Love Knows No Color Pt. 28

As I sat in the lumber yard office, my broken arm in a makeshift sling the workers had made for me out of shrink wrap, my cell phone began to ring. The manager fished it from my jacket pocket and handed it to me. It was my boss, Nick.

"Jason, I know you're hurt, but is there any way you could drive the truck back to the warehouse?"

"Are you crazy?" I yelled into the phone. "My right arm is useless. It hurts to even move it! It even hurts to breathe! No way I can shift gears with this arm. You want me to drive it 250 miles? Why would you even ask something like that? I'm waiting for an ambulance right now. The truck is the LEAST of my worries. FUCK YOU!" Angrily, I hung up the phone.

I don't remember much of the ambulance ride. It was short. The hospital was a half mile away. Once I arrived in the emergency room, I had priority over everybody else. My injury, though not life threatening, was by far the most severe.

I remember them taking me for X rays. The tech photographed my arm in every position known to mankind, and some that were not possible for a normal human. "Turn this way. Turn that way," she ordered. I wanted to strangle her. Every twist and turn caused excruciating pain. I was going out of my mind. Eventually, they had to sedate me. From that point on, I really don't remember much at all.

When I awoke, it was night, judging from the lack of light in the window. I was in a hospital bed. They'd removed my clothing and put me in a hospital gown. It was the pain that woke me. I heard sobbing and looked around as my eyes focused. Shavonda was sitting beside the bed, crying her eyes out. "Honey, I forgot to duck," I said, hoping she'd get the reference and smile a little.

"You stupid, stupid man," Shavonda said. "Thank God you're alive. I heard what happened. They said that curtain pole saved your life. It took the full force of that rebar when it sprang. I can't lose you. I just can't."

I let her vent. What could I do? She was right. I was lucky to be alive, although the pain had me questioning that luck. Shavonda continued. "We drove almost 5 hours to get here to see you all busted up. I hope you're happy."

"I'm happy you're here," I gritted. God the pain! It was unbearable. Even the slightest movement would send my arm into uncontrollable spasms. I looked down at my left hand. They'd put an IV needle in it while I was out. I'm glad they did it. I'm afraid of needles and would probably have freaked out if they'd tried to do that while I was awake.

Shavonda got up to leave the room. "I'll be right back," she said.

She returned with the nurse, who remarked, "You're quite a popular fellow. There's quite a crowd out there waiting to see you." She busied herself taking my blood pressure. "We.ve got you on a morphine drip. If the pain gets too great, just press this button." She showed me a push button mounted in the end of a cable. "It will give you a little extra shot of morphine, but you can only use it once in a while. We can't have you overdosing."

After the nurse left, Althea and Barbara came in with the children. Brittany ran to me and tried to give me a hug, but Shavonda caught her. "He can't hug you right now," she said. "You'll hurt him."

The hospital had let the family come in, even though it was well after normal visiting hours. I found out that Shavonda had left the new store as soon as she'd gotten my phone call. On the way she called Althea, who in turn called Barbara. Together they decided to make the trip to Lewistown to see me. Since that weekend would have been Barbara's with the kids, she came along as well. Lewistown was not far from Muncy, where my ex-wife Rose was serving time, and this would be a good opportunity for the kids to see their mother. Althea was along for moral support, and to watch the baby while Shavonda sat by my bedside. They had rooms in a nearby motel for the night.

The nurse soon ushered everybody but Shavonda out of the room. They left for the motel. At least somebody would be getting a good night's sleep. I tossed and turned in pain, while Shavonda held my hand. She fell asleep in the chair beside the bed. It reminded me of when she'd had Miracle, and I spent her entire hospital stay with her, curled up in the same bed while the nurses looked the other way.

In the morning, the doctor came to see me after the nurse took my blood pressure. "Would you please step out of the room?" he asked Shavonda. "I can only discuss his condition with the patient and family." Shavonda gave the doctor a withering look, and refused to leave the chair she was seated in.

"That's my wife," I said, "She has every right to be here."

The doctor's face turned red. "OH, I'm sorry," he said. "We don't see many mixed marriages around here." Shavonda continued to glare at him. I felt bad for her. We ran into that a lot, people not understanding that we were one. It hurt, to be honest. It had to hurt worse for Shavonda, the attitude that she didn't belong there. Go back to your neighborhood, with your own kind. You don't belong here. But belong she did. She wasn't leaving. And yet another person bore witness to the strength of our love.

