Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
like a feather floating down, only to land like an atomic bomb
Alice
Everything hurts. I want to look and find out the source of the pain, but I can’t seem to convince my eyes to comply. There’s an annoying beeping sound coming from close by.
I want it to stop.
I know I’m in a hospital. Every time I’ve opened my eyes, I’ve been greeted with bright lights, nurses, and doctors, all telling me to stay still. Just like when I was little.
The memory causes panic to rise inside me, but I try to keep calm this time, reminding myself I’m not a child who’s going to wake up scared and alone in a hospital room. Arthur was here. He at least came to see me. And even though the last thing I remember is him turning away from me, he was here.
He came.
I shift, trying to gauge the extent of the pain. My head. My neck. My chest. Fortunately, the brace around my neck is soft, yet it grates my skin simply because I know what it is and what it’s for.
When I wiggle my fingers, trying to feel something other than unbearable ache, my right hand catches on something soft, and when I move it, there’s a roughness that reminds me of Arthur’s cheeks when he doesn’t shave for a few days.
Reaching my fingers toward the softness again, I squeeze my eyes, keeping them shut, imagining it’s Arthur’s hair and I’m back in his bed. That we’re happy together.
I tighten my grip, and the meds I’m on must be strong, because I swear I feel movement, hear his voice, smell his shampoo.
“Alice, baby, are you awake?” I’d know that deep, gentle tone anywhere, but is it real?
I pry my eyes open, prepared to wince at the lights, but they’re dimmed.
My hands are no longer tangled in hair, so I must have imagined it.
As I scan the room, there are flowers on the windowsill, a stuffed pickle propped against one of the vases, and a stack of books.
As I continue, I note the balloons swaying in the corner and the cards propped up on the table with a cookie tin next to them.
Finally, I meet a set of deep brown eyes I wasn’t sure I’d see ever again, eyes filled with unshed tears, looking weary and tired.
The relief that he’s here, that he stayed, washes over me like a wave on the beach, clearing away all of the markings left behind on the sand.
“I’m so sorry,” Arthur whispers, sniffling. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
And then that relief is gone, replaced with the knowledge, the memory of being alone. Of having called him, and my calls going unanswered. That hurt might be worse than the physical pain my body is in.
“Why?” I whisper, my voice hoarse. The dryness in my throat becomes impossible to ignore, and I wince when I swallow. Arthur sighs, his face tense and hard, so I prepare myself for the worst.
He reaches for something, and then there’s a straw at my lips. “Here.” He holds the cup as I drink, not meeting my eyes.
When I stop, he puts the cup back where he got it from. “I was with Beau. I needed an emergency meeting with him because I was having a hard time. He’s my NA sponsor.”
The words settle slowly, like a feather floating down, only to land like an atomic bomb. The damage is instantaneous.
He has a sponsor.
He’s an addict.
I fell in love with an addict.
“I’ve been sober for over three years. I go to weekly meetings on Wednesdays and meet with Beau at least every other week.
Being an addict is why I don’t drink. I didn’t want to replace one substance with another.
” He reaches for me, likely to wipe the tears streaming down my face, but he pulls his hand back at the last moment.
“I’m so sorry, Alice. I was always going to tell you.
I wanted to tell you as soon as you told me about your mom, but the more time passed, the more scared I got that you’d hate me, that you’d leave.
” He sniffles, but I can’t bring myself to look at him again.
I thought I was tired before, when there was nothing but the physical pain and knowledge that I was officially all alone in this world, but now the exhaustion is quickly taking me under.
I close my eyes, hoping that when I open them again, this is all a bad dream.
But no.
When I come to, Dr. Marishka is quietly speaking to a nurse at the foot of my bed. She notices my movement and finishes her sentence quickly, turning to face me. “Good morning, Alice. How are you feeling?”
“Probably as great as I look.” I try for a smile, but I’m not sure it’s successful as she gives me a sad look.
“The good news is we can try taking off your neck brace today, and I don’t think you need to be on morphine anymore.
” With those pieces of good news, I attempt to turn my neck a bit, finding there isn’t as much pain as there once was.
Too bad I can’t say the same about my ribs.
Who knew bruising your ribs could hurt so much? I sure am glad they didn’t break.
“We can move you to taking oxycodone orally.” The blood in my veins freezes with that word.
She continues to talk, saying something about how I won’t be as sleepy and will be able to stay awake longer, but without pain, but all I can focus on is that she’s planning on putting me on a drug that’s highly addictive.
I don’t know what my mom was on when she died. I don’t know what Arthur chose when he was using, but I know this is a problematic drug when it comes to addiction.
When she finally stops talking, I look at her, my mind made up. “I don’t want to take that. I don’t want anything I could become addicted to or dependent on.”
“Alice, you have a moderate concussion, severely bruised ribs, and your existing neck condition has flared up significantly.” She steps closer to the bed, where I don’t have to strain as much to look at her.
“You’re going to be in considerable pain for the next two-to-four weeks.
I strongly recommend you take oxycodone or hydrocodone for the next five-to-seven days, then transition to over-the-counter—. ”
“No. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to budge on this.
My mother was an addict, and she died of an overdose when I was a child.
I just found out the man I love is in NA and has been sober for more than three years.
I won’t do anything to jeopardize his recovery.
I can’t.” Despite the dryness in my throat, my voice is steady and firm.
I don’t need time to consider this. It’s not something I’m willing to budge on.
If having a mother as an addict weren’t enough to set me on this path, being in love with one sure is.
“I understand,” she says, looking at the nurse who is taking notes.
“We could try amitriptyline for the nerve pain from your neck, high-dose anti-inflammatories, and muscle relaxants. We could also give you a couple of intercostal nerve blocks while you’re here, but I have to warn you, the injections themselves are painful.
We can administer the first one later today, then another before you’re discharged tomorrow.
They’ll relieve your pain for up to twelve hours, and if it becomes unbearable once you’re home, you could come back. ”
“Okay. Yeah. I appreciate that.” My eyes fill with tears. I’m so grateful for her understanding.
The doctor nods. “The reality is, rib injuries hurt. A lot. Even bruised ribs can be quite painful for weeks. I don’t want you suffering unnecessarily, but I also respect you’re considering your home environment.
We can start with the non-opioid route and reassess if you’re not managing well.
” I wince at her words. I don’t want to have to reassess.
“Either way, you’ll need someone to help you at home for at least a week.
No lifting or driving, and you’ll need help with daily activities. ”
That thought has my chest tightening. I don’t want to put my burdens on Arthur.
I don’t want to put them on anyone. But if these last couple of months have taught me anything, it’s that the people around me will want to help.
As I look around the room, I see it already—the helping hands, the cooked meals, the check-ins.
I don’t want to ever experience the addictions my mother did, but I think I could become addicted to this feeling. To being cared for and loved.
It’s one more way I don’t want to be like Gran or my mom—I don’t want to be alone, pushing away the people who love me.
Now that I’ve found them, now that I’ve found Arthur, I don’t want to go through life on my own anymore, and I’m certain I won’t have to.