Naked Beneath

Again doctor 'house' stepped in and said I could stay as long as I promised to put my back to them when they pulled the tube and if anything happened stayed out of their way. That was fair enough and they once again woke my wife, but this time house explained they needed to remove the tube and asked her to take some deep breaths around it.

She gagged each time, the sound driving a hot nail into my stomach, but they seemed happy with the way she was doing it and asked me to turn my back. Which I did, but clever me? I was standing in front of a mirror and they hadn't noticed that.

Why I felt the need to watch this I wasn't sure except that I somehow felt I would be letting her down if I wasn't aware of everything happening to her. I watched them pull the tube and all the nasty crap that came up with it. I then listened to her try to breath and at first she couldn't do anything but gasp.

They urged her to try and out of the corner of my eyes I saw the respiratory specialist open the feared red box. My wife continued to struggle and my breath caught with hers. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply myself, trying to will it to her. Just breath, baby, just breath with me, breath for me.

In my mind's eye the pitcher reared back and threw a high hard one, and choking up on my imaginary bat, I swung for the fences. My wife gagged once more then started to breath. It was ragged and irregular, but she was breathing. The red box was closed and they put an oxygen mask on her to help her breath.

The feeling of relief flowing through me was indescribable. Before I turned around to go to the bed and officially welcome my wife back to the land of the living I envisioned staring at my nemesis the pitcher, but this time as I circled the bases because we'd just knocked one out of the park and as I rounded third I gleefully flipped the fucker off.

Told you, you son of a bitch, I can hit the fastball and so can she. Take a shower, motherfucker because this game is over.

Unfortunately we would be looking at extra innings, a lot of them.

When she first awoke my wife was slurring her words and seemed a bit disoriented. That wasn't too concerning, but when she asked where her sister was, I grew concerned. I answered with a question, "When was the last time you saw her?" when her answer was just before the surgery I went out and spoke with the doctors.

ICU delirium was the answer, a common side effect of days unconscious while having a boatload of narcotics pushed through your body. They said it would last a day or two

Try a week.

My wife devolved mentally every day. She would have lucid moments, but for the most part was out of her goddamn mind. She screamed at the nurses, fought with them, fought with me. At one point she pulled out the main port for all the IV's which was attached to her jugular. Fortunately she didn't tear the incision.

I told her they would have to tie her down and her response to me was "You'd like that wouldn't you? Then you could fuck all the nurses you piece of shit."

I knew she didn't mean that, or any of the other crap she slung at me, but the look of pure malice in her eyes was painful. Who the hell was this woman? Christ, she reminded me of...me on occasions.

Making things worse was the fact she claimed she couldn't feel her left leg. The doctors at first thought it was part of her delusion because she could move it. Then 'house' ordered some tests and discovered nerve damage from the position of the long surgery. Could work itself out in days or...months. But she had to get up and moving and she fought too much to do so.

She literally fought, cracking a nurse in the face and at one point introducing her elbow to my left eye. She would only sleep if sedated, but they fought doing that because it wouldn't help her be alert. They suggested I leave at night and go to the lodge. It wasn't good for me to see her like that and they wanted her alone so there was no one to get mad at.

That night she called me at three am telling me I had to come get her. The nurses had locked her in a dungeon in the basement. Obviously not, but I still got up and went to her. It did dawn on me even then that somehow out of her mind from drugs and pain and totally delusional....the woman could still use a cell phone.

The family was getting nervous. I gave them the scoop in my same monotone emotionless voice. Awake, but disoriented. It will pass, she will be fine. No, stay the hell where you are, she won't want anyone seeing her like this. Probably not the brightest most soothing thing to say, but her ass was the only one I cared about at the moment.

Her mother started that she would come down anyway with a couple of my wife's aunts. Now I am not trying to offend or generalize, but if you are Italian (my wife is pure Sicilian) or married to one you know the very definition of drama is an Italian mother. Not just drama, but somehow martyrdom is always involved.

