Chapter 5
five
There’s a slight nudge on my arm when a nurse comes into the ICU waiting room, letting me know I can finally see my mom. I must have dozed off at some point, exhausted from an incredibly long and stressful day.
I follow the nurse, hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. The bright fluorescent lights in the hallway make the space feel sterile, like it’s daytime rather than the middle of the night.
The only sounds are the beeping and humming of various lifesaving machines from patient rooms. It’s eerie yet oddly soothing at the same time.
The nurse stops in front of my mom’s room and motions for me to go in.
My chest tightens, and the air whooshes out of my lungs.
This is the moment I’ve waited hours for, but my body is frozen, unwilling to face the reality of the situation.
Taking a step into the room means this is real. There’s no going back. No pretending it’s a bad dream. Accepting everything has changed.
For my mom. Me. Jake.
None of us will ever be the same again.
Realizing I can’t stand outside her room forever, I force myself to cross the threshold into her dimly lit room. I gasp at how frail my mom looks in the oversized hospital bed, countless machines attached to her; it’s almost like she’s shrunken a size or two.
When I glance around the room, I resign myself to spending the rest of the night in a very uncomfortable-looking plastic chair. The type of chair you find in an elementary classroom, designed to give adults lower back pain while also causing you to have crotch sweat.
Great.
Whoever designs hospital seating options must have a twisted sense of humor.
Do they actively try to make the most difficult days even more unbearable?
I sigh as I grab the closest chair, sliding it over to my mom’s hospital bed, attempting to dampen the loud screeching noise the legs make as they drag across the floor.
It’s worse than nails on a chalkboard, and it echoes in the room, prompting one of the nurses to look in my direction.
Leave it to me to get a quiet scolding from a nurse only a few minutes after my arrival.
Thankfully, my mom doesn’t stir. She’s completely oblivious to anything happening around her, likely due to the heavy pain medication and the anesthesia from surgery.
Supposedly, she spoke a few words to one of the nurses after they extubated her, giving me hope she’s cognitively intact.
Normally, I don’t love talking to my mom, but today, I’d give anything to hear her voice.
With her cold hand in mine, I hold it tightly as I say a few prayers.
At this point, I’m willing to accept any help we can get.
I’m not overly religious. Never have been.
My mom wasn’t the typical churchgoer found in most small towns.
She believes in God but doesn’t enjoy the preachiness of a weekly sermon, so I rarely attended church as a kid. I still don’t.
Although that will change once Brian and I get married.
Religion is a big part of his family, meaning it will become a critical part of my life.
Converting to Catholicism is a major task in our wedding planning process.
One I definitely can’t screw up, or his family priest will refuse to marry us.
No time like the present to start talking to God.
Hoping he’s listening and can watch over my mom.
Letting out a deep exhale, I double-check the ringer on Judy’s phone again, ensuring it’s turned up all the way. The last thing I want is to miss a call or text from Jake. It’s been hours without a response. Not even an acknowledgment that he’s seen the messages.
Nothing.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
I’m past the point of being polite. Now I’m pissed. He’s a goddamn adult. His mom was in an accident. Who the fuck doesn’t respond? I hastily type out another text—my tenth of the night. This time in all caps, like I’m a boomer. Perhaps it will light a fire under his ass.
While Judy’s phone has been silent, mine has been blowing up with messages of support from my colleagues and Chelsi.
Not to mention hundreds of unread work emails taunting me on my home screen.
Dealing with work is Future Kate’s problem.
I’ll probably regret that decision later, but I can’t stomach trying to go through my inbox.
For the next few hours, I drift in and out of sleep, barely noticing when the nurses come in every hour to check on my mom. By the morning, I’m sleeping so lightly that her hand stirring wakes me.
“Mom,” I whisper tentatively, not sure whether she’s awake or making movements in her sleep.
“Katherine? Is that you?” she asks slowly, struggling to open her eyes. “Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?” I’m cautious about how much I say, not knowing if she’s confused from waking up in the hospital or if she might be suffering from short-term memory loss, a potential complication from the accident.
