*
*
We find out about it eight weeks before my due date.
It was December and cold, the trees were bare and a sheet of ice covered the entire city, making everything seem delicate and breakable. I remember being snapped into wakefulness early that morning, in the blackness before dawn by tiny limbs stretching and fluttering inside me.
My belly loomed before me, anchoring me to the bed, but with much effort I got up to use the bathroom and reluctantly padded to the kitchen. I made coffee and watched it stream into the pot, making little exploding puffs. I poured myself some and nursed the mug in my hands until Jim woke from his deep winter sleep and joined me.
He was half awake, face crumpled, hair sticking up in every direction. He came around the kitchen table and placed a small peck on my cheek and lightheartedly admonished our little one for waking me up so early. He poured himself coffee, yawning and desperately rubbing sleep off his eyes.
Outside, the sky was becoming lighter, but everything was still brittle in the extreme cold. Jim complained about the onset of a headache, but we didn’t make much of it. He took some ibuprofen (or was it acetaminophen?) and brushed it off. I have headaches all the time. I teased about him having sympathy pains.
Morning dawned and we got ready and left for work, but his headache still persisted. And as the day rolled by, everything became a nuisance to him; even the fluorescence lights were blatantly attacking him. It got to a point that he was unable to support the weight of his throbbing head up. But, he was Jim, a guy, and against my counsel, he toughened it out instead of just taking the day off.
“Pam I need to save up all the vacation days for when the baby comes,” he told me. “What kind of person would I be if I wasted it on a headache?”
“A wimpy person,” I joked, though I just really wished we had gone home.
“That’s what I’m saying.”
He kissed my chapped lips and assured me he was fine. That he would be fine.
Five o’clock finally came around and he couldn’t wait to leave. When we arrived home, he immediately climbed the stairs and relinquished to the bedroom, where he slept until late that evening. I frowned because that’s uncharacteristic of Jim. I checked on him every so often, but he wasn’t running a fever and there were no signs of a cold taking root in him.
But at a quarter past ten, I climbed the stair one last time and creeped inside our room as quietly as I could. I sat next to his wilted form on the bed and ran my fingers through his hair, trying to gently pull him away from this deep slumber. After receiving zero response from him, I moved my hand to his arms and chest, carefully nudging him awake. He eventually stirred and his arm went immediately to cover his eyes to shut out any flicker of light.
“Jim?”
“Uhmm?” He hummed from a place deep in his throat.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Myheadisexploding,” he mumbled.
“Your head is what?”
“Explooodinnng.”
I pulled at the arm concealing his face and I will never forget how bloodshot his eyes were. Not only that, but his face was ghostly pale. Jim looked as though he’s about to pass out.
“Jim?” I gasped. “Is it really that bad?”
He nodded.
I began to panic and stumble over my words. “We need...ummm…. D-do you want to go to the hospital?” I suggested.
He nodded again.
That was when my heart sank to the pit of my stomach. My mind couldn’t make sense of this. Jim would never concede to being taken to the hospital, unless it was something serious. Last summer, I begged him to go to the emergency room after he cut himself on the grill, but like a macho man, he wrapped it up and walked it off.
For him to be willing to go, he’s got to be in extreme pain.
“Okay, C’mon,” I said helping him sit up. “Can you walk?” I tried supporting him up but his body was heavy and limp and my belly kept getting in the way.
“Yeah… I can walk,” he said almost breathlessly.
I grabbed my purse, threw on some clothes and off we were.
It was quite a challenge for me to drive. Jim kept asking if the baby was okay, if I wasn’t squishing it or anything. He was also telling me to slow down because, I confess, I was way over the speed limit. It didn’t help that there was no one out at that hour.
Jim kept his cool, mostly for me, I know—even under extreme pain Jim will always be my Jim. The last thing he wanted, I'm sure, was for me to go into preterm-labor—he’s read and told me all about it.
When we arrived at the hospital a nurse immediately asked if I that I was in labor. I said no and told her my husband was having a severe headache. She looked at Jim’s morbid façade and gave me various forms for him to fill out and sign. Then more papers and more questionnaires and other insurance forms followed … I just know that I was getting a headache after all they had us fill out.
