Two weeks! I’ve been here two weeks? I wanted to shout it, but the best I could do was a gurgling noise.
Minutes later the doctor walked in and started pushing and probing on me while reading my chart, all the while going ‘Muummm’ and asking if it hurt here or there or wherever. Finally he must have been satisfied, cause he and the nurse started jerking off most of those lines they had hooked to me.
Doc must have taken some of his training in a Dental School; because all the time he was unhooking me, he was talking–just like a dentist that asks you questions while he’s working in your mouth. Finally he removed that damn tube from down my throat.
“Feel better?” He asked when he and the nurse had me cut loose from most of the crap I’d been hooked up to. “Don’t try to talk just yet; your throat will be sore for a while. I’ll be back with the surgeon in a couple hours to explain everything. Meanwhile we’ll get you some ice chips to suck on–wet your throat that way. Maybe by dinner time you’ll feel like some broth.”
Doc had a good bedside manner–at least he loved to talk. I tried to ask him what happened but found my words just didn’t come out right. He and the nurse left the room and Pat moved closer. They had taken away the contraption holding my head fixed, so I could turn it to look at her.
As I gazed into her face I realized this was the first time in a long time I’d looked at her–I mean really looked at her. What I saw in her eyes was love; the same expression that’d been there on our wedding day.
“I’m so sorry, Honey,” she whispered. “I know you can’t forgive me but I am sorry.” Then she started feeding me ice–some of the best ice I’d ever tasted.
Sorry, she said she was sorry–sorry about what? That’s when I realized not only couldn’t I remember anything about why I was in here. When I tried to ask, I mostly babbled and she didn’t understand.
“Don’t worry about not being able to talk right now, you’ve had a bad two weeks and went through a serious brain operation, but they all say you’re on the mend. Now it’s just a matter of time and a lot of good nursing, and I’m here for that, if you want me.”
Her words didn’t make sense to me; why wouldn’t I want her? I pondered on that most of the afternoon, while she planted kisses on my forehead between feeding me spoonfuls of ice.
The clock seemed to be backing up as I waited for the doctor to come back and talk, like he promised. As I waited I realized my throat was improving and I could actually carry on a short conversation with Pat, between spoonfuls of ice.
“What happened, Baby,” was my first question.
“Don’t you remember?” Pat had a strange look on her face. “You don’t remember attacking Harry?”
“Why would I attack Harry?”
“Well–hummnn…” She obviously didn’t want to answer–maybe they were afraid I couldn’t handle the answer. After all, I’d been in a coma, or something for two weeks. “You don’t remember?”
“If I did I wouldn’t have to ask, would I?”
“What do you remember about going to the party?”
“What party?”