In Your Embrace (11 page)

ELEVEN

Moving On

Hannah notices the monitor hanging on a silver pole beside her when she opens her eyes.  It beeps every once in a while, not so fast that it drives her mad but enough to remind her of where she is.  A large window consumes the wall to her right, letting in copious amounts of natural light.  The pale green curtain that separates her from the other patient is drawn around to give her privacy.

The TV mounted on the wall remains void of life just as it has these past few weeks.
 The remote hangs beside her, the cord wrapped twice around the handrail, but she makes no effort to reach for it.  Instead she sits, staring out at the world around her.

From the fifth floor she can nearly see the ocean.
 The hint of blue on the horizon calls to her.  She longs to feel the waves crashing against her shins, to feel the sand between her toes, but she feels nothing.  Nothing at all below the waist.

When she awoke from her surgery, she was groggy.
 Memories of her time spent buried under the church came flooding back over the first couple of days.  The doctors kept her sedated for the first week to help her body heal and her mind to begin to accept the changes.  It was a very emotional time for her, though much of that stress was brought on by the sudden appearance of her parents.

She doesn’t blame Claire for making the call.
 It was the right decision, but that doesn’t stop Hannah from wishing that she hadn’t.  Her mom was beside herself when she first walked in to find Hannah strung up in traction, her entire lower half wrapped in plaster.  Her father had been grim faced right up until he boiled over and began shouting at the nursing staff for being incompetent.

No number of apologies could make up for her father’s appalling behavior.
 All the while Claire stood to the side, her shoulders slumped and her head drooped.  She was exhausted and rightfully so.  For days she had pulled around the clock vigils, switching out between Hannah’s room and her husband’s.

The only bright spot in Hannah’s week came when Claire announced earlier that morning that Andrew was ready to be released.
 There is to be a small gathering today in Hannah’s room to celebrate, but she has no doubt the party will be less than cheerful.  Her parents will see to that.  They always manage to remind everyone who enters the room that Hannah is disabled and should be treated as such.

Anger simmers deep in her chest as she stares up at the clear blue sky above.
 
I don’t consider myself to be disabled, but even if I am, it doesn’t change who I am.  Why can’t they see that?

Despite her attempts to convince her parents otherwise, Hannah isn’t distraught over her diagnosis.
 Sure, it hurts.  She wouldn’t be truthful if she didn’t admit to that, but if given the chance to go back and change her actions, Hannah knows she would make the same choice. It’s who she is.  Who God created her to be.  To deny that would be a grave injustice.

But knowing who you are and accepting a fate like this isn’t so easy.  Hannah spent several days in willful seclusion, embracing the dark, wallowing in self-pity.  It’s not like her to do so, but this once she felt it justified.  After a week she began to come to terms with the loss of her legs, though even then she’s not entirely sure that the truth of her paralysis has fully sunk in.

When a knock sounds at her door, she turns away from the window as the door swings open. She holds her breath, hoping that Timothy will have finally come to visit her.  He has yet to do so but she has felt him watching over her.  Claire says that he comes to check on her daily but guilt holds him back.  If only she could have the chance to tell him that she doesn’t blame him.  That she is grateful for how hard he fought to save her life.  Surely he knows she wouldn’t be here today without him.

Hannah tries to hide her disappointment when Dr. Martin steps around the curtain. “Ah, you’re awake. Good.
 I was hoping we could speak for a moment if you are up to it.”

Hannah smiles and presses the button on her bed to help raise her head up so that she is seated.
 “Of course.  It’s always nice to see you.”

Dr. Martin winks at her and drags a wheeled stool closer to the side of her bed.
 “I wish all my patients were as positive as you.”

Hannah’s smile freezes for a moment before she lowers her gaze.
 “I have my moments when I don’t feel very cheerful.”

The doctor places his hand upon her forearm.
 His gaze is kind as she turns to look at him.  “It’s ok to admit that you’re afraid, Hannah.  No one will think less of you for it.  You’ve been through a lot these past few weeks.”

She nods, knowing all too well what she has been through.  She doesn’t like to talk about it with anyone. Especially not with the therapist that comes to see her each morning.  Mrs. Henna seems like a very nice lady but Hannah would rather keep her thoughts to herself.  Even Claire has sensed her need to hold back and has made every attempt to give Hannah the space she needs.

“So how am I doing?”

“Well,” he leans back and flips through her chart, “your last scan shows that the swelling in your lower abdomen and around your spine has improved.
 It looks like you’re starting to heal nicely.  In a few weeks, we’ll be able to remove some of this casting.  In time, we’ll start you in therapy to help rebuild your muscle tone.”

“And if I don’t regain feeling in my legs?”

He closes the folder and places it across his lap.  “I won’t lie and say that this is a very great possibility.  We are still unsure if this paralysis is permanent.  All we can do is pray for the best.”

Hannah looks down at her toes poking out from the ends of the plaster.
 No matter how hard she focuses on them she can’t make them twitch. The effort is maddening, and yet to not try is even more so.

“Do you think I will ever walk again?”

“If anyone deserves a miracle, I’d say it’s you.” Dr. Martin smiles as he rises to his feet and eases the stool back.  “I’ll check in on you a bit later.”

“Thanks,” she mutters as he retreats from the room.

A miracle?  What are the chances of that happening?

Hannah rests her hands on top of the plaster cast, feeling the scratchy surface against her palms.
 She touches the skin just above her hips and feels nothing. Tears escape from her eyes as she slowly prods her way up from her waist.  It’s not until she reaches an inch above her belly button that she feels the first hint of pressure.