The doctor recovered from his shock, then continued, "Mr. Waite, your X rays show 3 fractures in your arm right above the elbow. There is no way I can put them in a cast and let them heal by themselves. That area is under constant strain from your movements, and the injury is too bad. We'll have to perform surgery and put your arm back together with plates."-

"When will he go into surgery?" Shavonda asked.

"We were going to do it this morning, but his blood pressure is too low. We'll have to wait until it comes back to normal. I'm hoping we can do it tomorrow. At any rate, after we operate, we'll hold him 24 hours for the anesthetic to wear off, and for observation. Then he can go home. He's got a long road to recovery. You're looking at months of physical therapy, and he may never regain full use of his arm. Good luck to the both of you."

Althea and Miracle came to see me a little later, Miracle was glad to see me and babbled happily "Dada, Dada." She wanted to come up on the bed with me and howled in protest when she couldn't.

"Daddy's hurt," Shavonda explained." He can't hold you right now." She bounced the little girl on her knee while Miracle howled in protest. After calming the baby down, she told Althea what the doctor had said. I was too exhausted, and in too much pain, to do much but lie there. The morphine drip helped take the edge off the pain, but not much more than that.

Later in the day, Nick showed up with Frank, one of our drivers. They'd come to get the truck. Shavonda left with them to retrieve my stuff before they drove it back to Leetsdale. One more loose end tied up.

Later in the evening, Barbara brought the kids by. They'd made the trip up to Muncy to visit their mother, "Rose asked about the child support case," she discretely told Shavonda.

"We missed the hearing back when Jason's grandma died," Shavonda said. "Tell her we'll refile the request. Honestly, with all that's been going on we forgot about it. But Jason's going to be off work for a while, so we'll have the time to go to court now. She shouldn't worry. We'll take care of it."

Shavonda spent the night in the chair beside the bed, holding my hand all night as I moaned in pain. It was a long night, and I was glad she was there. In the morning, the nurse took my blood pressure again, and when the doctor arrived he said it was back to normal. They'd do the surgery in a couple of hours. Due to the anesthetic, I had to have an empty stomach. Tell a man he can't eat, and he'll feel like he's dying of hunger.

A little later, a nurse came in to give me a sponge bath. I let her wash me up, until she asked me to sit up so she could wash my back. "You don't want to go into surgery dirty, do you?" she asked.

"My arm is broken, and the pain is unbearable," I gritted. The nurse didn't care and insisted on washing my back anyway. Shavonda drove her from the room with threats of bodily harm if she touched me. The last thing I remember as they wheeled me into the operating room was Shavonda telling me everything would be ok, and that she'd be there when I woke up.

I vaguely remember waking up in the operating room. Not knowing where I was I tried to get off the gurney, but several people pushed me back down. I think I must have been in the recovery room at the time.

When I finally awoke, my queen was there. This time she was smiling. "How's my cripple this morning?" she said. I'd been out all day and most of the night.

"Hungry," I said. Shavonda called for the nurse, who said I could have something to eat. Unfortunately, it was four in the morning, and I'd have to wait for breakfast.

"Are there any restrictions on what he can eat?" Shavonda asked.

"No," came the reply, and Shavonda disappeared. She returned a short time later with a turkey hoagie and a bottle of Dr Pepper.

"Sorry," she apologized, "Sheetz was the only thing open. I hope you like it. I promise we'll stop somewhere good for lunch when they release you."

Eating posed a problem. My right arm was encased in a large cast. Shavonda had to open my Dr Pepper for me, and she unwrapped the hoagie as well, feeding me like I was a baby. I felt helpless and loved. I ate the whole hoagie, but I was still hungry. Luckily by now it was breakfast time, and so I ate the hospital food they gave me as well.

Later in the day, after the anesthetic wore off, they let me go. They had given me what they called a "Carter pillow" which was a huge block of foam with a hole in it where my arm fit. It provided some cushioning for my injured arm. I was also given a supply of Vicodin for pain management, but Shavonda whispered in my ear, "You ain't gonna be taking those. I got something better for you." She wouldn't elaborate further no matter how hard I tried. I must admit I was irritable. My arm was still going into uncontrollable spasms of excruciating pain.

