Part XXII

We walked down the hall to Ronan’s room slowly, not because I was reluctant to go there, but because Sean’s back had tensed up while we sat talking in the lounge, and he was having trouble moving. I suspected that our collision in the hallway hadn’t done him any good, but knew he would never admit it, even if I asked. When we reached the door, he turned to me.

“Let me go in first, and you follow behind me. That way, lashing out at you won’t be the first thing he thinks of.” He pressed the handle down and pushed against the door, and I held it open for him as he went into the room. “Hey, Ronan,” he said, pleasantly.

“Hullo, Sean,” came the subdued reply.

Sean turned slightly towards me and gestured for me to wait until he summoned me, out of Ronan’s line of vision. Then he moved further into the room, and I heard the legs of the bedside chair scrape over the floor as Sean sat down and drew closer. “I wish I could have come by sooner,” he apologized. “I’ve had a busy week in therapy, and a few doctor’s appointments, and there wasn’t any time left after all that. I did come to see you earlier in the week, but you were still out of it at that point. It’s good to see you awake and talking. How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling?” Ronan retorted, his voice sounding tight and angry. “How would you be feeling?”

“Me?” Sean inquired, keeping his voice modulated and its tone pleasant. “Well, I guess I’d be hurting, and frustrated, and angry. Probably a bit frightened, too. That would be me in your place, but you’re there, and I’m here. So, how ’bout answering the question instead of sniping at me? I’m not just asking to be polite. I really want to know how you’re doing.”

“No, you don’t,” Ronan answered in a low voice. “No one in their right mind would want to know.”

“Not good, then.”

“No, not good at all.”

“Tell me what’s not good about it.”

“That should be obvious enough.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is, in a way, but—has anyone asked you and gotten the real answer? Or have you just been putting a good face on it and acting like it’s no big deal?”

Ronan’s response at that point was non-verbal: a strangled half-sob, and though I couldn’t see him from my corner of the room, I imagined him shaking his head, fighting to hold on to his composure.

“What you’ve been through is huge,” Sean continued. “You can’t go on pretending everything’s all right when it’s not. Your injuries are going to have a lasting impact on your life for a long time to come. Go ahead and be pissed off about it! That’s a perfectly natural and justifiable response, but be mindful of how you go about diffusing it. Venting is fine, but taking it out on the people who care about you isn’t. Sarah’s been here for you every day since this thing happened, and I know for a fact that she’s exhausted, and worried, and wanting to know how the hell you ended up like this. And does she show you any of that?”

Ronan gave his answer in a voice too quiet for me to hear in my corner.

“That’s right. She sure as hell doesn’t. Do you have the slightest idea how many hours have been spent, and how much energy has been devoted to making sure you’ll be able to stay at home when they let you out of here?”

There was another inaudible reply.

“Sarah cares about you more than anyone outside your family ever has. She’d go to the ends of the earth and beyond for you. Don’t shred her ’cause you don’t like the way it’s going to have to be when you go home. Be thankful you have a home to go to, and that Sarah’s committed to having you stay there while you recover. She could just as easily stow you away in a rehab hospital. Less work for her, if all she had to do was pop by for a visit after work, knowing that other people were in charge of your care and feeding.”

I winced, knowing how I would feel if I were on the receiving end of that speech, and held my breath, waiting for Ronan’s explosion.

None came. There was only silence.

When curiosity got the best of me and I peeked around the corner, I saw that Sean was sitting on the edge of the bed now. Ronan’s face was hidden against his shoulder, and Sean’s arms encircled him. “Let it go, a cara,” he said gently. “Let it go.” It was the first time since he’d been injured, that I’d seen him show any deep emotion other than anger. I longed to go to him and offer comfort, too, but held back, knowing Sean would call me over when he felt the time was right. Ronan did tend to pride himself on being a fairly strong person, emotionally, at least, and Sean knew as well as I did that he would close down and bottle it all right back up inside if he hadn’t reached a point of no return before I joined them.

