Part XXXVI

I dropped Ronan off at the hospital early on Tuesday, according to plan, then went to work. Though I was physically present in the office and going through the proper motions, my heart, mind, and soul were focused on him.

Over the weekend, we had discussed the possibility of my taking the day off to be with him at the hospital. I was willing to put myself on the line one more time, but he was staunchly opposed.

“Really, a chuisle. I’ll be in good hands, and besides, there won’t be a thing you can do for me while I’m in surgery. By the time you get over to see me afterwards, there’s a chance I might be conscious enough to say hello.”

“You’re sure?”

“As sure as I’ve ever been of anything,” he answered, and leaned close to kiss me. “Now, love me again, will you? ’Cause it’s likely to be a few weeks before I feel in the mood for it, if I end up having as much pain as they say I’m going to have.”

So, I made love to him gently, lingeringly, and snuggled up close afterwards.

“Thank you, a chuisle,” he said, and kissed my brow tenderly. “Tá grá agam duit.”

“I love you, too.”

“Then say it, a mhuirnín.”

“I just did.”

“Look, one of these days you’ve got to learn to say it in my native tongue. It would mean so much to me. Come on. Just listen and repeat it after me. Tá grá—”

“Tá grá—”

“Good! Agam duit—”

“Good!” I repeated, teasing him. “Agam duit.”

“Well, ’twas a decent effort, anyway. I understand you, even if the folk on Inis Meáin might not. I can teach you vocabulary until the proverbial cows come home, but I fear you’re destined always to sound like an American trying to speak Irish.”

“So, what’s wrong with that? I am an American trying to speak Irish. An American of French descent.”

He chuckled softly and touched the tip of his nose to mine. “There is nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. And don’t you be worrying about tomorrow. Drop me off in the morning and go to work as you always do, and look in on me afterwards. I should be settled in a room by then.”

“I’d rather take the day off. I could knit while I waited.”

“No, a mhuirnín, and listen: I’m not just saying that and really meaning that I wish you’d be there, and hoping you’ll prove your love by changing your mind. It’s not in me to play that kind of twisted game. I truly do mean that you should go about your day as usual and stop in to see me afterwards. There’s no point in your hanging about all day, worrying. Better to keep your mind occupied. If you distract yourself with work, the day will fly by, but if you come to hospital and wait, and knit all day, even though your hands are busy, each minute will seem like an hour. Don’t do that to yourself, and if not for your own sake, then for mine. I expect that when you do come ’round, if I’m awake, I’m really going to need you. If you’re exhausted from worrying all the live-long day, it won’t be good for either of us.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I conceded.

“You know I’m right, a chuisle. Trust me on this.”

“I do.”

“Right, then.” He kissed me again. “G’night.”

***

As luck would have it, the big boss, Shondra, left for an off-site meeting around ten, and told us she wouldn’t be coming back for the rest of the day. No one was sorry to see her go, and Emily and my other co-workers were all in agreement that I should give Shondra an hour’s lead time, then take off myself. They would divide my remaining work amongst themselves and finish it, and cover for me if any questions were asked.

“I can’t believe that bitch wouldn’t let you take the day off to be with Liam,” Diana said indignantly, as she took a loaded file folder from my desk.

“I didn’t dare ask for it, Di, and besides, Liam and I have been hashing this out for days now. He insisted that I stick to my usual routine. He didn’t think it would be good for me to hang around the hospital all day. The operation was going to take awhile. He might be out of surgery by now, but it’s not likely.”

“Go anyway, but stop at home first and change, and get some knitting or something, and stop for lunch on the way to the hospital. You need a breather between work and seeing him.”

“You guys are the best,” I told them, choking up a little.

Emily moved in close and put her arms around me. “If you want me and Jon to stop by later, just call my cell phone. We’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

At that, all the tension and worry I’d kept at bay overwhelmed me, and I started to cry. “Oh, God, Em, I’m scared!”

“Of what, sweetie?”

“I had a horrible dream last night, that they found out the damage was more extensive than they thought, and they couldn’t do anything to help him, and when I went in to see him after it was all over, his arm had been amputated. What if that’s really happened?”