I didn't need the woe is me dog and pony show and the wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth and informed her we were on a military base and only with my permission could someone come see her and no one was getting that. My mother in law is on oxygen, she wouldn't even be able to get around without being pushed in a wheelchair and who would do that? Me of course because I didn't have enough to worry about, but more importantly?

How the hell could this woman who'd already lost a daughter handle seeing my wife in this state, nope I was the only one who would see this, the perks of being married don't you know. Better or worse were my vows and they were really leaning one way at the moment.

As one can imagine that conversation was not the greatest, but she did call me back and tell me I was right, but please at least put her on the phone. I'd avoided that because of my wife's constant mentioning of her sister, but the woman deserved to hear her daughter's voice.

Fortunately my wife was just a little off and not raving. She did mention her sister and tell her mom how the three of them would all be going out to eat together soon. I think that was enough for my mother in law who told me later on.

"You're right, I couldn't do it and God bless you for being able to."

Yeah God had blessed me alright, my cup was truly running right the fuck over.

The worst event of this time was to be that night. My wife had asked for her favorite Christmas Nightshirt that we had packed. I had mentioned her being a big kid and this defined that. It was a teddy bear in a Santa hat holding a present and said "Have a Beary Merry Christmas."

Silly little thing, cutesy to where I'd roll my eyes at her-and also make fun of her for doing some very dirty things in that shirt- but it defined her through and through, a big sweet kid.

I mentioned it to the nurse who said no because she had too many IV's and wires and it would get in the way. I told her that and the response I received was crying and begging for her shirt, as she held Alicia of course...

Okay, fine. I'd had enough and I found the shirt and helped her into tit. I put it over the johnny and managed to get it around all the wires. It looked ridiculous, but she smiled and seemed happy. The nurse came in and tried to take it off and she went nuts, crying screaming and begging. I told the nurse the fucking thing stayed on, period.

Here comes 'house' again to the rescue. He informed the nurse they were about healing and the mind was a big part of that and if the shirt made her happy, then he was happy. He put it in the notes in the file, shirt stays on.

Apparently not everyone read the notes.

I'd taken a walk down to the coffee shop on the first floor to shove something in my stomach. I didn't want to eat, all it did was add to the roiling, burning feeling in my gut, but again survival took over. I had to eat because I had to stay as strong as I could. I ate like a robot, I'll take the special with no care what the hell it was, I just ate it.

I made a couple of calls, 'today's a better day, seems calmer, yup on the mend, sure I'm good."

Then I went back into her room to see my wife had somehow gotten out of her bed and was on her knees cowering in a corner and crying. In front of her were the night nurse and an orderly. The orderly was telling her he just wanted to take her shirt off so they could check her port.

My wife was more irrational than ever, but no longer aggressive. I think I would have been less affected if she were fighting. But all she was doing was crying, curled up in ball and begging to keep her night shirt on. Hugging herself and in tears like a child, desperately clinging to a goddamn nightshirt with a silly bear on it. Totally lost in her own delusion and just trying to hold onto the one thing that for some reason made her feel safe.

She saw me over his shoulder and called out for me not to let them take her shirt away.

That stupid fucking shirt.

But at that moment, I lost it, completely lost it as in I lost track of the next thing I did. One moment I was behind the orderly and nurse the next minute I was in front of my wife and the orderly was getting up from the floor. The nurse would tell me later I simply stepped around him, grabbed his arm and pulled him back, tripping him.

Now there was another orderly coming in and telling me to step away from my wife who was curled into that ball behind me weeping like a little kid. I'd had enough of the whole thing and for a moment lost that emotionless calm I'd immersed myself in. I felt all the pent up frustration flow through me and embraced it.

Before me were two men and they were flesh and blood and bone. They weren't a disease or a side effect. They were tangible and that meant I could hurt them. I'd mentioned previously I'd had anger issues when I was younger and when I lose it, I never just lose it for the moment, it all comes flying back right down to images of my childhood.