“How did I get here? Why are you here?” Her eyes flicker around the room, trying to take in her surroundings. Her voice is strained and scratchy from hours of having a breathing tube down her throat, making her sound even more frail.
Waking up in the ICU has to be a confusing experience for her. She’s spent decades in this department as a nurse, never a patient.
“There was an accident…”
“But…why am I here? Where is Judy?”
Shit. I wasn’t expecting her to ask about Judy so quickly.
Hoped I’d have a couple of hours until I had to broach that subject.
Then reality hits me like a ton of bricks.
I have to tell two people Judy died. My body starts to waver, causing me to brace my hand against the railing of her bed to keep myself from collapsing on the floor.
The sheer magnitude of the situation is too overwhelming.
I force myself to take a deep breath.
Can’t let her see me fall apart. I have to be strong for her.
“You were in an accident,” I repeat, and then have to pause.
How do you tell someone their best friend died?
Explain to them what’s happened when your mind is struggling to comprehend it.
Which words do you use when you’re going to break someone’s heart?
My best option is to start with the facts.
Share what I know and go from there. Don’t provide more information than is absolutely necessary.
Knowing her, it won’t be enough. She’ll want to go over every painstaking detail, critiquing every aspect of the efforts to save Judy’s life as if it could somehow change the outcome.
Her medical training and history with the hospital won’t help.
I anticipate the staff will placate her once she’s feeling better, providing her with any information she requests to help process her grief and avoid her wrath.
No one wants to be on the receiving end of Deborah Carpenter’s anger.
“You were in a car accident,” I try again. “Do you remember where you were going?”
She squints, like she’s trying to figure out a puzzle and doesn’t have all the pieces. Is it wrong to hope she doesn’t remember so I can buy myself some more time to figure out how to tell her? I clench my fists until my nails dig into my palms, not letting go until she speaks again.
“I think… Judy and I had lunch. We were headed to the store to pick up a few things…” She slowly starts rubbing her temples as she closes her eyes, going quiet for a couple of minutes. “That’s the last thing I remember until waking up,” she murmurs, looking highly concerned and distraught.
A pang of sadness reverberates through my soul at seeing my mom in this state.
She’s usually so confident and unstoppable.
I press my hand over hers and lightly squeeze, careful not to mangle her IV.
“It’s normal to have some difficulty remembering,” I reply reassuringly, leaving out the possibility she might not get her memory back entirely.
“But…where is Judy?” Her eyes, wide with worry, dart to the beeping machines. “What’s wrong with me?”
Definitely not going to answer her first question until absolutely necessary. “You have a few injuries from the accident. Multiple broken bones and some significant internal injuries.”
She gulps and presses a hand to her chest. There’s a hint of fear in her eyes, a wariness about what it all means.
“You had emergency surgery. The doctors fixed your internal injuries and stabilized your severe fracture. You’ll have a long road to recovery, but you’re going to be okay.” I pause, allowing her to absorb the information. It’s a lot for anyone to process, let alone someone who is seriously injured.
She presses her lips together as a few stray tears fall from her eyes. “What about Judy?”
Panic rises in my throat, worsening my nausea. I don’t know how to say the next few words, but I don’t have a choice. She has to know. I can’t lie to her. She’ll never forgive me if I keep it from her, even if it’s only for a few hours.
I close my eyes tightly, take a deep breath, and keep my grasp on her hand.
“Judy suffered significant injuries. The doctors tried their best, but…” My voice breaks, and tears stream down my face as I force myself to utter, “But they couldn’t save her.”
“What? She’s…she’s gone?” My mom’s hand flies to her mouth; anguish mixed with confusion splayed on her face.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumble, willing myself not to sob. She doesn’t need me breaking down. I need to be strong for her and rein in my emotions, just like she taught me.
“This can’t be real. She can’t be… She can’t be gone,” my mom croaks, turning her head away from me.
“I wish it wasn’t true. I’d give anything, anything, to have her back.” My hand trembles in hers as I rub my thumb across her hand, attempting to soothe a fraction of her pain.