Marshall had swayed from side to side with their every step, his arms draping lifelessly over the sides of the door, but he’d been in safe hands. They had slid him onto the flatbed slowly and carefully, making sure there was enough room for me and one of the helpers to climb in next to him.
Once we’d arrived at the hospital, Marshall had been taken to emergency immediately because he’d been unconscious for so long. Even though I was injured, I’d been directed to the waiting area because I was awake and coherent enough to follow directions.
I sat there long enough to watch a never-ending stream of patients bustle through the doors. Some were badly injured, enough that they were treated the same way as Marshall, rushed by triage nurses and doctors to the emergency rooms. Others were in a similar state as me, walking wounded who could wait until a doctor was free long enough to see us. Then there were those who were uninjured family members and friends who had driven those who couldn’t transport themselves.
Eventually, I’d convinced one of the nurses to let me back to sit with Marshall even though I hadn’t been seen yet.
I hadn’t wanted him to wake up alone.
Admittedly, it had taken a little white lie and some fast-talking to force their hands. I hoped Marshall wouldn’t be too angry with me when he woke up.
And hewouldwake up.
I just didn’t knowwhen.
“Mr. Porter?”
Reluctantly, I dragged my eyes away from Marshall’s motionless face to find a stern older female doctor in a crisp white coat standing in the doorway, her forehead lined with worry and a clipboard in her hand.
“Which one?” I asked, exhausted, before I returned my gaze back to my currently fake husband. With every passing minutethat Marshall lay there unresponsive, the more convinced I was that he would become my very real husband in the very near future.
I heard a rustle of paperwork before she responded, “I’m looking for one Daniel Porter.”
A small sigh left my lips. She’d better not try to relocate me. The last person that had tried had been lucky to leave the room without a black eye. I wasn’t leaving Marshall, no matter what they said. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“I’ve been sent to assess you.”
“Mm?” Was that a twitch I felt from Marshall’s fingers or just wishful thinking?
More rustling of paper, and the distinct noise of soft footsteps getting closer. “I’m sorry for the delay in seeing a doctor. We’ve been slammed.”
“Mm.” Just wishful thinking. He hadn’t done it again.
With a rattle, she dropped her clipboard to the tray table that I’d moved out of the way so I could sit closer to Marshall. “It says here that you were brought in a few hours ago after losing consciousness as a result of being caught up in the tornado. What else can you tell me?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her pull up the other chair in the room and move it to the edge of Marshall’s bed before slumping into it. She reached forward to gently brush Marshall’s forehead before pulling back and pressing her fingers into her temple and rubbing gently.
The movement seemed too personable for a hospital doctor, so I turned my head enough to study her.
She looked as tired as I felt.
A rush of shameful sympathy ran through me. With what I’d seen in emergency, it only made sense that all the doctors and nurses on duty would be exhausted. And here I was, being rude and obnoxious by basically ignoring her.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “It’s been a long day.”
She pushed her chair back before dropping her hands into her lap as the corners of her lips lifted gently up a tiny amount. “I could imagine.” She leaned forward slightly, enough for her elbows to rest on her knees. “I’m sorry too. I should have introduced myself. I’m Dr. Christine Jack. Did you want to tell me about it?”
Returning my attention to Marshall, I released an amused puff of air. “Not really, but that doesn’t help you assess me, does it?”
“No,” she responded quietly. “I guess it doesn’t.”
Wishing for the millionth time that Marshall was awake, I sighed and closed my eyes before I took a long breath in to settle my thoughts enough so I could answer her. “Marshall and I got caught in the twister. It hit our house just as we reached our underground storm shelter, but we weren’t quick enough. The winds caught us and threw us both down the stairs. I hit my head halfway down and blacked out. I don’t know how long I was out for, but my daughter could tell you when she gets here. From what she’s told me, Marshall landed wrong when we got to the bottom of the stairs and hit the ground hard enough that the back of his head started bleeding. He's been unconscious ever since.”
She didn’t respond for a moment, presumably absorbing what I told her. “Would you like me to look at your husband’s chart?”
My eyes flew open, immediately seeking hers out. “Could you? The others… I think they’ve been too busy to tell me much.” Or too homophobic. Those who lived in Rockdale were good to LGBTQIA+ people, but that didn’t mean surrounding towns and residents were.
That tiny smile played at her lips again when she nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t know what to do if something like this happened to my wife.”