A third man entered and I felt a perverse thrill go through me. Want to pick on a crying woman in a little kids nightshirt? Then step on up, walk right into a buzz saw the likes you've never seen. A lifetime of hate, a mean streak only repressed because of my wife, the woman I was now protecting. Please, oh, please, try to touch her.

Naked rage.

For the better of all involved the third orderly was an older gentleman who'd seen his share of these situations and told the other two men to get the hell out of the room and for the nurse to get the doctor, let him handle this.

For a moment the other two men didn't move and one took a step closer. I heard my wife whimper behind me and tensed up, ready to make what would ultimately be a huge mistake. My wife would later tell me that she had a vague memory of that situation and saw the orderlies as shadowy monsters, the ICU delirium in full gear.

But the way she envisioned me was what she had always referred to me as; her loyal guard dog. Her 'bad doggie' that was there to protect her. She envisioned me as that dog, not a young pup, but an older dog with some grey around the muzzle and some scars from past scuffles. Crouched between her and three 'monsters' with fangs bared ready to go down to my last breath for her.

The doctor came in and threw everyone, including the nurse, out of the room and sat on bed and told my wife to relax, no one was going to take anything away from her. He came over and gesturing for me to get down on the floor with her, did the same himself and talked to her soothingly then asked if it would be okay for me to get her back in bed.

I was able to pick her up and get her in the bed and sat with her while he gave her something to sleep. I asked how much longer this was going to keep up and he said it should have passed by now. He said give it a day and then they would run some tests. He assured me no one would disturb her and the damn shirt stayed on. That stupid fucking nightshirt.

Now that my adrenalin rush had passed, I went in the other direction and looked at my wife sleeping, curled up with her silly build a bear and replaying her on the floor in a corner. How the hell had we gotten here? This woman who had always been a bastion of strength to all around her reduced to a crying child?

The rule was we were strong for each other and she was not upholding her end of the deal and I questioned my being able to be strong enough for the two of us.

On the doctor's recommendation I didn't stay in the room with her, instead I went and slept down the hallway. My cell rang at three am and the night nurse told me to come on in and see my wife.

"Now what?" was all that went through my head as I put my shoes on and dragged my ass back into her room. My wife was sitting up and when I entered, smiled at me. A real smile, a "Hey I know you!" smile and the first I'd seen from her in two weeks.

In front of her was a piece of paper with a list-when my wife makes list, she's not playing, she has a plan-the first thing on the list was find her sneakers because she had to start trying to walk. She wasn't one hundred percent lucid, she still drifted a little, but was mostly herself, far better than before.

But we were in for one more hard knock. Her left leg was damaged. The femoral nerve, biggest in the leg, had been hurt during surgery and it could take months sometimes a year to be back to normal. Her first attempt at walking led to me and a nurse catching her before she hit the floor the next two tries were no better.

But now that she was in a better frame mentally physical therapy could come in and get to work. The first step was a sling attached to a track in the ceiling so she couldn't fall. The next three days she tried several times going from one end of the room to the other, getting slightly stronger, but nothing overly promising.

My wife was now aware enough to use words like humbling and upsetting and a few what the fucks? The what the fucks took over when she had severe stomach pain and we found out she had caught a bout of C-Dif that was going around the ICU. What is C-Dif? Think Mexico and don't drink the water, think the worst case of cramps you have ever had then double it. Also think uncontrollable bodily functions.

The nurses now all had to wear gloves and robes and I was told I might get it if I stayed close to her. Well at this point a bad case of the shits wasn't sending me anywhere and somehow I never did get it. Most likely because as my ex-wife once informed me; I could make a disease miserable. But my wife was in rough shape, a major setback in her trying to get to her feet.

The night everything reached rock bottom I had helped her sit in a chair then we decided to have her try to walk. She made a few steps and said she had to sit. I sat across from her and right in front of me she went to the bathroom. Pure liquid all over the floor, not really aware she had done it.