I waited, and after a few minutes, Sean raised his head and looked back over his shoulder, and nodded as he caught my eye. I nodded back in response, then approached quietly. Ronan was so deeply caught up in his time of release he never even saw me. When I sat down on the other side of the bed and put my arms around him, he moved his head to my shoulder, and Sean and I surrounded him, our arms entwining in a protective circle that encompassed all three of us. Sean and I were silent, though tears ran down both of our faces. We could feel Ronan’s tension leaving him bit by bit, yet knew this was just the first step, the first release. More would come in time, probably when we least expected it, but for now this was enough.

***

Sean stayed for awhile after Ronan calmed down, but I could tell, by the restless way he shifted in the chair, that his back was bothering him, and no position was comfortable. When he rose to take his leave, he could barely move. Ronan saw that and expressed concern, but Sean dismissed it. “It’s just the weather. It’s damp and cold out, and I always have trouble when it gets like that. I’ll go home and lie down on the heating pad for a bit, and I’ll be fine again by morning.” He patted Ronan’s shoulder and smiled. “Chin up, a cara. I know it’s rough, but things could be a lot worse.”

“I know.” Ronan sighed. “I think I’ll feel better once I’m out of here.”

“Probably. It’s hard to feel much like yourself while you’re stuck in a hospital. I know how that is. Hang in there, and I’ll see you again soon.”

“Aye. Thanks for coming. Now, go home and rest your back.”

“I will. Sarah, would you mind walking down to the car with me?”

“Is that all right with you, Ro?”

“Of course. Take your time. I’ll see you when you come back.”

I followed Sean into the hallway, and when the door had closed behind us, his good-natured façade crumbled to dust. “Sarah,” he said urgently, “find a nurse and see if they’ll let me borrow a wheelchair, will you? And then call Mary and ask her to come over here on the T as soon as she can. I can’t drive like this.”

“You have the car?”

“In the lot. Yeah. But get me a chair first, and please hurry.”

There was no one at the nurses’ station when I got there, but how many times had I sidestepped abandoned wheelchairs in those hallways in the last few days? It didn’t take me long to find one, and I brought it to Sean quickly, and helped him settle into it. I could tell by the way his breath caught in his throat that he was fighting some really intense pain.

“Sean, are you sure you’re O.K. to go home? Maybe you should go to the E.R. first, just to be sure everything’s all right.”

“No,” he answered shortly. “I strained a muscle. I’ve done it before. It hurts like hell, but it’s not serious. I just need—muscle relaxers and—bed rest. Please, call Mary.”

***

Mary had very different ideas about how Sean ought to proceed, and it was up to me to manage the situation until she could get to the hospital. I brought him down to the E.R. as directed, and as a result, it was well over two hours before I finally got back to Ronan.

“Where were you?” he asked anxiously. “You’ve been gone an awfully long time. I was worried.”

“Sorry, Ro. I had to stay with Sean in the E.R. until Mary could get there.”

“The E.R.?” Ronan’s brow furrowed. “Why, is something wrong?”

“Yeah, but nothing serious, thank God. Sean strained a muscle in his back.”

“Damn it, I knew there was something bothering him, but you heard him, too, didn’t you, when I asked? He said it was the damp cold, and after a day when there hasn’t been a cloud in the sky! Damp cold, my arse! Will he be all right, a ghrá?”

“I think so. When I left him, he was putting up quite a fight with the doctor, about whether he should be admitted or not. The doctor says he needs traction for a few days to settle the muscle spasms, but Sean insists that he’ll be fine if they’ll just let him go home to his own bed and a heating pad.”

“How on earth will Mary get him upstairs? I know he’s got that lift chair, but if he’s having trouble sitting up—”

“Yes, he is,” I confirmed, “but Michael and his fiancée are back at the house, keeping an eye on Rory. Michael’s used to helping out in a pinch.”

“I do hope Sean will be all right.”

“He will be. Mary said to tell you not to worry. Sean’s hurt himself like this before. He’s in a lot of pain, but there’s no damage to his bone grafts. He’ll have to wear a more substantial brace for awhile, until the muscle heals, but it won’t take long for him to get back on his feet. A few days, or a week at the most. He has medication, too, to help with the pain.”

“Good! Does he have any idea what triggered this?”

I thought of our collision in the hallway and recalled the expression on his face as he fought to keep his balance. Why hadn’t I realized right then, that he had injured himself?

“He says he tripped earlier today and almost fell, but managed to save himself, and whatever sudden motion he made must have done it.”

