5. Braxton
Chapter 5
Braxton
I pace back and forth in the corridor because today is the day. The doctor and two nurses are in with my wife now. The swelling on her brain has subsided, so they’re going to start the process of bringing her out of the coma. They’ll also take her off the machines that have been helping to keep her alive. I should be feeling relieved, but I’m not—I’m extremely anxious. As positive as I’m trying to remain, there’s still no guarantee she will pull through.
Christine, Stephen and Lucas are all sitting down watching me. I’m sure I’m making them feel uneasy, but I can’t stay still. My stomach is in knots.
“Braxton!” I look up and see Rachel, Jemma’s best friend, running towards me.
Rachel moved to New York for work just over a year ago, but there was no doubt in my mind that she would come home once she found out about the accident. She and Jemma are as close as sisters. That’s why I waited until the day after the accident to call her. I didn’t want her flying back here unnecessarily. She was only here three weeks ago, to be Jemma’s maid of honour at our wedding.
My heart hurts when I think back to the day we picked her up from the airport. She and Jemma Skype each week but they hadn’t seen each other for nearly a year. The moment Rachel emerged from Customs, Jemma had dropped my hand to run to her. They held each other and cried.
Arriving this time must have been hard for her, for such a different reason and with nobody to greet her. But my mind has been clouded with worry and I just didn’t think to organise somebody to collect her.
No words are spoken as she collapses into my arms and sobs. I can feel her body trembling, or maybe it’s mine, I’m not sure. All I know is that I’m exhausted, frightened and struggling to keep it together.
“How is she?” she asks looking up at me through her tears.
She has been texting me over the past few days for updates during her travel. My reply was always the same: No change. Critical yet stable. That’s all I could tell her. It has been a waiting game for all of us.
“The doctor’s with her now. The swelling’s gone down, so they’re going to bring her out of the coma.”
The doctor spoke to me at length before he went in. They’ve stopped the drugs that they’ve been using to keep her comatose, but will continue with the fluids, and the pain medication to help keep her comfortable. It could take anywhere from twelve to seventy-two hours for her to fully wake.
I just want this nightmare to be over.
Many hours have passed and there’s still no sign of her waking. At least the tube that was helping her breathe has been removed from her mouth. The bruising and swelling on the right side of her face has gone down. Although she looks far from the Jemma I know, I’m grateful that I can already see an improvement.
Over the past four days, I was asked to leave the room while they dressed her wounds, so I’m yet to see what lies underneath all those bandages. I’m not sure I want to.
Apart from that, I haven’t left her side. Christine has been trying her best not to antagonise Stephen, but in my opinion, she could try harder. They’ve been alternating their time spent in the room with Lucas and Rachel. The rules are different in the ICU. They rarely allow more than one person in the room at a time, but they have made an exception for us. Christine has paired up with Rachel, and Lucas with Stephen. I’m somewhat relieved that Jemma’s parents have been split up; it’s just easier for everyone.
When evening falls, I encourage them all to go home and get some rest. I don’t leave … I can’t. Christine protests at first, but Rachel eventually convinces her it’s for the best. She will stay with Christine while she’s here. Christine loves Rachel like a daughter, so I’m happy they will have each other for support. Having Rachel here will free me up so I can put my efforts into getting my wife well again. Christine doesn’t drive, so when Stephen moved out of the family home, running her around was always left to Jem and me.
I’m sitting by the bed with Jemma’s hand wrapped in mine when one of the night nurses enters the room. “Mr Spencer,” she says with a nod. “I’m surprised to see you’re still awake.”
I give her a half-hearted smile. There’s no denying that I’m tired; I’m struggling to keep my eyes open, but I don’t want to go to sleep in case Jemma regains consciousness. She’ll be confused and scared, wondering where she is and how she got here. I need to be awake so I can put her mind at ease.
“It could take a few days.”
“I know,” is my only reply.
“You’re a good man, Mr Spencer. Your wife’s lucky to have you.”
“I feel like I’m the lucky one.”
“Is there anything I can get you before I leave?”
“No. I’m fine, thank you.”
