Page 61 of Weather the Storm
“Ss-Sss…” I try to call his name, but nothing more than a hiss passes my lips. Carefully, as not to jostle my sore, aching body, I slide my hand toward his. I brush my fingers against his thumb, and he jolts at the contact.
“Huh? What?” Simon looks around the room, his eyes finally landing on me. “Magnolia! You’re awake!” He sounds surprised, and it makes me wonder just how long I’ve been out.
“Sss…” I try to say his name again, but it’s a wasted effort.
“Shh, don’t move, baby. Let me get a nurse.” Just like last time we were here, Simon moves around and presses the call button. The same loud beep and static follow.
A few minutes later, a nurse in lavender scrubs bounces into the room with a little roller cart. She leaves the door partially open, opting to draw the curtain in the doorway closed instead. “Well, it sure is good to see you awake!”
I try to smile at her, but a sharp pain erupts from my cheek and tears sting my eyes.
“Oh, hon, try not to move, okay? You’re banged up pretty bad.”
“But she’s okay, right?” Simon asks.
The nurse offers him a kind smile. “The doctor’s on his way down, and he’ll go over everything. We’ve been waiting on you to open your eyes.”Geeze, how long have I been asleep?“Let’s get you a sip of water.”
The nurse grabs a large cup with a straw. As she’s removing the lid and dumping a bag of ice water into it, someone knocks on the still-cracked door.
This time, a doctor steps into the room—a different one from my last visit. “Hello, Mrs. Ellington.” Simon visibly cringes at the use of my married name. “So glad to see you awake. You’ve been sleeping for going on forty-eight hours, which is fairly common after traumatic events.”
The nurse fiddles with the controls on the bed and raises the upper portion of the mattress so I’m in a slightly reclined position. She brings the straw to my lips and warns me to go slow.
The first sip of the cool liquid slides down my throat, and it feels like heaven. Greedily, I suck down another, only to choke, causing a symphony of pain to rack my body. Warm tears trail my cheeks. Simon looks as if he wants to cradle me in his arms but seems to think better of it, opting instead to grab a tissue and wipe away my tears.
“Hurts,” I mumble, my mouth still dry.
“I’d imagine so. You’re pretty banged up.” The doctor shuffles through the folder in his hands, flipping until he finds the page he’s looking for. “You were unconscious when you were brought in, so we ran a full gamut of tests to make sure we didn’t overlook anything. We assessed that while a large percentage of your body is covered in contusions, the CT showed no damage to your internal organs, other than a moderate concussion.
“It did, however, show a small zygomatic arch fracture, which accounts for the pain and swelling in your eye and cheek.” The doctor turns to the next page in my chart. “We also did a full-body X-ray, which showed us two fractured ribs. Those are the major injuries, but in addition, you also have a superficial laceration beginning just below your clavicle, extending three inches downward. It’s currently being held together with surgical glue. Your lip is split in two locations, and one of them required two small sutures.
“We’ve been giving you morphine to manage your pain, but now that you’re alert and with us, I’d like to begin dialing back and switching you to an over-the-counter pain med with an anti-inflammatory.”
Simon looks as shell-shocked as I feel after hearing the doctor list off my injuries, but he gathers his wits before I do mine and asks, “How long will she need to stay here?”
“We’ll keep her overnight for observation, and assuming all goes well, we’ll release her tomorrow afternoon.”
“And her recovery?” Simon asks.
“Will all be discussed tomorrow. For now, let’s let Mrs. Ellington rest.”
Again, Simon blanches. “Ms. It’s Ms.”
The doctor checks his notes and says, “Right, Ms.—my apologies,” before shuffling out of the room, the nurse hot on his heels.
§
I’ve been home from the hospital for going on six weeks now. The majority of my bruising has faded to a weird pale-yellow color, and while my cheek fracture didn’t require surgery—thank God—it’s still a little tender and swollen, along with my ribs.
Which is why Simon still treats me like I’m made of fine china. He’s so tender and gentle and caring, but I’m ready for things to get back to normal, ready to do things for myself.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to cancel the trip?” he asks for the hundredth time.
I shift on the couch to look at him. “I’m positive, Simon. We’ve already pushed it back once. I want to get away with you, just the two of us.”
“But are you sure?”
I blow out an exasperated breath and crook my finger at him. He stands from his recliner and walks over to me. “I’m one hundred and ten percent sure. I…I think we need this.”