“I suppose it might be possible, but I don’t think so, Sarah. And if, God forbid, it did happen, you’d find a way to help him work through it. It wouldn’t stop you from loving him.”

“No.”

The other girls murmured sympathetically.

“It’ll be O.K., Sarah.”

“Try not to worry.”

“He’d have to have been hurt a lot worse than he was for them to do something that drastic.”

“Hang in there, kiddo, and let us know if you need anything.”

So I thanked them, and there were hugs all around.

“I’ll walk you out,” Emily said.

I nodded.

First she gathered my things together, and then she helped me with my coat. She put her arm around me as she led me to the door. “I’m sure everything will be fine when you get there, Sarah. Dreams don’t generally come true, even though they certainly seem real when we’re having them. It was just your anxiety working overtime. Ronan’s got a tough road ahead of him, no doubt about that, but it’ll all work out in the end. You’ll see.”

“I hope so, Em.”

She hugged me again. “Everything’s going to be O.K. in time. Hold that thought, and do as Diana suggested. Go home and change, and get your knitting, and have lunch before you head over to the hospital. And don’t forget to let me know when Jon and I can come to visit.”

***

I didn’t drag my heels, but I didn’t hurry, either. I put on comfortable clothes, then sat and had tea, a sandwich, and a small container of yogurt. I washed my plate and mug, and gathered up my purse and the bag containing the sweater I had started for Ronan. If he happened to awaken and be feeling halfway decent, he would enjoy watching me work on it.

When I got to the hospital, the receptionist at the front desk was able to give me a room number, so I knew Ronan was actually there, and no longer biding his time in recovery. The room turned out to be a mere stone’s throw down the hall from the one he had occupied before. I recognized some of the nurses and aides and said hello, and our favorite nurse, Karen, escorted me to his door.

“He’s doing well, Sarah, but he’s heavily sedated. We tried to let him come back to himself about an hour ago, but he couldn’t stand the pain.”

“He’s had morphine again?”

She nodded.

“But other than that, everything’s all right?”

“Yes, but—you sound worried, honey. What’s the matter?”

“Oh, Karen, it’s—I had a terrible dream last night. Maybe this sounds silly, but—were they able to save his arm?”

“Save it? Why? Was he in danger of losing it?”

“Not that I know of, but in my dream, when I came to see him, he—it—” I shook my head to clear the nightmare image from my mind, but it remained stubbornly fixed there, and I couldn’t speak around the lump in my throat.

Karen patted my shoulder encouragingly. “Don’t you worry, hon. His arm is still there. He might wish it wasn’t, once the morphine wears off, but he’s stuck with it, like it or not.”

I let my breath out in a quivering sigh. “Oh, thank God! And it’s all right f I talk to him?”

“Yes, of course. He might not hear you, but then again, he might. Just act natural, like you did before, and everything should be fine. You know what to do if you need me for anything. Don’t hesitate.”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

“Oh, and I meant to tell you he’s had company for awhile now.”

“He has?”

“Yes, that fella who used to come by when he was here before. I don’t remember his name, but he uses a wheelchair.”

“Oh, that’s our friend, Sean. I’m glad he’s here.”

“Yes, he seems a nice man. A real peaceful presence.”

“He is, and he has a very positive effect on Liam, especially when the going’s tough. They’re both musicians, y’know. They were finishing up work on an album when Liam got hurt.”

“I didn’t know that. Tell him I want a copy when it’s done.”

“I will. Thanks, Karen.” I left her and walked into the room.

The lights were off, and I could see Sean in the dim light, seated near the bed in his wheelchair.

“Hey, Sean,” I greeted him, and walked over to embrace him.

He reached up and pulled me close, and we hugged for a few moments. It was awkward, with Sean sitting down and the rigid brace restricting his motion, but all his warmth and kindness still came through clear as day. “It’s good to see you, Sarah. How are you bearing up?”

I broke away and leaned against the window sill, not quite ready for a close-up look at Ronan. “All right, I guess, but it’s been a challenge today. Why are you using the chair?”

He shrugged. “My knee still hurts, and I’m feeling lazy.”

“In other words, Mary insisted.”