“Try to get some rest. I’ll be checking on your wife every hour, so if there’s any change in her condition, I’ll wake you.”
“Thank you.”
It’s fifteen minutes past midnight when she leaves. That means it has been almost fourteen hours since the doctors stopped the drugs that were keeping her unconscious. I can’t sleep now. It might take days, but there’s also the possibility that she’ll wake at any moment.
I’m jolted from my sleep when I feel someone squeeze my hand. My eyes are heavy and my mind is in a haze. I’m still sitting in the chair beside Jemma’s bed. I look down at my watch and see that it’s just after 5 am. Then the realisation hits me. Someone squeezed my hand.
“Jemma,” I say, sitting upright in my chair. “Jemma, baby.” I lean my body closer to her as I lightly squeeze the hand that’s still wrapped in mine, but there’s nothing. No movement. I must have imagined it.
I exhale a large breath as I rest my forehead on her shoulder. “Wake up, babe. Please.” My voice cracks as I try to hold my emotions in. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. “Please, Jem,” I whisper. “I need you.”
Minutes pass. I continue to rest my head on her, all the time struggling to hold back the tears. I feel like I’m losing my mind, but it’s probably just the sleep deprivation. I’m mentally and physically spent.
I lean back in my chair and rub my free hand over my face, scratching against the whiskers. I’ve never gone this long without shaving.
I have to admit to myself that a warm shower and a shave might revitalise me. Jem’s never been a fan of beards. She thought my occasional stubble was sexy, but that was her limit.
I gently unravel my fingers from hers and stand up to stretch. I arch my back and raise my hands high in the air, trying to relieve the ache that seems to have taken permanent residence in my weary muscles. I usually try to work out most days, but I can’t do that while I’m here.
It’s now a little after seven. The nurse has just left after checking Jem’s vitals; there’s still no change. She told me the doctor would be in shortly, when he starts his rounds. I’m on edge. I pace back and forth for a few minutes, before coming to a stop beside the bed.
“Jem, can you hear me?” Leaning forward, I run my fingers down the side of her face. “I need you to wake up.” There’s desperation in my voice as I speak. “Please.”
My gaze is fixed on her as I stand to full height. This waiting game is messing with my head. Then I see movement. Well, I think I do; maybe I’m just imagining it like I did with the hand squeeze. I rub my eyes before focusing on her again. This time I know I’m not seeing things. Her eyelids flutter slightly before a soft groan falls from her lips. My heart rate picks up as I lean over her again.
“Open your eyes, Jem,” I beg as I reach for her hand under the blanket, folding it in mine.
I can’t explain how joyous I feel when she does as I ask. She looks me straight in the eye with a vacant stare. Considering everything she’s been through, that doesn’t surprise me.
A huge smile forms on my face.
“Welcome back,” I whisper as my eyes cloud with tears.
Her gaze moves from me to her surroundings. I can only imagine how confused she must be feeling. I’m trying hard to hold it together, but I’m so overcome with emotion my resolve is slipping with each passing second.
I gently run my hand down the left side of her face when her gaze moves back to me. I hate that the familiar sparkle is gone, but I know it will come back.
Leaning forward, I rest my forehead against hers as tears stream from my eyes.
I haven’t cried like this since my mum died. But these tears are different. They’re tears of joy, not heartache. Tears of gratitude and relief, not guilt. All the uncertainty I’ve been feeling the past few days vanishes in an instant. She’s back. She’s alive. I can finally breathe again.
“I’ve missed you so much, Jem.”
“Stop.” Her speech is raspy and sounds nothing like my Jemma. “Get off me,” she pleads, weakly pushing against my chest.
She’s never spoken so harshly to me before, and my first instinct is that I’ve hurt her somehow. “Jem.” I pull back in confusion.
“Who are you?” she asks in a frightened voice.
My heart drops. “It’s me, Braxton … your husband.”
She doesn’t say another word, but she doesn’t need to. The fear I see in her eyes says it all. The relief I felt moments ago is quickly replaced by panic.
She doesn’t remember me.
I thread my fingers into my hair, tugging slightly on the strands. I can’t believe she doesn’t know who I am.