We headed out, down 22 the whole way back to Pittsburgh. We found a diner in Mill Creek and stopped for dinner. I think we must have taken them by surprise, two cars of people pulling up, Three women of different races, a cripple, and three small children. The waitress came over to fawn over Miracle, who laughed. The waitress did a visible double take when she saw Miracle's eyes. Most people don't expect a mixed-race child to have blue-gray eyes. She looked at the baby, then me.

"Yes, she's got my eyes," I laughed.

We all had burgers and fries. The place cut their own potatoes. I was in love. Fresh cut fries have always been my weakness. Shavonda insisted on feeding me, even though I could do it myself. But it did feel nice to be pampered. The kids tore up their plates as well. We'd have to come back some day.

Sated, we continued west through the ridges and valleys of central Pennsylvania, then climbed the Allegheny Front just south of Altoona. The sun was out, but it provided little warmth to the day. We did, however get one of the most beautiful sunsets I've ever seen. I watched in awe as the sky turned from yellow to orange to pink, then purple and finally black. A million stars lit our way as we left the mountains behind. The irony was not lost on me. Here I was heading off into the sunset in more ways than one. I had a suspicion my career as a truck driver was over. Even if it wasn't, life would never be the same.

I don't remember a lot of the next few days. Shavonda went back to work, leaving me in the care of her mother Althea. "Great," she joked. "Now I got another kid to take care of. Should have run you off when I had the chance." Nut she was smiling as she said it, and quickly added, "You family now. We gladly take care of our own."

Shavonda had left instructions that I was to take no more of the Vicodin than prescribed, no matter how much pain I was in. Instead, she'd had her cousin Tamika come over with a supply of blunts. When I needed some relief, I was to smoke one, just not in front of the kids. "I don't want to lose you to opioids," Shavonda told me. "We will slowly wean you off the pills with the blunts,."

"But what about my random drug tests?" I asked. "I don't want to lose my CDL."

"I don't think you have to worry about that for a long time," Shavonda smiled. "And by that time, we'll have you off the weed too. I only wish I could smoke one with you. Weed sex is the bomb."

She took her pregnancy seriously. As she'd done with Miracle, she'd refrain from taking anything that might harm the baby. I realized this pregnancy would be profoundly different though. This time we both knew what to expect. More importantly, since I would be off work for a long time, I would be able to be there for her in ways that were impossible before. We'd be able to share the baby's progress through the sonograms in her doctors' visits. No longer would I have to look at the printed photos she'd bring me. This time I would be there in person, to be able to marvel at the movements on the screen of the tiny life she carried within her.

Her doctors first doctors visit confirmed what we already knew. Shavonda was 4 weeks pregnant, which put the baby's due date in mid-August. Ironically, my first doctors visit was the same day, and we had a nice lunch in between. My doctor took more x rays. "They did good work," he said. "I'm impressed."

"How long will it take me to heal?" I asked.

"We can take the cast off in about three weeks," he said. "Then you can begin therapy. From that point, it's all up to you. But I'd say a minimum of six months of therapy. You work in a strenuous occupation. Most of your therapy will be building up the strength in your arm and trying to regain motion. You did a lot of damage. It won't be easy for you to build it back up to what it was, and you may never be able to do all the things you used to do. But I think you'll be able to function eventually."

One of the things I did to pass the time was to learn to write with my left hand. Since my right arm was in a cast, I couldn't write with my normal hand. After a couple of weeks of trying, I was able to write in a legible, childlike scrawl.

Althea took good care of me during the day. I think she enjoyed having somebody to talk to. We fell into a routine. Since I didn't have to start work in the wee hours of the morning anymore, my sleep patterns gradually shifted to where Shavonda and I awoke at the same time, and I would hungrily watch as she got ready for work. When Althea arrived, she'd make breakfast for me. At this point, it was usually soft foods that didn't need to be cut up. Pancakes, waffles, eggs, maybe some bacon on the side. As I ate, she'd feed the baby as well. Once fed, Miracle would play for a while then fall asleep. While she took her nap, Althea and I would light up, smoking to reggae music. I'd had no idea she liked it that much, but she did.

