34 Seconds (27 page)

Rebecca and I held guard at the baseboard on the edge of the room. We could hear voices, but we couldn’t really tell what they were saying. After a few minutes, I heard Will say, “I can do it!” Again, my life as a mother with young children flashed into my head. Will was angry and strong willed. He couldn’t accept he had been stuck on the bathroom floor for almost an hour now, and there was no way he could have gotten up alone; or he would have by now.

More voices, questions, my dad and Brian bantering back and forth. I assumed they were coming up with a plan, but what I couldn’t understand was why they just weren’t getting Will out of the bathroom.

Ten minutes into their conversation, I heard a scream. Rebecca and I both jumped. It was worse than we thought. Was he hurt? Did we miss something? We had just assumed he was too weak to get up, but with a couple of guys on each side, he should be up and getting comfortable in the bed in no time.

More moaning came out of the bathroom. Another scream, and then Dad came out. He looked like he was beat already. Whatever he was seeing was affecting him like I’d never seen before.

“Girls, I’m afraid Will’s skin is so sensitive it hurts him to be touched. We tried lifting him, Brian with a leg and an arm and me with a leg and arm, but he hurt. Then we tried getting under his arms, but he screamed again. He’s in a lot of pain.”

Rebecca started shaking through her sobs. I put my arm back around her and looked at Dad. No time for emotions, this was serious business, and I’d felt sorry for Will and for myself long enough.

“Dad, if I can get a blanket, can you roll him onto it?”

“Maybe, honey, I don’t know. I’ll try. Go get a blanket, and I’ll tell Brian the plan.”

I kissed Rebecca’s forehead, squeezed her arm, and left the room. On my bed was a burgundy blanket. When I crawled into bed the night before, I was thinking I’d sleep all night every night if I had a blanket as soft. I lay in bed with it wrapped around my body before I got hot and needed to fall asleep. Its warmth filled my body, covered me, rose from under and soaked into me. I was looking forward to using it again that night. But Will needed it. More than anything, he’d need something soft on his sensitive, translucent skin.

I wrapped it around myself as if I were wrapping Will’s arms around me while I walked down the two hallways leading to the parlor where Will lay waiting for something healing. I unwrapped myself and handed it to my Dad.

“I think it might be better for Will if you two gave us some space. He’s really hurting. He’s still naked, but with the robe covering him. Well…it just might be easier for you and for him, if you left the room for a bit. We’re going to try to get him out of the bathroom, but I’m not sure how far he’ll let us take him.” Dad looked at us sympathetically, but also with conviction. Rebecca and I had to leave and let the boys do their jobs.

I wasn’t sure just how they managed to get Will onto the blanket, but Rebecca and I heard a lot of moans, crying, and screaming while they did it. I stood in the hall with my arms wrapped around Rebecca, each of us feeling hopeless, and poured all my positive energy into the ever so soft burgundy blanket. I willed it to provide comfort for Will, to warm him, protect his skin, and help him to relax. Each time I thought of the minutes reaching over an hour he lay on the floor alone, cold, hurting, and unable to help himself, my body shook and tears dropped onto my cheeks. Rebecca looked scared. When Dad stepped into the hallway and told us to come into the parlor, we looked at each other and paused, not knowing what we’d see. On the floor, Will was lying on a meadow of burgundy. His robe, also burgundy, was somehow on his body, not just covering him, but wrapped around him, providing comfort, warmth, and restoring his modesty. He looked serene. Calm even. Comfortable. Like he could just throw on a movie, pop some popcorn, and enjoy an evening of ease in his own home. Only he also looked frail. Tired. Older. His arms were thin, bearing saggy, almost translucent skin. His once thick head of hair with curls spiraling down to his ears and face at one time was also thin and wild, like he’d gone for a long and leisurely drive with his head out the window. His face was hollow and had aged several years. He was looking older than my father. He reminded me of his grandfather. It was like looking into a scrapbook of a man who was born long ago. None of him looked like Will. Not my Will.