“I wish he had taken care of himself first, instead of worrying about me.”

“That’s the sort of friend he is. Always putting others before himself.”

“I know, but I wish he’d learn that he needn’t be quite that self-sacrificing. If he’s still laid up by the time I get out of here, could we go and see him?”

“If you’re both up to it, I can’t see why not.” I closed my hand around his and was rewarded with a slight movement of his fingers against my palm. “Ro, I’m sorry the whole business about Linda upset you so.”

“Linda—?”

“The caretaker.”

“Och, that.” He sighed. “I still don’t want her to come.”

“I know, but what’s the alternative?”

“There isn’t one, I guess, unless I’m willing to check myself into a convalescent home.”

“You’d hate that. Sean had to stay in one for four months after his back surgery, and he said it was horrible.”

“Yes, I’ve heard some of his stories, but you forget, Sarah, that I have my own stories as well. When I was recovering from pneumonia, I had no other choice.”

“That’s right. I’d forgotten. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t fret yourself,” he said gently. “I did as I had to at the time, and I’ll do whatever I have to do now, though I can’t help being pissed off about it. How would you feel if you couldn’t even go to the loo without help?”

“I wouldn’t like it, but if I didn’t have any other choice, I’d rather have someone helping me at home.”

“Yes, I’ve come to the conclusion that a caretaker is definitely the least of two evils. You see, I had been doing so well handling my depression since I came to Boston with you. I really do fear that time in a convalescent home, no matter how pleasant the facility, would plunge me into darkness again. Not being able to move properly is enough of a challenge. When they say I’m strong enough to leave here, I want to go home with you.”

“And you’re welcome to, but only if I can be sure you’ll be well cared-for when I have to be at work.”

Ronan nodded. “I’ll agree to that, though I don’t have to like it.”

“Well, like Sean said, things could be a lot worse, and he knows that from first-hand experience.” I picked up the brush and started to work on his hair.

“I know, but—ow! Sarah, be careful, will you?”

“Sorry.” I worked gently for awhile, then put the brush aside and started massaging his head.

“Och, that’s good,” he sighed. “Sarah, I know I should be thankful that things aren’t worse than they are, but—”

“It’s hard to see anything positive in this situation.”

“Aye. All my life I’ve always heard that everything happens for a reason. That’s so easy to believe when things are going well, but how can anyone believe it’s true when something bad happens?”

“Even the bad things happen for a reason, Ro. Someone told me once that we’re meant to learn something from our dark times: something good to carry into our lives as we go forward.”

“That’s an interesting theory, but what in the name of God am I supposed to learn from having my arms broken?”

I thought about that for a minute, and knew I had an answer, but would he be angry if I told him? Should I let him find that answer for himself? But he was looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to enlighten him, and a bit of something Sean had said earlier came to mind.

“I’m not sure of the best way to say this, but—Ro, since I first met you, I’ve noticed there’s one thing you do very, very well, and one thing you don’t accept easily at all.”

“Do tell,” he prompted, neither looking nor sounding especially pleasant.

“Well, you do tend to put everyone else before yourself, even more than Sean does. You’re a giver and a nurturer, on par with no one else I’ve ever known. But you don’t take well to being on the receiving end, even when circumstances require it. Now, for instance. Maybe you’re meant to learn to take what you need, gratefully and graciously.”

“It’s a hard thing to be gracious when I feel I’ve been backed into a corner.”

“But if you weren’t backed into a corner, would you allow anyone the privilege of returning kindness for kindness?”

He sighed. “I’ve always been like that. You’re not the first person to notice.”

“There’s part of your lesson, then, to relinquish an old role you should have parted ways with long ago. Not only is it all right to accept kindness from others, it’s a natural part of maintaining a proper sense of balance.” I laid a hand on his arm. “Such a pity it had to come down to something as awful as this for you to learn that lesson, but if it was anything less drastic—”

“I’d fall right back into my old ways.”

“Yes. Sometimes you have to be in a place where you have no choice, in order to grow and learn. Don’t think of this as some great cosmic punishment. It’s really just a wake-up call.”

“Wake-up call. Honestly, Sarah! Sometimes the way you look at things truly boggles my mind!”

