value of work, the value of saving, the value of possessions and achievements?
Would she even have a clue about the challenges faced by a black child, particularly if it went to a school full of wealthy white kids? There is no way around that: the baby needs me to navigate those aspects of its life.
Molly will love our child and she will nurture it and provide for it, but she is also soft, and she will want to spoil it – I know this with absolute certainty because she has even done so with me. She will throw birthday parties that are extravagant and give over-the-top gifts. We will argue about those things, I realise, and I feel the slow sinking of my gut. Even if we do restore our marriage, we will have to find ways – healthy ways – of finding the balance in all of these vast and countless differences. We have to get past the automatic reflex to speak louder and with more force, and find ways to connect, even when it hurts. That is not something that comes easily to either of us. For the very first time, it occurs to me that if the worst-case scenario does eventuate and if Molly and I cannot make our marriage work, we will have to talk about custody.
As I realise this, I am gripped by a fear that is every bit as real as an adrenaline moment on the battlefield. If we separate, if we cannot find a solution to the problem of my work, then there is a good chance that I would find myself in a custody battle with a woman of unlimited wealth.