He chuckled softly. “You know us too well, Sarah. However, in addition to following Mary’s orders, my knee really does still hurt and I am feeling lazy. The deck was pretty well stacked against me when I got up this morning. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah. How long have you been here?”

“I think about an hour. I came up when I was done with my PT.”

“Has he been awake at all?”

“Briefly, when I first got here. It wasn’t pretty, but once they gave him morphine, he settled down and fell asleep. Go over and let him know you’re here. He may not be aware, but if he is and he hears you, it’ll do him good.”

So, I went to his side and leaned down and kissed him. “I’m here, Ro. Tá grá agam duit.”

Was it my imagination, or had the corners of his mouth curled in a faint smile?

No. It wasn’t possible. He was ashen-faced and still, and probably hadn’t heard a word I said.

His arm looked horrible, strapped into a thick, padded splint, with drainage tubes snaking down from the stitched incision to a lidded plastic container with a measuring gauge on the side. It stood on the floor, half full of clear, pinkish fluid, and the sight of it made me feel queasy. I averted my gaze quickly, and ended up focusing on his hand instead, which didn’t make me feel much better. His fingers and thumb were discolored and puffed up like boiled sausages, despite having the arm well-elevated in a sling that hung from the bed frame.

I stroked the distorted fingers gently and kissed them, then pulled the bedside chair up beside Sean. “How soon do you think it’ll be ’til they can put his arm in a proper cast?”

“Hard to say. Depends on how soon the swelling goes down. My guess is, they’ll put it in a split cast and ace bandages for a couple of weeks. That keeps the arm immobilized, but allows room for expansion.”

“The swelling lasts a long time, then.”

“Yeah, sometimes. At least, it did with me.”

“You broke your arm?”

He nodded. “Ages ago. Three times in the space of a year, believe it or not. The third time I had to have surgery, and they pretty much did to me what’s been done to Ronan. Pinned the bones together and hung my arm up in a sling, with a splint. I went home with a split cast, and didn’t end up getting the real thing for—oh, it must have been three or four weeks. I had a terrible time with it swelling.”

“Three times? God, Sean! What happened?”

“The first time, I fell down a flight of stairs at school. I put my hand out to break the fall and shield my head, and my arm snapped. I think I’d been out of the cast for about a month when I got into a heated argument with my old man. He grabbed me to make me come back and look him in the eye, and I tried to twist away from him, not realizing he had quite as strong a grip on my arm as he did.”

“He broke your arm?”

“Yeah, kind of. That time, it was more or less an accident, with fault on both sides. But the third time—” He shuddered. “My father was a mean drunk, and it was a bad idea to cross him when he was in that state, but I was very full of my own self-righteous bravado that day. Not only did I cross him, but I defied him, and I let him see the contempt I had for him. I hoped he might have enough common decency left in him to come to his senses and stop drinking.”

“Oh, Sean!”

“Any man with a trace of conscience would have been ashamed, to have a thirteen year old boy give him what for like that, but not my old man. I took a chance—a reckless one—and I paid for it. He beat the living daylights out of me, and damn near killed me. Ma threw him out after that, and though we were Catholic, she divorced him. She figured God would be more likely to forgive her for that than He would be for allowing the abuse to continue. The church was less kind about it, but I was her favorite, see, and at that point she was determined to protect me, no matter what the cost. The state had threatened to take me away and put me in a foster home, and what was the right to receive the Sacraments in the face of that? I didn’t want to go, but I was so traumatized I couldn’t advocate for myself very well. What little I could manage to say must have convinced the powers-that-be that I should probably stay with Ma, so they said I could, but only if we’d agree to let social workers monitor the situation. So, I went home with Ma as soon as I was well enough, and we spent a couple of years being scrutinized before they finally believed that Ma wasn’t one to beat on anybody, and left us alone. I went through the rest of my youth pretty much unscathed, except for the wrist I broke a few years later, trying to show off on my homey’s skateboard.”

“Your what?”

“Homey. Best friend. Ma wouldn’t let me have a skateboard, but that didn’t stop me from clowning around with Matt’s. The wrist hurt, but that was nothing compared to leaving half my face on the sidewalk.”

“Ooh!”