“Does it? Well, consider this: maybe through this experience you’re also supposed to figure out who Ronan O’Farrell really is, without a guitar and a legend to hide behind.”

He winced. “Och, don’t you think that’s a bit harsh, a ghrá?”

“It is, but the truth often is harsh, and it does hurt.”

“Aye.”

“Think about it.”

“I’ll not be able to do much else for the next eight weeks,” he responded bitterly.

“I know, and I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to upset you. Oh, Ronan, please don’t—”

He had closed his eyes against the tears, but they slipped out anyway, and trailed down his cheeks as he wept. “Sarah, I do believe I’m dead and gone to hell.”

“Oh, Ronan! No!” I held him and stroked his hair. “Things aren’t that bad!”

“You don’t know that. You’re not inside this body. Oh, God! I can’t stand the pain. They said I’d be safe taking the morphine for the next day or two. Why couldn’t I have believed them?”

He was quickly becoming overwrought, and I knew that wasn’t good for him. “I’ll go get the nurse.”

“No,” he moaned. “Don’t leave me. I don’t think I can bear it if you leave me.”

“I have to. Ronan, calm down. I promise I’ll be right back.”

I settled him against his pillows, then got up and hurried out the door, and down the hall to the nurses’ station. Luckily, Karen was seated at the desk, typing on the computer, and she looked up as I arrived at the counter. “You’re looking for me, Sarah?”

I nodded.

“You could have pushed the call button. I would have been right down.”

“I know, but I wanted to talk to you alone. Liam’s in a lot of pain and has gotten extremely agitated. Is there anything you can give him?”

“Absolutely. The doctor left orders to start him on morphine again if things got out of hand. Morphine and a sedative.”

“Thank God! He was just saying that he wished he hadn’t given the morphine up so soon.”

“The doctor expected that. I’ll just run and get the things I need to set him up, and then I’ll be right in.”

***

Ronan had protested at first when Karen told him the doctor wanted him back on morphine, but he gave in quickly when she said, firmly, that it was morphine or nothing, as the doctor had left no other directions. Only she and I knew that was a white lie, told to ensure Ronan’s co-operation. Within minutes after the drip started, he relaxed.

“Is that better, Mr. O’Malley?”

“Much,” he affirmed. “Thank you.”

“You really do have to come off it for good on Monday, but for now, why not take advantage of it while you can?”

“Why not, indeed?” He sighed. “I do believe I could sleep now.”

“Well, you can try, but don’t rush. We’re moving someone in with you, so things are bound to be a little noisy until he’s settled.”

“I knew having a room to myself was too good to be true.”

“Sorry. We’re a little tight on space at the moment. The guy should be coming up from the E.R. within the hour.”

“A roommate,” Ronan sighed, as soon as Karen had left. “Damn. I’ve grown accustomed to my solitude.”

“I’ll draw the curtain. You don’t have to be sociable if you don’t want to be.”

“Thanks.”

I got up and pulled the dividing curtain around Ronan’s bed. “You’ll be all right, I’m sure, especially since you probably won’t be here more than another week or so.”

“Thank God for that!” He closed his eyes.

I smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “How’s the pain now?”

“What pain? I’m floating in the sky with the moon and the stars. It feels so good, I’m afraid I could get to like it far too much.”

“Just remember what Karen said. Take advantage of it while you can, until you’re cut off on Monday.”

“Mmm,” he agreed, settling more deeply into his pillows. “Will you come lie with me?”

“Of course.” I snuggled in close to his side, and he rested his arm against my back.

“Tá grá agam duit, a ghrá.”

“What did you tell me that means?”

He smiled. “You’ve a memory like a sieve sometimes! It means I love you, my dear.”

“Right. I love you, too, Ro.” I tightened my arms around him.

“Och!” he gasped. “Mind my ribs, will you?”

It wasn’t the first time I’d forgotten about his broken ribs. “I’m sorry, hon.”

“’S’all right. Just try to remember not to squeeze me like that.”

I loosened my hold. “Is that better?”

“Much. Thanks.” He sighed and closed his eyes, and before long, the smooth, even rhythm of his breathing told me he had fallen asleep.

***

C.P. Warner
© 22 Spetember 2007

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