Instability, Chapter 5
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Instability Chapter 5a
After giving nurse Suzie explicit instructions to page you if anything changes, you exit the NICU and spot Wilson leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. Hearing the door click shut, he jerks his head in your direction and you know by the look on his face that he sees the red tinge to your eyes.
“I’m gonna…” you start, pointing with your thumb toward the restroom, trying to convey your message without having to speak the rest. “I’ll…be back in a minute,” you say, limping away hurriedly before Wilson has the chance to reply.
You open the door to the staff bathroom, relieved that it’s a single person stall. You quickly flip the latch to lock the door and then lean back against it with your eyes squeezed shut. After taking a few slow, deep breaths, you open your eyes to see yourself in the mirror. You hang your cane on a hook that's attached to the wall and slowly limp over to the sink to get a closer look.
Your cheeks are blotchy, and your eyes are glassy, bloodshot and swollen with dark, puffy circles underneath, unmistakable evidence that you’ve been crying.
You look old. You feel old. And you feel like shit.
You can’t remember ever feeling this exhausted, this drained…even back in your days as an intern when you were on your feet for 36 hours straight.
You turn the faucet on, lean over the sink, and splash cold water on your face a few times. It feels ridiculously good right now.
Grabbing a handful of paper towels, you pat your face dry and check the mirror again.
Not much better, you think.
You square your shoulders and straighten up, trying to pull yourself together. But you’re not fooling anyone, including yourself.
You unlock the door and return to the hallway to meet Wilson, who appears to have fallen asleep while standing, slumped against the wall with his head tilted back and eyes closed. The heavy thud of your cane and uneven gait startle him and he opens his brown eyes to find your bloodshot ones gazing over at him.
“Ready?” he asks, scrubbing a hand over his face before pushing off the wall.
You give a nod, which is quickly becoming your default response, and start walking alongside Wilson down the hall toward the elevator.
Only after you’re inside the private confines of the elevator does Wilson begin to relay his conversation with your mother.
“I got a hold of your mom,” he tells you. “She’s going to try and get the first available flight out of Louisville. She said she’d call once she had the flight information.”
You let out a quiet sigh, almost one of relief, because you don’t think you’ve ever been more…excited?...about seeing your mother. You actually can’t wait for the moment you see her and her gentle arms embrace you in a warm hug.
“How’d she, you know, take everything?” you ask, unable to hide the edge of concern in your voice.
Wilson puffs out his cheeks and lets out the air slowly. “She sounded pretty upset, worried,” he says, wrinkling his forehead and twitching those bushy eyebrows of his. “She…started crying.”
You close your eyes and wince, picturing your mom crying over her beloved daughter-in-law and her only grandchild.
“She’s worried about Allison, and the baby, about her being born so early.” You can hear the pause before he continues. “And she’s worried about…you, how you’re handling everything.”
You drop your eyes to the elevator floor and run a rough hand across your tired face, pinching the bridge of your nose.
The elevator finally dings and, glancing up, you see the number for the ICU floor glowing above the elevator door.
“House?” You see Wilson already standing outside of the elevator, waiting for you to join him.
But you ignore the concern in his voice and don’t answer. Instead, you hobble out of the elevator and keep your eyes cast downward, following the direction of Wilson’s footsteps.
Soon, the hub of the nurses’ station comes into view and you immediately look up to inspect your surroundings. The ICU is a big space of open rooms curving around the nurses’ station so that staff can easily see or hear if a patient’s going sour quickly. Privacy isn’t a top priority in intensive care and most of the patients are within your line of vision. Your eyes begin to frantically dart around the room, searching for someone young, for someone with chestnut brown locks, for Allison.
And then you see her. Your eyes lock onto a lifeless body, a little farther down the hall, with long brown hair spilling over the pillow and a youthful face obstructed by the ventilator tube sprouting from between her soft lips, and you know it’s her.
You forget Wilson and start limping down the hall with purpose.
