One Day

http://www.writingproject.org/cs/ea/view/dt/17359#responses
(First Draft with Comments and Suggestions)

http://www.writingproject.org/cs/ea/view/dt/19137#responses
(Second Draft with Comments and Suggestions)

* This is still a work in progress...

The austere hospital surroundings smothered her. Despite the warm September day outside, she was cold. The room was large, but the fear and shock made her feel small as they weighed heavily on her heart. She sat in the waiting room chair, and waiting was precisely what she did. The room seemed so foreign, but ironically she spent nearly every day in this hospital. In fact, she spent nearly every day in this Emergency Room. She was a nurse here, an RN whose days were filled with emergency after emergency. This was different, however, this time it was her husband. Minutes seemed like hours, until finally the surgeon emerged from the swinging double doors just past triage. She knew this surgeon. On any other day they were professionals respecting one another’s opinions. Here she was waiting for his expert advice. She caught a glimpse of his face as he walked through the crowded waiting room. Her heart dropped as she looked at the hopeless façade it bore. She’d seen that look before; the “how do I tell the family that their loved one has no hope” look. But, there was hope, after all, Bruce had made it this far.
Just minutes before, she’d been in the front seat of the ambulance with Bruce. Terrifying was the word for the catastrophic trip. She’d barely convinced the crew to let her ride in the ambulance at all. She’d had to suffer through the frantic comments of the EMTs each time his breathing halted. She sat helplessly as the Detroit traffic stalled in front of her, no one moving. GET OUT OF THE WAY her mind screamed as cars pulled in front of the vehicle with clearly blazing lights and sirens. Didn’t they know that her husband was dying just a few feet away from where they were, from where she was? Didn’t they know… Everything went from bad to worse when new flashing lights appeared in front of her. This time the lights were not those of an ambulance, but rather a train signal.
“This can’t be happening!” she said, more to herself than anyone else. The ambulance slowed and finally stopped at the railroad tracks. Seconds later she heard frantic words.
“His heart’s stopped.”
“Start CPR.”
The EMTs went to work. They knew what to do and managed to revive Bruce, at least long enough for them to arrive beneath the ER overhang. She knew that making it to the hospital was half the battle. Here he would get the medical attention he needed, medical care that could save his life. She snapped back to reality realizing that the surgeon had made the connection between the name on the chart, Bruce Naylor, and her name, Julie Naylor. He looked up, immediately spotting her, just a few paces away. She met his gaze, and found him speechless. She struggled to stand because, one week overdue with their baby girl. This was to be their third child, a delight, a joy. In fact she should be in the hospital, she thought, but not for this. She should be here, with Bruce at her side having their third child, but she wasn’t.
“Julie, I…I …the trauma Bruce sustained is severe. He has internal bleeding around the brain. The only option is a craniotomy to alleviate the build-up of blood just beneath the skull.” As the surgeon’s eyes went to her swollen abdomen and back to her eyes a realization dawned on her. This was a change in plans, he hadn’t even been planning to do the surgery.
“It won’t work though. You know that the chances are slim that he’ll even survive the surgery. If he does, he’ll be in a vegetative state. He won’t be able to walk, or talk, basic skills will be beyond his grasp.”
She looked at him and gave one reply.
“Thank-you.”


