When You're Expecting Something Else (4 page)

Chapter Four

My sleeping eyes flutter. Familiar bleeps ring in my ears. I try to open my eyes all the way, but I can’t. I try to remember, but nothing comes. I don’t know where I am. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to make sense of anything.

“I think she’s trying to wake up,” a woman’s voice. I try to speak, to ask her where I am, but no words come forth, not a single utterance. Then I feel someone lift my closed eyelids. A bright light shines first in one eye and then the other. Someone sticks a needle into my foot. I try to jerk it away but it’s heavy and I can’t move it very far.

“Look, she’s reactive,” says the woman. “That’s a good sign. Connie. Connie, can you hear me? You’re in the hospital. You were in a car accident. If you can hear me, open your eyes.”

I try so hard, but my eyes are so heavy, impossible to lift. I don’t remember an accident. The voice doesn’t sound familiar to me. I know most of the nurses at New Haven General Hospital, but I don’t recognize this voice. Then vaguely, I know I’m not in Connecticut, not at New Haven General. I ran away from home. Why? I struggle to remember.

Slowly, ever so slowly, my brain begins to engage. I feel energy begin to crawl through my body at a snail’s pace, then faster. I feel anger and hate and it makes me want to fight. I hate Alex Masterson! I hate Sandy Williams! I hate them both with all my heart. I hear myself moan, crying from inside. I hurt so much. I never knew that hate could hurt so physically.

“That’s it, wake up, Connie. Open your eyes. Look at me,” the nurse commands.

This time I’m able to open my eyes at her command, but the brightness in the room glares, making my eyes hurt, my head aches with throbbing pulses. I close my eyes again. “Where am I?” I manage to ask, my voice a croaking bullfrog. My throat is dry. The nurse must know it because I feel a straw tickle my lips.

“Here sip,” she says. Cool water bathes my mouth and throat.

Then I remember Jared. “Where’s Jared?” I ask. He was driving. I remember now. I remember the car swerving to avoid hitting a bicyclist in the road. Then the loud crunch of metal and breaking glass, screams, and people rushing to help. What did we hit?

“He’s in ICU,” the nurse tells me. “Is he your boyfriend?”

I think about that for a long time. I don’t know, I think, but I don’t say it out loud. I take so long thinking that the nurse thinks I’ve fallen back to sleep. I let her think so because I’m too tired to talk and I don’t know what to say.

It feels like months that I drift in and out of painful sleep, letting the nurses and doctors take care of me, letting sleep overtake me like fog rolling in from the sea, relieving me of pain, of worry, of every unhappy memory, though in fact, it’s only days until I feel alive again. Then, amazingly, the pain is gone, all of it; the twisted, psychological pain born of hatred for Alex and Sandy, as well as the burning, aching, physical pain from the accident. Even the deep felt grief from the loss of my dream babies has vanished.

It’s such a weird sensation, this absence of pain, that I don’t quite trust it. I sit up in my hospital bed and test it out. I breathe deeply, wiggle my fingers and toes, and shrug my shoulders. Nothing hurts inside or out, this total absence of pain giving me a new lease on life, a second chance to live, to feel happy again.

I’ve been dreaming about my parents. “Get up! Get going!” my mother said to me as plain as day, the dream seeming so real. Silly, but it comforted me. “I’ll paddle your butt!” Daddy said, but I heard laughter in his voice.

My parents died together in a car crash three years ago. It nearly devastated my sister Serena and I. We were both blindsided with rock bottom, searing grief that threatened to never end, their accident so horrific. It was incomprehensible that Serena and I became orphans in that one instant in time. Adult orphans, though I remember feeling like a child needing my parents so. In the end we lived through it, recovered, and moved on.

Suddenly I miss my sister terribly. I desperately need to talk to her, to tell her where I am, how I got here, how deeply alive I suddenly feel. I vow to call her, and glance around looking for my cell phone, wondering if it survived the crash with me, but before I can find it, the nurse, Regina, comes into my room, interrupting my thoughts.

“How’s Jared?” I blurt, momentarily forgetting about my phone, because he is forever on my mind, the kind nerd who befriended me when I felt so lonely and lost. It seems an eternity ago, though really, only days.

“His injuries are much worse than yours,” she says. Her voice emanates sadness. I can see she is truly a caring person, and a very good nurse, which helps me to believe that Jared is also in good hands. Soon I’ll be able to see for myself. I like Regina and trust her compassion. Maybe we can become friends. I think I’d like to have a friend who truly cares like Regina does.

“You’re almost ready for discharge. Dr. Matthews will be here soon. I think he plans to let you go home in a couple days,” she continues.

Home. I think about what that means. Right now home is in a small apartment in San Jose, far away from anyplace I’ve ever known. I try it on in my head, visualizing the white walls and cold rental furniture. At first the concept of home seems lost, but then I imagine scattering colorful belongings around the rooms. I imagine buying colorful wall hangings like I saw at the art festival. I think about putting a chair out on my deck overlooking the grounds around my apartment, maybe some flowerpots on the deck. In my imagination, I see myself sipping coffee in my new chair, relaxing with a Kindle book. Yes, I think home may possible here.