She looked at me and asked me what was wrong and I managed "Oh, nothing." Then she looked down and freaked out. I went to grab some paper towels and that made her even more upset, she didn't want me cleaning up after her. I got the nurse who came in with another person to clean her.

As I sat in the corner and watched them get her back into the bed and clean her up I stared at the puddle on the floor and at that moment I felt lost. How could I bring her back from this? How the hell could I get her going and pretty much are you fucking kidding me?

I had nothing left in me. Rage wasn't going to work nor was my arrogant assumptions that I always somehow won every fight life tossed my way. My wife was the source of my strength and she was an understandably empty well at this point. As I stared at the floor, something landed next to the bed.

It was that damned nightshirt, that stupid little bear with shit all over it now. I looked at the thing and slumped in my chair, something about it was the final straw.

I closed my eyes and simply whispered, "Please." I was not praying to a God I never believed in, to me that was always the worst, people with no faith suddenly asking for something because they were desperate.

I do believe in powers beyond us, and I was reaching out to them now, doing something I had never done once in my life, ever. I was begging.

Naked Humility.

But I was reaching out to someone, something, anything, someone had to help my wife, because I sure as hell couldn't.

I was broken.

Well one the major chess players must have been tuned in because that was when the social worker assigned to my wife came in and spoke to her for a few minutes and my wife admitted she was scared. Scared she wouldn't be able to walk, scared she wouldn't be healthy again, and scared this would never end.

The social worker called in a recreational therapist and asked her to see my wife, immediately. This was just before five and all the office types always bolted at five, but this woman showed up at five fifteen and was ready to help.

I said I have no spiritual beliefs, but aside from my wife is there was ever an angel in human flesh, it was this woman. By the time she had gotten there my wife had another accident and she quickly helped clean her up, then got her back into the chair and brushed her hair, put it in a ponytail for her.

She asked if she had a shower yet and I told her the doctors had only had her bathed because she couldn't stand. She asked my wife if she wanted one then asked me if I was fine with not listening to the doctors. I told her do whatever she needed.

She got my wife back into the sling which reached into the bathroom and with the help of my wife's regular night nurse, showered her, did her hair again and told me to pick out her favorite clothes out of what we had brought. She dressed her right down to putting her shoes on her then showed my wife herself in a mirror and sad, "Now look at that beautiful woman! She doesn't look like a quitter to me, what do you think?"

My wife smiled and told her no, no she wasn't. The woman said she would be back in the morning and they were going to go for a walk together. I followed her out of the room and thanked her. She'd done what at the end of the day seemed the simplest thing; she gave my wife dignity, made her feel human. I think I sounded like an idiot I thanked her so effusively, but it was the first real bright spot we'd had.

She then asked me how I was doing and I sucked it up, gave her my best bad ass go to hell stare and said, "Lady, I'm a fucking mess. But whatever you want me to do just say the word."

The next few days were all upside. The C-Dif ran its course and my wife went from a few steps to walking a fair amount, but with on leg damaged she was still not moving much and had to have the sling. They she couldn't leave ICU until she could walk the hall, at least with a walker. She couldn't go anywhere, let alone home which was an eight hour drive still needing a sling.

It was a week before Christmas and my wife was saying we had to be home by then. I left for a few hours to do laundry and this time be able to report actual good news and progress without lying to the family.

When I went back late at night there she was in the hall with three nurses around her in the hallway and walking with just a walker. A nurse was behind her with a chair for when she had to stop.

Her night nurse, a woman who had a sense of humor that kept everyone around her either laughing with her or at her knew my wife loved Disney-they knew this because again, these nurses were amazing and they cared- was singing that stupid song "I want to see you be brave" at the top of her lungs as my wife walked.

Within a few minutes every nurse on the floor along with a few patients and their family were singing along. Most of these nurses didn't even know my wife, never mind the other patients. It was like something out of a damn corny movie, but she was walking.