The clock on the wall read 2 am. Hours had passed since the surgery began. Here she was in the bathroom, collapsed on the floor. After all, where can privacy be found in a hospital? Her thoughts raced, fears and concerns pummeled their way through her mind. She knew that Becky and Jeff, their two other children, were safe. They were with neighbors. They hadn’t seen the accident that afternoon. In fact, right now they were probably sound asleep. The three of them had been in the yard waiting for the ice cream truck to arrive on their suburban neighborhood street. The two children had thought it strange when the man and woman had pulled up to the curb in their minute yellow Honda, rather than the ice cream truck. It didn’t take long to put the pieces together as the man began to talk in whispers.
“Bicycle…tall man…head injury…side of the road.”
Darkness and silence encompassed her. Faith was not her thing. She hadn’t needed God before.
The bathroom door cracked and a sliver of light came into the dimly lit space. A black habit clad woman appeared in full view. Her face was gentle. Julie looked at her, a sob leaving her throat as she fought back more tears. She hadn’t cried before, but now, she was on her own. Family was on their way, but not here yet. The nun knelt down to meet Julie’s eyes.
“Would you like to pray?”
Pause.
“I don’t know how to pray.” There was a brief silence as Julie contemplated the fact that she had given little or no time to God in her 30 odd years of life. In fact she hadn’t been in a church since she was a child.
“I’ll help you,” the nun replied.
The nun prayed, and prayed. It came so naturally, with meaning and empathy.
Julie began to think about the events of the day. Details started to flicker before her eyes, reminding her of everything that had transpired. Just that morning someone had been passing out pamphlets in their neighborhood, a peculiar sight to behold. She’d barely glanced at the pamphlet. She’d seen enough to tell her how outlandish the piece was. It told of three men and their near death experiences. She’d dismissed the pamphlet with little thought. After all, she was a medical profession, and knew better than to think that people survive such traumatic incidences. Who get’s struck by lightening and recovers fully?
On the other hand, that was the whole point. The pamphlet had said that miracles of that nature could only come from God. In her grief she began to trust in more than herself. For the first time she had faith in God. She prayed fervently that this would be her miracle.


“It is a miracle.”
Could those words literally be coming from the surgeon’s mouth? Could a surgeon really say those exact words? Her thoughts went back to the early minutes of the morning, to the nun, to the brochure, to her family, and to her sudden faith.
“Your husband should not have lived, Julie.”
She contemplated the reality of what was happening; of what the surgeon was saying. He explained the logistics of the craniotomy, and the steps that would need to be taken from here to aid in recovery (still maintaining that partial recovery was optimistic). Her husband was alive, her deepest wish. What now, what would he be like? How would they make it?
Bruce was an engineer, a man of remarkable intelligence. His 170 IQ was only a small indication of his greater potential. He was a quick thinker, a sharp professional, his six-six frame made him an outstanding athlete, and he was focused on success. She made her way to the Intensive Care Unit with hurried steps, as hurried as her fatigued pregnant body would take her.


There he was…tubes and cords everywhere. He was barely cognizant of his surroundings due to the medication. Would he even know her, would she know him? His head had been shaved. A crescent shaped scar was the reminder of just how traumatic brain surgery was. She sat beside him on the bed, and held his hand. Her words were barely perceptible to those nearby. She spoke his name, and for a brief moment his eyes opened. There eyes spoke in the way soul mates’ eyes do. Hope remained.


The pains of labor had waited. They’d waited just long enough for her to meet the surgeon face to face the day before, they’d waited for prayer with the nun, and faith to be found, they waited until she could see him, but they would wait no longer. Julie was admitted to the hospital, herself, later that evening. She gave birth to a baby girl, Ashley. Julie’s mother and father arrived the next day. Grandparents once more, the Brochus were eager to see baby Ashley, and console Julie. They made comments about beautiful baby Ashley, but few comments were made regarding Bruce. It was as if they were afraid to verbalize the fears both they and Julie held. The discussions they shared that day were focused, as the three of them had always been. Julie was their only child, keeping her even closer to their hearts, if that was possible. What now, was the discussion they held? The Brochus would stay at Julie’s home and watch after their other two grandchildren, at least for the meantime. They knew that everyone had a role to play in this crisis. All three knew that tomorrow would be a difficult day. Tomorrow Bruce’s family would arrive. The struggles each of them had already faced would be repeated, but this time through the eyes of a mother, and siblings.