Before she leaves, Regina finds my pocketbook in the small closet and hands it to me. My cell phone is in the compartment where it’s supposed to be. I had turned it off to avoid calls from my sister, so it’s remained fully charged. I click it on and see that Serena has left eleven messages. Rather than listen through them, I push auto-dial and in seconds I hear her voice.

“Serena, it’s me,” I say, and my sister breathes such a sigh of relief that I have to pull the phone away from my ear.

“Connie, where are you? I’ve been a worried wreck. Don’t hang up on me, I promise not to say another word about Alex. I only care about you.” Serena is rambling so much I can hardly get a word in edgewise to reassure her that I’m not mad anymore. Oddly, I’m not.

Finally I get my turn to talk. “I’m in San Jose, California. Well, actually, at this moment I’m in Mountain View, but I’ll be home to my apartment in a couple days. I’m in the hospital.”

“You already have a job?” Serena asks.

“Well, no, not exactly. I’m a patient. I was in a car wreck,” I say, squinting my eyes and holding my breath. I know my sweet, older sister is going to have a cow. Instead the phone becomes deadly silent. “Serena, are you there?” I ask.

“What happened?” she asks in the tiniest voice. “I knew something terrible had happened, worse than the breakup with Alex. Tell me.”

My sister has never been one to listen, but I can tell she wants to listen now. “It’s a long story,” I begin, and then an hour later, after telling my tale, my listening sister has become my new best friend.

“Honestly, Serena, I feel a new person today. I have a new lease on life. It’s like life has given me a second chance to be happy. Somehow, surviving this accident has erased all the petty little unimportant worries from my consciousness. I couldn’t care less about Alex or Sandy now. Even my dream babies are gone, may they rest in peace. They were never real, just my heartfelt wishes.” I brace myself for at least a little twinge of grief for my babies. Oddly, it doesn’t come.

“What about now, though? With this new guy, Jared? Is he your boyfriend now, or what? Is he why you feel so good?”

“Honestly, I really don’t even know him. He’s pretty messed up in ICU. I haven’t even been able to see him yet. I don’t know anything about him, if he has family or anything. I just know he was nice to me and didn’t take advantage of me when I was half crazy. He easily could have, you know. He’s decent, and I like that about him. Oops, here comes my doctor, I’ll call you back tomorrow,” I say.

“I’m coming to San Jose. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll take care of you,” she says before hanging up.

Dr. Mark Matthews examines me. “You’re almost good to go. We’ll keep you another couple days to make sure.” Then, before he exits my room, he turns to me and says, “I understand you’re a nurse and new to the area. I have an opening for an office nurse in Neurology. Call my office next week if you think you might be interested.”

“Thank you, but I’ve always worked in Pediatrics,” I tell him.

“No matter, we can train you if you’re interested.”

I can hardly believe my good fortune. A job offer already. It sets me to thinking. I thank him and let my mind roam to new possibilities.

Chapter Five

 
“Oh good, you’re awake,” Regina says. “I brought you the information you asked about. I have the job application from personnel and the list of openings. Sara Ianovich, the nurse recruiter, says she’ll come up to talk with you later this morning.” She drops the manila envelope onto my bedside table along with a full bag of IV fluids. She listens to my lungs, adjusts my oxygen flow rate, glances at the needle in my wrist, and then in one fluid movement reaches up and changes the near empty bag with the full one. She works smoothly and efficiently while talking to me.

Once I learned how short staffed the nurses are here at Pacific West Hospital, I knew I wanted to work here. As much as I appreciate Dr. Matthew’s offer of an office job, acute care is really my first love. Changing from pediatric care to adult care appeals to me, though. I’m pretty sure I can get hired here. Regina’s helping me.

An hour later, I’m playing job scenarios over in my mind when Sara Ianovich, the nurse recruiter, comes to my bedside. She’s a tall, smartly dressed woman, attractive with short dark curls interspersed with gray. She pulls up a chair and conducts an employee interview right at my bedside. Talk about a go-getter, now that’s efficient. Her voice is focused and strong.

They must be really short staffed because I’ve never had an interview like this before, but Pacific West Hospital is one of the places I had emailed my resume to last Saturday morning from Starbucks. I’d forgotten.

 
“I’ve already called New Haven General Hospital for your references, they’re perfect.” She hands me several papers, the first outlining the union wages paid to nurses at Pacific West. My eyes bulge to see those numbers, so much more lucrative to work here than New Haven General! The next paper is one I’ve already seen, from Regina, the departments that have immediate openings for staff nurses. “Take your pick,” Mrs. Ianovich says.

I’ll be medically cleared to return to work in two weeks. I feel my heart beat pick up. The thrill of returning to work pulses through me. I’ve missed working. I crave the thrill of being in control again.
 
I can almost feel the anticipation of my hands racing to perform a task, the sense of pride from doing it well. I smile and feel my eyes light up.

“I know you’re used to working Pediatrics, and we have openings there, but if you’ve ever thought about changing your specialty, here’s an opportunity. We have openings on almost every floor.”

My head is bobbing up and down like a ball on a spring. I desperately want to change specialties. I want to give up taking care of sick kids and work with adults instead. I don’t know where this new resolve has come from, but it feels right. Maybe it comes from releasing my dream babies into the vaporized mist.