I don’t understand, God,
she thinks as she lets her hand fall away.  A single tear slips from her eye. 
I had so many things that I still wanted to do.  I wanted to travel.  To help people.  How am I supposed to do that when you’ve allowed me to become so broken?

The rapid staccato of high heels reaches her moments before the door to her room swings open. Hannah’s arms fall to her sides as she closes her eyes and pretends to be asleep.

“Hannah?  Are you awake?” her mother asks in a whispered tone.

She doesn’t move, instead she focuses on keeping her breathing steady.
 Her mother approaches and touches her arm.  She allows herself to stir but appears to remain locked in her dream world, though she nearly gives up the ruse when she hears her mother’s sigh. The footsteps retreat again, but she doesn’t leave the room. Her mother pauses on the other side of the curtain.

“She’s resting,” Hannah hears her say.
 She can tell by the tension in her voice that her mother is upset.  It doesn’t take much to upset Helen Green.  She seems to live in a constant state of drama, most of which she manages to create for herself.

“Good.
 That’s what she needs most.”  Hannah can hear the weariness in her Aunt Claire’s voice.  “It’s best not to distress her with these matters anyways.”

“Distress?” Hannah’s father snaps.
 She hadn’t realized he had entered the room too.  This can’t be a good sign.  “What exactly is supposed to be so distressing about going home?”

Home?
 
Hannah cracks her eyes open but can see nothing but a glimpse of her father’s shoes beneath the drawn curtain.

“Charles, you know Hannah needs to remain here.
 Her doctors are confident they can provide the best care for her.”

“There are plenty of qualified doctors in California,” he responds curtly.
 Hannah watches as he shifts with agitation. It doesn’t take much to set him off, especially when he senses that he’s not getting his way.

“I know,” Claire tries to soothe, “but Dr. Martin advised against moving her.
 She’s still in a very fragile state.  The ambulance ride across the country is simply not an option.”

“Of course not.
 I intend to fly her home.”

“Fly?
 The poor girl is in a partial body cast. How do you expect her to make the journey?”

Hannah can hear her aunt’s frustration mounting and is grateful for it.
  She doesn’t want to go home where her mother will dote over her with endless nagging and primping, and her father will drive her up the wall, hinting strongly that she needs to recover in time to be ready for the spring semester.

“I can care for her here.
 Once she’s recovered well enough she can come home with me.  It’s only for a few months,” Claire reasons.

Months…
it all sounds so terribly long.  With each day that passes Hannah begins to wonder if the pain from her wounds will ever catch up with her.  If it doesn’t, will that mean that she is fated to spend her life in a wheelchair?

“Out of the question!”
 Her father’s immediate rebuttal cuts into Hannah’s thoughts.  “You have your own life and worries to attend to, Claire.  Your husband needs your attention.”

Hannah watches as her aunt’s sandaled feet plant firmly on the ground.
 She grins, knowing that her aunt is not going to back down.  “I know my limits, Charles.  That girl in there means the world to me and I’m not about to do anything that will put her at risk.  Being here, with these doctors, is what is best for her.  I had hoped that you would be capable of seeing reason in the matter, but obviously you haven’t learned a darned thing about putting other people’s needs first!”

Her father splutters but Claire continues.
 “Have you even stopped to ask Hannah what she wants?  Where she wants to be?  If she is even physically or mentally ready to be moved?”

“Claire,” Hannah’s mother inserts, “this isn’t really her decision to make. We are her parents—“

“And she’s a grown woman, Helen, or have you failed to realize that?  When are you two ever going to stop treating her like a child and let her make her own path in life?”

“This isn’t the time or p
lace for this conversation—” her father’s heel lifts off the ground and turns slightly.  Hannah can picture him leaning toward the door, peering out to see if they have been overheard airing this dirty laundry.

“No, Charles.
 It’s never the right time to hear the truth, is it?” Claire presses.  Hannah grins, hearing the fire in her aunt’s voice.

“Claire!” Helen gasps.

“No.” Claire stands her ground.  “I’ve been quiet about this for far too long.  Hannah deserves the right to choose what is best for her and I’m sick and tired of watching you walk all over her.  She has every right to choose her own path in life, even if it’s in the opposite direction of both of you!”

If she wasn’t afraid of being seen, Hannah would pump her fists in celebration of her aunt’s boldness in this moment.
 It’s a rare thing for Claire to speak so frankly, and Hannah loves her all the more for it.

“I’m not going,” she says aloud.
 Claire rounds the curtain first with a knowing look on her face. Hannah offers her a tight smile before looking at her parents over her aunt’s shoulder.

“What do you mean you’re not going?” her mother protests, clutching her throat.
 “You need to be home…with us.”

“Precisely,” her father nods curtly in agreement.

Hannah takes a deep breath before speaking.  “I appreciate that you want to take care of me, but I want to stay here.  I like Dr. Martin.  He’s been good to me, and I like the nurses here.  They are very kind and I’ve grown fond of them.  I don’t want to go to some new place.  I feel at home here, with Claire and Uncle Andrew.”

Her father’s face reddens.
 “Your uncle is hardly in any condition to help care for you.”

She tries not to notice how her father’s words cut at Claire.
 Instead, she holds her father’s gaze in a way she has never done before.  “It’s my decision and I’ve made it.  I’m staying here.”

Her
mother glances toward her husband, her face pale and her hands showing a slight tremble.  Her mother has always had a weaker emotional state.  She’s a crier and has learned the power of tears over the years, but Hannah has learned a thing or two about how to ignore them.

“Mom, I know that you want what’s best for me.”