No mother should have to see their child in such a state. Dorothy coped with her emotions when she saw her son for the first time. She’d faced struggles like this before. She herself had survived cancer while raising four children and earning a college degree. Dorothy stayed by his side whenever possible, and she was there when her other children, Bruce’s siblings arrived the following day. Nancy’s mouth gaped when she saw her two brothers, overtaken with grief. They literally passed out. It was too much for them. This was their big brother, the eldest of four. Greg and Mike hadn’t been prepared for what they’d seen, they were overwhelmed. Nancy, on the other hand, was like their mother, stoic to the end. On the other hand, is anyone ever prepared for such a situation? Bruce’s siblings and mother stayed for two weeks with Julie. They rotated shifts to be there every waking moment. Each day brought good news as tubes were taken out, and Bruce’s body began to function again on its own.


Family surrounded Julie for the first few weeks following the accident. Neighbors helped with cleaning, and yard work; with babysitting, and driving. A local church had been especially helpful with these tasks. Life had seemed manageable with the amazing support, but this October day would be the real test. It was down to Julie and the kids at home. Julie’s parents continued to come and go helping when they could. How would Bruce’s homecoming work?
“I’m nervous about Becky and Jeff’s reaction.” Julie said to her father, Joseph. “They haven’t seen him yet, Dad, and I’m worried that it will be too much. His appearance is so different, much less his low level of functioning.”
“Help them get ready. Make it a big deal, something special. I’ll drive Bruce home. You can stay with the kids and help them prepare for Bruce to get here. It’s going to be alright, Julie”


Julie did her best to prepare for Bruce’s homecoming. Becky, age four, and Jeff, age eight, were puzzled by the comings and goings of the day, but willingly did what they could for “dad’s” arrival. To them it was as if he had been away on an extensive business trip, a common occurrence in the months prior to the accident. Jeff and Becky colored a welcome sign, of which even Picasso would have been proud. Bold purple outlined the letters, with elaborate yellow stars, crimson flowers, and orange basketballs within each letter. The colors mirrored the changing season just outside their kitchen window on the serene crisp day. The children poured their hearts into the poster, finally ready to display the work of art.
“Becky, Let’s hang it in the dining room. Dad will see it right when he walks in the door.”
“No, no, outside. Let’s hang it outside so he sees it right when he pulls in the driveway.”
“How on earth, can we do that?” Jeff replied gruffly with a slight roll of his eyes.
“Let’s put it on the garage door. We could use string to dangle it from the lights on each side of the garage.”
Becky and Jeff went to work hanging the sign, while Julie intently cleaned and straightened the house with an oblivious baby Ashley taking a nap.
Minutes and hours passed quickly with the anticipation of Bruce’s arrival. The family stepped outside into the chilled fall air just in time for Joseph’s apple red Chrysler to pull into the driveway. It was an unusual sight, Bruce’s large frame in the passenger seat with a much smaller Joseph beside him. Julie held baby Ashley tightly with excitement coursing through her limbs. For better or worse her family was together again. Joseph got out of the car and helped a silent Bruce from the vehicle. Jeff and Becky went excitedly to their father for hugs.
“Dad, dad, look at the sign we made!” Becky shouted with her brown pigtails bouncing in unison to the movement of her feet. She grabbed his leg, and held on with gusto.
Jeff exchanged smiles with his father followed by a quick hug, their quite respect shared, not through words, but more a mutual understanding of one another. Still a child, Jeff had been the man of the house for nearly two months. He understood the situation much better than he let on. Both children knew that something had changed. They certainly noticed the crescent scar on his shaved head, and the sling for his dislocated shoulder. It wasn’t the physical changes, however, that puzzled them about their father. Grandpa Joseph helped Bruce through the door, with Julie right behind. The children missed her glassy eyes, and the tear that trickled past her smile. Bruce didn’t say much. It was as if he were in a fog. The whole family sat down in the cozy family room, fireplace blazing. It occurred to Julie that this was truly a new family, both inside and out. Mixed emotions flickered through her mind. Her smile signaled the relief and joy that they’d made it this far, and the tear betrayed the lingering concerns about the path that lay ahead. How could she bring this family together? How could she reconcile the faith she had with the faith her family lacked? Faith was exactly what they’d need in the weeks, months, and years to come.