“Yeah. Ma had a fit, but she was a nurse, and she knew what to do. My face healed up pretty quickly, without any scarring, and you can bet your life I never set foot on a skateboard again.”

“One bad fall stopped you? Gosh, I wish some of the kids I see around town had that same sense! I always feel sorry for their mothers when I see them at it.”

He shrugged. “Well, a lot of the kids around town are pretty serious about it. I wasn’t. I just knew a trick or two and liked to fool around with it. It made the girls laugh, and I liked the attention. Oddly enough, after I hurt myself, I got even more attention from the girls, but it wasn’t the sort of attention I craved. It was a real drag —‘oooh, Sean, what happened?’ every five minutes—and on top if that I was consumed with worry over how my face would turn out. Maybe it’s hard to believe now, but as a young man I was awfully vain about my looks, and such a pretty boy I ended up spending a great deal of time proving how tough I was, despite the long hair and the angel face. It was quite a revelation to me, when I finally learned I could do that with an electric guitar and a cheap leather jacket, instead of my fists.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I don’t usually talk about any of this shit, and I don’t know why I feel like it now. Maybe being here with Ronan got me to thinking, and remembering.”

“Maybe. Sean, did you ever see your Dad again?”

“Yeah, a few years ago, just before I got sick this last time. He’s been sober for years now. He started in the A.A. program not long after he—and I—God!” He shook his head, and there were tears in his voice when he continued. “He wants my forgiveness, and I’ve tried so hard to let go of the past and give him what he wants, but the fact is, he capped off years of making my life miserable with breaking my arm and fracturing my skull, and I can’t forget that. It doesn’t matter how much he’s changed now. I—part of me is still afraid of him, and—afraid of myself, and my natural inclination to pay him back for what he did to me. And being a father myself now, I have to rise above that. I want to set a good example for my son.”

“Of course, you do.” I reached over and closed my hand around Sean’s. “Forgiving and forgetting is a life-long journey, I think. The forgiving comes a lot more easily than the forgetting.”

“I’ve always thought so, too,” Sean agreed, and his hand, at first clenched in a tight fist, began to loosen at my touch, and finally clasped my hand in return. It was hard and strong, and well-callused: a workingman’s hand. Yet there was a gentleness about it, too, as it relaxed in mine.

“Forgive me,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right, Sean. I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

“Thank you. And thanks for listening.”

“That’s what friends are for, right? Listening to each other’s stories. Being there for each other in the tough times.”

“Yes,” Sean replied softly.

We fell silent and sat quietly for a time, holding hands and listening to Ronan breathe. The sun had just about gone down, and the twilit room was so peaceful, and Ronan so calm as he slept, we had no desire to shatter the mood by turning on a light.

Someone else did that for us.

I winced, closing my eyes against the sudden, blinding brightness.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize Mr. O’Malley had company.”

It was a male voice, pleasant and friendly, and when my eyes had adjusted well enough for me to see the person it belonged to, I realized he must be one of the doctors. Sure enough, he extended his hand to me with a smile. “Hello. I’m Doctor Curran, one of the residents here. I’ll be keeping an eye Mr. O’Malley over the next few days. And you are?”

“Sarah LeJeune, Liam’s—er—” I was at a loss for how to describe myself.

“Partner?” he suggested, his eyebrows quirking upwards. “Not married, not engaged, but—involved?”

I laughed, though if anyone else had made such an inquiry, it would have made me angry. But something about this man’s pleasant, casual demeanor really set me at ease. He was older than most of the other residents, with jet-black hair, beard, and mustache shot through with gray, and sparkly blue eyes squinting behind silver-framed bifocals. A red plaid button-down shirt, open at the throat, stood out brightly against the lapels of his white lab coat, and he was wearing new jeans and the same kind of clogs all the nurses wore: black leather instead of white. There was no air of arrogance or pretension about the man, and he inspired my trust. “Yes, that’s about right,” I replied. “We’re partners.”

“O.K., I can work with that. And you are?” he asked, turning to Sean.

Sean raised his head and gazed steadily at the doctor, his expression gone completely cold. I’d never seen him look like that before, and wondered what was wrong.

***

C.P. Warner
© 16 August 2008

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