I blinked away tears. No time for emotions. We had business to take care of there. The four of us talked about how we would get him out of the parlor, down the hallway, and into his hospital bed in the living room which now seemed miles away. We were standing over him talking about him as if he weren’t there, right in front of us. It hit me he was probably lying down there, grateful, but embarrassed and worrying about the responsibility we now carried – for him. I dropped to my knees and started rubbing his hair like I did with my children when they were not feeling well. I didn’t want him to feel like we were treating him like an old piece of furniture we needed to maneuver down closed spaces. He was my friend, Rebecca’s husband, my old lover, my one time future, and he needed to know he was not a burden. He was still loved, and we’d do this as respectfully as we could. He was weak, too weak to move, tired from the trauma in the bathroom, probably in pain from not taking his medicines overnight.

After much thought and discussion, we decided to roll the corners of the blanket a bit and each grab a corner to carry Will down the hallway. We wanted to make sure we didn’t touch him in any way. The blanket would protect his skin, and we hoped it was indeed strong enough to hold his light-weight body as we carried him. We all picked a corner, Rebecca and I at his feet and the men at his head. The rational thought was if Rebecca and I were to drop him, his head would be protected. We made our way through the parlor and gently turned the corner out of the room and into the hallway. Again I was certain I was blocking all emotion, but then, while looking down at Will, one of my tears dropped onto his robe, spreading into a dark circle. I looked up at Rebecca. Her chin was quivering, she was biting her bottom lip, trying to keep her emotions detached from the task at hand. Our eyes met, and we both lost composure. I knew Will could hear our sobs now. Rebecca’s face was red and wet, her tears spilling onto her sleeves. The look we gave one another said the same thing: our hearts were breaking. This was a man we both loved. The look also said we were both committed to him, and it meant being committed to each other as well. It was exactly what Will had wanted.

Walking down the hallway, the air felt heavier than ever. Will moaned more the longer the journey to the living room took. Once we finally made it to the living room, we gently lowered him to the floor. It wasn’t much space as the height we were carrying him had dropped over the time it took to get down the hallway. We talked about getting him onto the bed, but in the end, decided he was too tired, we were too tired, and lifting him that high was quite a risk. We decided to leave him on the floor until the hospice nurse came by for her morning visit. We figured it would be about an hour or more before then, and we all could use the rest.

Rebecca and I unrolled the blanket and sat next to Will, both near his head. Suddenly I felt intrusive. I looked around, and Dad was sitting on a chair nearby, Brian was sitting on the floor near Will’s feet. I got up a few times and paced the room, feeling like I could hear an EMT nearby saying, “Give him some room!”

I walked to the kitchen, brought his medicines out and said to everyone, “He’s been through a lot. It’s way past time for his medicines. I think we should try to make him more comfortable with some morphine, maybe the others.” I looked at Rebecca for help. I was trying to get Brian and Dad to back off, step away or go away, but goodness, they had just helped us out for the past two hours, and I just wanted them gone. I didn’t know how to say it. “Maybe we can just give him some room?” I ended with a question of course.

Dad walked outside, probably to smoke. I didn’t think he’d leave the house just yet, knowing we’d need to get Will up onto the bed, but he knew how to take a hint. Brian moved to the couch on the other side of the room.

The room grew quiet, and Will drifted off to sleep. Rebecca took the medicines back to the kitchen. We decided we’d wait until the nurse arrived for those too.

After a few minutes, he woke, angry. “I don’t want to be here. I want to sleep. Just leave me alone!” He was looking right at me.

“You don’t want to be where, Will? We didn’t think it was a good idea to try to put you in the bed. I’m afraid we’ll hurt you.” I was shocked. He’d yelled again – at me.

“Stop talking to me like I’m a child! I want to go to sleep, dammit!”

Rebecca chimed in this time. “Will, it’s time to take your medicine. Maybe you can take it and then go to sleep. You haven’t had any in a long time, and moving you out of the bathroom was hard on your body. Will you take some medicine?”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” Will was still looking at me. I wasn’t even talking. I didn’t think I could even muster up words if I had to. I was bawling again. Caring for him was extremely difficult, but having him yell at me, be angry with me was even harder. I thought I was doing the best I could do, the best we all could do. For him. But he was still angry.

I got up, went to the kitchen, splashed water on my face, and came back with a box of tissues and his syringe of morphine.

Kneeling down next to him, I held it out and looked at Rebecca for help. I’d forgotten the ginger ale. She read my mind. “Can you pour some out first, Rebecca?”