One month later, Julie walked back into the family room. That day she found Becky and Bruce side-by-side tying their shoes. This was not the first time she’d discovered her daughter teaching Bruce the skills she’d learned in preschool. Previously they had worked on colors, shapes, and numbers. That was where Jeff took over. He would read books with his father, gradually rebuilding the skills he had lost. It was amazing to see the therapy continue outside of rehabilitation. The hospital had helped Bruce with physical therapy, but cognitive skills were a separate matter. Day by day they were coming back, despite the doctor’s prediction that Bruce would remain in a vegetative state. His recovery had been remarkable, but his frustration grew rather than decreased. Bruce struggled to reconcile what he used to do, with what he could no longer do. He could not return to work yet, but somehow Julie thought that he would, eventually. Time continued to pass. Christmas came and went, along with Valentine’s Day and Easter. Each day was a small step toward full recovery.

It was just after Easter, when Jeff found Becky arguing with two boys twice her size. One of the boys, the neighborhood bully, went by the name Damon Justice. What a name…Damon was sitting on a dirt bike, but made the effort to reach down and grab a handful of gravel from the street curb. He took the handful and flung it into Becky’s eyes. She gasped.
“Oh no,” Jeff mumbled to himself, quickening his step toward the scene.
“Your Dad is a retard!” Damon’s words stung.
“Is not!” Jeff shouted stepping in between Becky and the two bullies before she had a chance to do anything.
“Is too!” snickered Damon’s fellow bully. “He’s so stupid, not even the dumby home could help him.”
That was it. Jeff scooted past Becky, whose fists were clenched rubber band tight, and laid his own fist into Justin’s chin. Justin reeled back in shock, absently watching Jeff as he grabbed Becky and walked down the street.
Jeff’s head was held high, and Becky’s was furrowed into his shoulder.
“Dad, isn’t a retard. Don’t they understand that he got hurt? Don’t they get it? He’s not a retard is he Jeff?”
Jeff looked into her eyes, broken with hurt.
“No, they don’t understand, and probably never will.”
Jeff and Becky came into the kitchen and sat down next to Julie. She could tell by the looks on their faces that something was wrong. Jeff was straight lipped, and Becky had her classic furtive pout with squinted eyes.
They never told their mother about the events that transpired. There was just an unspoken understanding that they would look out for each other. Damon Justice taught them a lesson that day; ignorance is not bliss, and compassion is worth a thousand words.

Warm days returned to the Naylor household as summer arrived. By that July Bruce made a 95 percent recovery and had been cleared to return to work. His excitement at this fact was hardly belayed by his calm demeanor. His mind would be sharpened by the tasks of his profession, and he’d be able to support his family once again.
It was almost as if the family had been given a gift during that year, the gift of time. Nearly every moment had been spent together. Bruce and Julie rediscovered their love for one another. Jeff and Becky had helped their mother unceasingly, and regularly entertained baby Ashley, who was the epitome of “good”.
In Julie’s mind the time had come for a major step in their lives. A household decision was made to do something they had never done before, attend church. Almost one year from the date of the accident, the Naylor family walked into a building with mahogany wood and stained glass. It was the opening of a figurative door for each of them. On that Sunday, and the days to follow the rest of the family discovered what Julie had found in a moment of desperation, faith in Christ.
Ahead of them lay a path changed forever by the events of one day. The scope of their lives changed irrevocably, the scope of my life changed. You see I was four when my father nearly died. I watched with the eyes of a child as he recovered both inwardly and outwardly. I learned devotion from my brother’s example, and took to heart my mother’s unwavering strength as she faced the unknown. Like the rest of my family, I still live with the principles of faith she discovered in a dimly lit hospital bathroom.
Every moment during that year of recovery was a lesson in life. Lessons that helped us cope in later years with cancer, death, and tragedy; but, also lessons that helped us savor the sweetness of happier times and peaceful moments. Sometimes I wonder what our lives would be like if the accident hadn’t occurred. I came to the conclusion that “everything happens for a reason.” To this day I smile when I hear that phrase. I smile because I agree!