To be continued.....
Instability Chapter 5a
After giving nurse Suzie explicit instructions to page you if anything changes, you exit the NICU and spot Wilson leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. Hearing the door click shut, he jerks his head in your direction and you know by the look on his face that he sees the red tinge to your eyes.
“I’m gonna…” you start, pointing with your thumb toward the restroom, trying to convey your message without having to speak the rest. “I’ll…be back in a minute,” you say, limping away hurriedly before Wilson has the chance to reply.
You open the door to the staff bathroom, relieved that it’s a single person stall. You quickly flip the latch to lock the door and then lean back against it with your eyes squeezed shut. After taking a few slow, deep breaths, you open your eyes to see yourself in the mirror. You hang your cane on a hook that's attached to the wall and slowly limp over to the sink to get a closer look.
Your cheeks are blotchy, and your eyes are glassy, bloodshot and swollen with dark, puffy circles underneath, unmistakable evidence that you’ve been crying.
You look old. You feel old. And you feel like shit.
You can’t remember ever feeling this exhausted, this drained…even back in your days as an intern when you were on your feet for 36 hours straight.
You turn the faucet on, lean over the sink, and splash cold water on your face a few times. It feels ridiculously good right now.
Grabbing a handful of paper towels, you pat your face dry and check the mirror again.
Not much better, you think.
You square your shoulders and straighten up, trying to pull yourself together. But you’re not fooling anyone, including yourself.
You unlock the door and return to the hallway to meet Wilson, who appears to have fallen asleep while standing, slumped against the wall with his head tilted back and eyes closed. The heavy thud of your cane and uneven gait startle him and he opens his brown eyes to find your bloodshot ones gazing over at him.
“Ready?” he asks, scrubbing a hand over his face before pushing off the wall.
You give a nod, which is quickly becoming your default response, and start walking alongside Wilson down the hall toward the elevator.
Only after you’re inside the private confines of the elevator does Wilson begin to relay his conversation with your mother.
“I got a hold of your mom,” he tells you. “She’s going to try and get the first available flight out of Louisville. She said she’d call once she had the flight information.”
You let out a quiet sigh, almost one of relief, because you don’t think you’ve ever been more…excited?...about seeing your mother. You actually can’t wait for the moment you see her and her gentle arms embrace you in a warm hug.
“How’d she, you know, take everything?” you ask, unable to hide the edge of concern in your voice.
Wilson puffs out his cheeks and lets out the air slowly. “She sounded pretty upset, worried,” he says, wrinkling his forehead and twitching those bushy eyebrows of his. “She…started crying.”
You close your eyes and wince, picturing your mom crying over her beloved daughter-in-law and her only grandchild.
“She’s worried about Allison, and the baby, about her being born so early.” You can hear the pause before he continues. “And she’s worried about…you, how you’re handling everything.”
You drop your eyes to the elevator floor and run a rough hand across your tired face, pinching the bridge of your nose.
The elevator finally dings and, glancing up, you see the number for the ICU floor glowing above the elevator door.
“House?” You see Wilson already standing outside of the elevator, waiting for you to join him.
But you ignore the concern in his voice and don’t answer. Instead, you hobble out of the elevator and keep your eyes cast downward, following the direction of Wilson’s footsteps.
Soon, the hub of the nurses’ station comes into view and you immediately look up to inspect your surroundings. The ICU is a big space of open rooms curving around the nurses’ station so that staff can easily see or hear if a patient’s going sour quickly. Privacy isn’t a top priority in intensive care and most of the patients are within your line of vision. Your eyes begin to frantically dart around the room, searching for someone young, for someone with chestnut brown locks, for Allison.
And then you see her. Your eyes lock onto a lifeless body, a little farther down the hall, with long brown hair spilling over the pillow and a youthful face obstructed by the ventilator tube sprouting from between her soft lips, and you know it’s her.
You forget Wilson and start limping down the hall with purpose.
To be continued.....