She nodded, grabbed a tissue from the box I had, and walked into the kitchen.

“Will, can you take some morphine? It’ll make you feel better, and it might even help you sleep.” I could tell the tone of my voice was different, raised an octave.

“I’m not a child! Stop talking to me like I don’t know anything!”

I knew I had to make a conscious effort to not talk down to him. These were still his choices after all, and I was trying to talk him into doing something I wanted him to do.

Rebecca came in with the ginger ale, and Will tried to move toward her. He winced and gave up. “Fine! Dammit. I’ll take the damned shit tasting shit.”

I moved to put the syringe into his mouth for him, and he snatched it out of my hand. “I’ll do it!” He said, acting much like a toddler wanting to do something on his own for a change. He struggled with the syringe plunger, just as he had done the day before, and then he handed it to me. It was a huge step in accepting his own limits. I put it in his cheek and slowly squeezed the liquid into his mouth. Rebecca was quick to follow with the straw from the ginger ale can. After some noises of disgust, Will grew quiet and looked peaceful.

“Hey, girls?” Dad was standing in the doorway of the living room and foyer. “Someone’s here.”

“Hospice, Dad. It’s probably the hospice nurse. Can you let her in, please?”

Wendy walked in and looked at Will on the floor, wrapped in a burgundy robe and lying on a big burgundy blanket. She looked at Rebecca and then me. “What’re ya’ll doin’? Having a picnic in here? A slumber party?” she sounded almost cheery.

We quickly told her the story, leaving out the painful details, of Will’s trip out of the bathroom.

Wendy sat on the floor next to Will. “Well, well, Mr. Will. Didn’t you just get yourself in some predicament? It is quite the quandary we have here. How ya feeling, dawlin’? You doing okay?” While Wendy was talking to him, she took Will’s vitals and rubbed his arm, which made me flinch knowing just how sensitive his skin was, but Will didn’t seem to mind. He smiled at Wendy. She looked at Rebecca and me and simply said, “So we’ll just have to get him up into his bed, then.”

“We carried him out here on the blanket, but we’re not sure if we can lift him high enough to get him on the bed. He just took his morphine, so hopefully it will kick in pretty quickly, but he’s hurting.” I wasn’t sure how to handle the task.

Wendy looked around. “I think the men can handle it. I’ll show you how to wrap him so he’s secure, and it’s easier to lift him.” She walked around Will, pulling the blanket up around him. As she walked around, she rolled the blanket on each side. Will was covered, with only his head sticking out. He looked like a papoose, or a burrito. After she had him covered and the sides rolled, she rolled each end of the blanket tight. Now he resembled a Tootsie Roll. Looking at my dad and Brian, she said, “Now if each of ya’ll could get on each end, you should just be able to pick him right up and lift him high enough to get up on the bed. The girls and I will walk along-side of him as you get him on. We can put our hand under him if we have to, but after hearing how much his skin hurts, I only want to do it if we have to. Okay, girls?”

Rebecca and I got up and moved out of the way of the men, but stayed right next to Will and Wendy, offering our arms if they should need help lifting Will higher. My father was 63 years old, but he and Brian managed to lift Will higher than we all had before and slowly walked him to the hospital bed. Once they got him on the bed, Wendy worked on getting Will freed from the tight candy wrapper he was in. “He might get hot, but we’ll wait a little while before removing the blanket from under him. He might move around enough in his sleep, and we can get it out easier then.”

I sat on the floor next to his bed for a while after he’d settled down. Dad came by and hugged me quietly, then left. We didn’t have to say anything. I could tell he was touched, hurting even, and his hug told me I didn’t even have to give him thanks. It could wait, and who knew what else I might need to thank him for later. Rebecca came over and sat next to me. She held a coffee cup in each hand. “It’s almost one o’clock, hon, we haven’t even had coffee today. Or breakfast. Or lunch. We’re not doing a fantastic job taking care of ourselves, are we?”

I took the cup of coffee. “Thank you so much, Rebecca. I had no idea it was that late.”

“Wendy is just checking our supplies, and calling in his status to the central nurses’ station. She reminded me to eat and told me to tell you the same thing. We’ll be not much better off than Will if we can’t care for ourselves too.”