Chapter 43
“I’m sorry, sir. She’s still in surgery.”
From the blunt force trauma of hitting the window, right before the tree barreled in, Cassie suffered what they told me is called intracranial hemorrhaging. A brain bleed. Those two words sound like a death sentence, but Mom tried to assure me that the doctors would be able to repair the bleed.
“Can you at least tell me if she’s alive, goddammit?” I’m trying to keep my composure. They’ve been nothing but nice here, but the fear of the unknown has cinched itself around my aching ribs, and I can’t think straight.
She’s been in surgery over four hours now and nobody can tell me a damn thing. Penny is still in labor, and to say the atmosphere is tense would be an understatement. We’re all on edge, needing answers.
“Sir, as soon as more information is available, you’ll be the first to know.”
With a frustrated kick to the wall, I walk back to my seat next to Mom.
The movement does nothing for my pain. The nurses finally wore me down and I allowed them to take me to triage for an exam.
They bandaged my cuts, did an X-ray, which showed nothing, and they diagnosed me with bruised ribs after a shit ton of poking and prodding.
But I refused pain meds. When Cassie’s out of surgery I have to be fully alert, not groggy from some Hydrocodone.
Our friends and family have taken shifts, pacing the hallways between Austin and Penny and my nightmare.
Josie shows up a few times with bloodshot eyes and Tyler takes turns sitting with his parents and next to me, a quiet steady presence.
My brother and even my sister have called to check in, but I don’t feel like talking.
Each time my phone rings, I hand it to my mom.
Cassie’s aunt, uncle, and mom arrived about thirty minutes ago, and I know I should spend some time with them, but I’m spent.
How do I look them in the eye when I was the one driving, knowing damn well we should have pulled over?
But should haves don’t mean a thing when you end up in a ditch surrounded by shards of glass.
Glancing around the waiting room, I see Cassie’s uncle, face buried in his hands, then her mom and aunt both staring off in space. I can’t do it. Call me a coward, or weak. I don’t fucking care. I’ve faced someone who blamed me before and I don’t have it in me to do it again.
“Mom.” My vocal cords are shredded from crying. “I was about to pull over when it happened. I shouldn’t have gotten us out in that mess.”
Mom takes my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her. “Listen to me, son. We are not traveling down the same path as last time. You heard what they said. She’s in surgery, they’ll repair it and Cassie will heal. She will need you as she does.”
Cassie will heal. I drop my chin to my chest and study the tiled floor, willing that to be true. She’ll heal. She’s got to.
The doors opposite us open and a woman wearing a surgical cap comes striding our way, her face a mask of stone. We all stand as one, a collective breath held while we wait for the news.
“I’m Doctor McKinley.” She makes eye contact with each of us, her face still unreadable. “Cassie just got out of surgery. They’re moving her to recovery as we speak.”
My relief is so violent, a physical force that brings me to my knees. My legs give out and I’m hitting hard tile. Mom puts a hand on my shoulder while I work to regulate my breathing, face in my hands. She’s in recovery. That’s good news.
“Can I see her? I need to see that she’s okay with my own eyes. Please.”
“Not yet. She suffered extensive injuries. Her body is pretty banged up with significant bruising already appearing on her chest and abdomen. We performed decompression surgery for the intracranial hemorrhaging—which she handled beautifully—but she needs to be kept in an environment with minimal stimulation. My team and I made the decision to put Cassie in a medically induced coma while her brain heals.”
A coma? What the hell? My mind goes to her toes. Her big toe that crosses over the second. Is she doing that now under the fog of a coma? Is she scared all alone in a room? Does she wonder why I didn’t do more to prevent this?
“Will she know we’re there?” I ask.
“There is a chance she’ll recognize voices. Her brain might react to you, but she will show no outward signs that she knows.”
“When can we see her?” Cassie’s mom asks.
The doctor looks around at our group. “She’s in ICU and visiting hours don’t start till morning.
” She checks her watch and looks around the room and then to me, taking in what a mess I must look.
“Just this once, I’ll let you in. Give her about an hour.
One at a time, and quiet. A nurse will notify you when you can come back. ”
Cassie’s aunt and uncle excuse themselves to go check on Penny, but her mom kneels beside me.
Bracing against the mounting guilt weighing down on me, I’m surprised when she reaches over and takes my hand, giving it a light squeeze.
No words, just one little squeeze of my hand.
I have to pinch the bridge of my nose to fight off the telling burn.
My girl is in a medically induced coma, but she’s alive. She’s breathing. We’ll get through this together, whatever her recovery looks like.
After what feels like hours, a nurse approaches, and Cassie’s mom motions for me to go first. Pressing my palms into my eyes so hard I see white, I gather my nerves and stand, following her through the fluorescent lit corridor.
Cassie’s room is the first one we come to in the ICU, monitors beeping and whirring around my beautiful sleeping girlfriend. I pause in the doorway, feet nothing but lead.
“You can talk to her. Hold her hand. Just don’t do anything to agitate her,” the nurse instructs me, and turns to head to the nurses’ station in the center of the unit.
I can do this. Forcing my feet to move, I approach and scoot a chair as quietly as I can so I’m right at her bedside.
She looks so small lying in this hospital bed and it’s a shock to my system.
Cassie’s a force who never looks small. There’s a bandage wound around her head and the gash on her temple is sutured closed.
Her face, that breathtaking face I’ve spent months memorizing, is swollen, a deep bruise already forming along her cheekbone.
But she’s breathing. The beeping monitor next to the bed says so. The rise and fall of her chest says so.
Her hand lies motionless at her side, and I take it in my own, hooking my pinky with hers, the way we’ve done dozens of times.
Her skin is warm to the touch, but the absence of her finger curling against mine is the one of the loneliest feelings.
I wait, purely on instinct, for the squeeze that doesn’t come.
“I’m here, baby,” I whisper, leaning close to her ear. “I’m right here with you. Both our families are in the waiting room, all ready to see you.”
I know they told me she’s in a medically induced coma, but part of me still hoped I’d get some kind of reaction. But Cassie doesn’t so much as twitch, eyes closed.
“You’re still my sleeping beauty. You know that? I love you so much.”
A crazy part of me wants to lift the blankets and check on her toes.
I need to see if there’s something, anything to assure me this is my Cassie and she’ll come out of this with minimal damage.
I’ve avoided Googling the long-term effects of a brain bleed.
I can’t handle the statistics tonight. Instead, I choose to believe she’ll be the same woman I fell in love with.
And if she’s different when she wakes up, it doesn’t matter.
We’ll cross that bridge when we get there and I’ll love every new version of her with everything I’ve got.
My phone vibrates with a text and I glance down, the first smile in hours tipping up my cheeks.
“Welcome to the world, baby Lizzie,” I say out loud. On my phone is a picture of Austin, smiling ear to ear holding a tiny baby, wrapped up tight in one of those pink and blue hospital blankets.
Josie
She’s here and she’s perfect. Lungs are a little weak, but otherwise a healthy baby girl.
“Congratulations, my love.” I say, hoping Cassie hears me. My voice hitches and I look to the ceiling, working to gain control of myself. I exhale a long breath and drop my gaze back to her sleeping frame, my vision blurring despite my efforts. “We have a new baby in the family.”