Jim was very quiet, dismal even, just nodding and gingerly signing his name. His eyelids seemed to be loaded with sand and it looked almost unbearable for him to keep his eyes open. Under the hospital fluorescent lights, his skin appeared dead white and his demeanor had shriveled like that of an introverted child.
“Feeling better?” I asked hopefully, but I could tell it wasn’t any better.
“Not really,” he replied.
“Do you want something to drink? Water?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Gatorade?”
He shook his head, laid it on my shoulder, and the waiting game began. I knew that it was ‘just’ a headache and the doctors were probably busy on more urgent cases, but I was becoming impatient and the little one inside me was too. At one point Jim felt it poke him on his side.
“Hey there,” he said, never lifting his head off my shoulder. He placed a hand on my belly and lazily rubbed it. “We’ll be home soon, kay?”
I smiled and ran my fingers through his hair. I knew he was worrying about me. “I’m okay.”
“I know.”
“Headache getting any better?”
“I don’t know. I might have gotten used to it.”
I kissed the top of his head and sighed. “Maybe, it’s getting better.”
Before he could reply, his body convulsed forward and the little he had eaten throughout the day spilled onto the hospital’s white tiled floor. He kept dry-heaving and breathing erratically and I panicked. I started yelling for the nurses and doctors and soon a crowd of hospital personnel was surrounding us.
They grabbed hold of both his arms, lifting him off the seat and carried him to a wheelchair, where his limp body settled in a thump. They pushed him through the double doors of the emergency room and I followed behind until a nurse grabbed hold of my arm and hindered me from going after him. I pulled and jerked erratically out of her hold, saying, “that’s my husband,” and “where are they taking him?” but she didn’t yield.
She questioned me of his symptoms and I retold the same tale I had when we first arrived. Then a doctor came and assured me he was fine, but they were running some tests to pinpoint the cause of it all. I asked to see him again and he hesitated, saying that as soon as they were done he would come to get me.
Well, hours went on by and there was no sign of the doctor guy coming to get me. I lost track of time and remained awake, fidgeting. The baby definitely noticed my restlessness and squirmed and kicked and stretched, so much so that it was putting pressure on my back. I rubbed my belly, urging the kid to calm down.
“It’s okay. I’m okay…” I whispered.
Out of my periphery I saw the same nurse that had held me before come towards me clutching a Styrofoam cup.
“You feeling alright?” She asked me, taking a seat next to me. She was a short, sturdy woman, probably in her mid 50’s. She offered me the cup and said, “It’s tea.”
I reluctantly took it and sipped it. It wasn’t bad. “Thanks.”
“How far along are you?” She said, gesturing towards my growing belly.
“Seven months.”
“First child?”
I nodded. I really wasn’t up for small talk right.
“I see it’s kicking up a storm in there,” she chuckled, watching me rub my belly like I was making a wish to a belly genie.
“Yeah,” I said, offering her a meek smile. “When can I see Jim—my husband?”
“I don’t know dear, they are running tests, making sure everything’s alright.”
She took the hint that I wasn’t up to chit-chatting and resumed her nightly duties. I just kept thinking what could be taking them so long? If it wasn’t serious, they would’ve discharged him with a prescription. They would have called it a migraine and we would’ve called it a night. These thought chased each other like an episode of Tom & Jerry in my head.
Before I could really submerge myself in the various ‘what-ifs,’ the doctor finally came through the double doors and walked straight to the nurse’s station. I sat up a little straighter in my seat, with my hand intertwined on my lap, waiting for him to relieve me of my angst. I watched him with eager eyes as he walked here and there, until he started towards me.
“Mrs. Halpert?”
“Yes,” I piped up.
“I’m sorry for the wait.”
I nodded—as a formality. It totally wasn’t okay. “Is my husband okay?”
“Right now we have him under strong pain killers for the headache.”
I nodded, wrapping my arms tightly around myself, waiting for him to continue.
“We performed various tests on him and as of now everything looks…..fine. But,” there’s always a but, “We’re waiting for the results of his CT scan.”
“Okay…”
“You can go see him now,” he gestured to the nurse from before, “Beth will take you there.”