Reggae was one of the first types of music I'd learned to play. You could feel the music. It got inside you and made you move. Althea would laugh as I would subconsciously bob to the beat. "And they say white boys got no rhythm." But we talked a lot and went through mountains of junk food. I had the munchies, and Althea did nothing to stop me from mindlessly eating.

The kids got home in midafternoon. We'd watch cartoons while they did their homework. I helped as best I could. All in all, the first month or so of my recuperation was a bonding time, and I grew a lot closer to the family I'd always cherished.

One day, a week or so after my injury, there was a knock at the door. Althea smiled at me as she opened the door. A couple of deliverymen walked in with a reclining armchair. I watched as they assembled the parts and tested it, then showed me how to work the controls. It had heat as well! Shortly after they left, Shavonda called.

"How do you like it?" she asked. "It's an early Christmas present. Now you don't have to lay on the couch." She arrived home that evening to find me asleep in the chair, Miracle on my chest curled up, sleeping peacefully as well. Althea had let her crawl up on me while I was sleeping. Shavonda took a picture and put it on our online family page. I have to admit, we looked cute.

The inability to use my right arm brought some major changes in my life. For one, I couldn't shower with the cast on, so I had to sit in the tub while Shavonda washed me. I could have used my left arm, but it would have been difficult to reach everywhere. Shavonda didn't seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to enjoy babying me as much as I enjoyed the attention. I'd never been so clean in my life.

Shaving was another task that caused problems. Since my left arm was not the dominant one, I had to learn to do simple tasks using it. You never realize how little you can do with it until you lose the use of the other arm. Once again, Shavonda helped me out. And at her insistence, I started to grow a moustache.

Sleeping posed another problem. Before, we'd often slept spooned, with my right arm around her body. We tried to reverse the position at first, with my left arm holding her, but quickly found that the cast got between us, I'm sure it was as uncomfortable for her as it was for me. As a matter of fact, any position where I lay on my side was uncomfortable. I simply couldn't get my arm in a comfortable position. Eventually, I just lay on my back, cast across my stomach, with Shavonda nestled in my side.

Most of the time, I got the bulk of my sleep sitting in the recliner with a blanket over me and the heat turned up. Once again my queen had come through for me.

But the worst side effect of all was due to the Vicodins. They caused extreme constipation. One afternoon, I was in the bathroom doing my usual struggle when Shavonda came home. I emerged after an unsuccessful attempt at relief only to find her by the stereo, hand on the play button waiting for me to enter the living room. Althea and the kids were there as well.

"Kids, this song is about your daddy," she said as she started the music. It began with a spoken introduction:

"Ladies and gentlemen, most people record songs about love

Heartbreak, loneliness, being broke... Nobody's actually went out and recorded a song about real pain. The band and I have just returned from the General Hospital where we caught a man in the right position. We named this song, Constipation Blues."

My face turned red as I realized what she was doing, making fun of my condition. The song continued:

Let it go! Let it go! Let it go!

I don't think I can take much mo

Let it go

I got a pain down inside

It won't be denied

Every time I try

I just can't be satisfied

Let it go!

Althea and Shavonda convulsed in laughter. Brittany asked, "What does constipation mean?"

"It means your daddy can't poop." Shavonda said. "This is what he sounds like in the bathroom." Now I had two small children laughing at me too. Embarrassed and angry, I stormed off to the bedroom.

Shavonda followed me. "Aww don't be mad," she said. "The look on your face was priceless."

Turning to her, I spat, "I'm in pain and you think it's funny! Do you know what it feels like trying to pass a brick, but you can't?"

"Matter of fact I do," Shavonda replied coolly. "I seem to recall pushing out a big head baby for you about a year ago. And I'm about to do it again this summer."

She had a point. I could feel my anger softening. It was impossible to stay mad at her. "But that's different," I protested, not quite ready to concede. "Your body was made to do that. Mine isn't."

Shavonda had an answer ready. "I also seem to recall you trying to push something pretty large into my ass. You know that hurts."

By now, I was no longer mad. "I'm sorry. You should have told me to stop. I would have, you know. I don't want to hurt you."