I followed Nurse Beth as she guided me through a maze of tiled hospital corridors. We took the elevator to the third floor and walked down a long hallway, silenced from any nearby noises. She opened the door of the last room on the right and before she could gesture for me to enter, I was already barging in without consent.
Jim was sleeping with abandon, torqued into his usual sleeping manner, snoring lightly even. The normalcy of his quiescent state put my mind at ease. His skin was a bit flushed and I could see his ribcage rising and falling evenly. I didn’t want to disturb him, but I needed to touch him, seeing was not enough. I walked to the edge of the bed and ran my fingers down his arms and tangled with his.
To my surprise, he shifted awake and I sighed contentedly. “Hey…”
“Hey…” He murmured, his voice hoarse and groggy.
I couldn’t help the tear that slipped from the back of my eye. “You scared me.”
He offered me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.” He then moved slowly to the side of the bed, making space for me. “C’mere.” He said, patting the now emptied spot.
I looked between the size of the bed and the size of my belly. He immediately read my mind and added, “You’ll fit.”
I climbed in with great difficulty and settled half on the bed, half on his chest. He wrapped his arms as best as he could around me, making me feel safe and calm.
“How’s the baby?”
“Alert and kicking,” I chuckled.
He slipped his hand under my shirt and stroked the circumference of my belly. “Be nice to mommy, baby,” he said. He then took a somber tone and gazed down at me. “How are you?”
“Better,” I said. I could tell he was struggling to remain awake. The intervals between him closing and opening his eyelids were getting longer. “Go to sleep,” I said.
“I will—am.”
He reached for the thin blanket at the foot of the bed and wrapped us in a cozy cocoon. We snuggled against each other and we both fell asleep—him with his hand still splayed across my belly, me with my legs intertwined in his.
I woke up hours later disoriented and unsettled. Outside the window I could see the cloudless sky, pink in the east, beginning to lighten to its blue morning shade. There was a hand on my shoulder and it took me a few seconds to recognize who it belonged too. It was Nurse Beth’s. I had forgotten what it felt to wake up not knowing where I was, then gradually having reality set back in.
“Good morning,” she said.
I sat up with much effort, pushing myself up with both hands. “Hi,” I mumbled, rubbing the sleep off my eyes. I looked over to Jim and he was still asleep. Nurse Beth went around the bed and checked the monitors on Jim’s side and jotted down some notes.
Before I could ask anything she said, “The doctor will be with you soon, dear.” Her voice was small and sympathetic. Later I realized it was pity.
“’Kay, thanks.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, taming my messy curls before I reluctantly untangled myself form Jim and sat on the chair next to the bed. His eyes opened, registered me, but closed; the medications knocking him out.
My stomach began to rumble, and I wanted more than anything to eat Jim’s special omelet. The more I thought about it, the more my stomach roared, the more annoyed I got. I hoped the doctor would just tell us they were just overly cautious and that we could go home.
But that’s not what he told us.
After Jim seemed more alert, the doctor took us to his office. It was a blank white room, lacking any personal touch. Alarms immediately began roaring in my head and my heart began beating in my ears. The events that followed have a dreamlike quality in my memories.
I remember the doctor sitting us down and explaining the reason for the sudden onset of Jim’s headache. He told us it was because of a tumor lodge between his frontal and temporal brain lobes. He didn’t actually call it a tumor; in his best medical jargon he referred to it as an abnormal cell mass.
My mind blanked—tortured by the unfairness. I became numb and didn’t know how to react to the words the doctor continued to verbalize. Tears slowly unleashed from the back of my eyes darkening the spots they trickled on my sweater. Jim kept his expression stoic and his hand firmly clutched to mine, squeezing tightly. The baby kicked hard and I sobbed even harder.
All I could think was that I was going to lose my husband and best friend.
Story Notes:
I don't really know where this came from. I'm VERY hesitant about it and that's why I'm posting it. I want to know if I should continue. It's up to you guys...
The title comes from David Cook's song, Light on. For some reason it kept playing while I was writing this and it just stuck.
Author's Chapter Notes:
EmilyHalpert Helped me Beta this one!
I own nada
Chapter End Notes:
Should I continue?
