A nasty blow to her head.
Swelling on her brain.
A coma.
Brain damage.
Blood transfusions.
Critical.
Each word is a stab in the chest. I’ve barely moved an inch from this chair. I’ve drifted in and out of sleep, and my hand has been in hers from the moment they allowed me into her room. It’s like a fishbowl, two walls made up of windows, allowing everyone in ICU visual access to my wife. While her skin has taken on more colour after the endless transfusions, she’s still not awake. There are wires everywhere, machines surrounding her. There’s barely enough room for me beside her bed. The CT scan yesterday evening revealed no improvement, just like yesterday morning’s scan. No reduction of swelling, and though I’m trying to be hopeful, I know it’s unlikely this morning’s scan will show any signs of improvement, either.
It’s been two days. I need to see my babies. I have to reassure them that Mummy’s going to be okay, that she’ll wake up soon and we’ll all go home together. Even if I have no idea whether it’s true. The sting at the back of my eyes forces me to close them before any more tears can escape. I’ve stalled letting them come here, hoping and praying that the doctors will give me news so I won’t have to lie to my children. But the news I’ve hoped for hasn’t come, and I can’t stall any longer.
It’s time to face my responsibilities and give my kids what they need.
Me. Their dad.
I’m just so fucking crushed that I can’t give them their mum, too.
When my phone alerts me to a text from Elizabeth, I force myself to drop Ava’s hand and get up out of the chair. My muscles scream their protest, my bones cracking. After dropping a soft kiss on Ava’s forehead, I walk down the corridor to the café where I’ve arranged to meet her parents with the kids. I hear both of the twins before I see them. Two voices calling my name. I come to a stop, seeing their faces for the first time in too long. It takes everything in me not to drop to my knees. I’m fucking broken, but I can’t let them see that.
Maddie and Jacob crash into me and throw their arms around my torso, cuddling me fiercely, each of their faces buried in my chest. The feel of them against me offers a mild comfort. For the most part, my dread has tripled, because now they’re here. Now I have to be a man and comfort my babies once I’ve delivered the blow that I know will shatter their worlds.
‘Where’s Mum?’ Jacob asks into my chest. ‘Nan says she’s sick. Too sick to see us.’
I close my eyes, clenching them tightly. ‘She’s going to be okay.’ I grate the words, not just for the twins, but for me, too. ‘Trust your daddy. She is going to be okay.’
‘I want to see her.’ Maddie breaks away from me, her face blotchy from tears. ‘Please, Daddy.’
This suddenly doesn’t feel like a good idea. Ava doesn’t look like herself. She doesn’t look like their mum. I crouch down in front of her, taking my little girl’s hand. ‘Darling, I don’t think . . . she’s . . .’ I clear my throat, pulling myself together to get the words out even and strong. ‘Mum’s not herself. She lost a lot of blood, so she’s very pale. Very weak.’
Maddie’s chin trembles, and I look to Elizabeth, shaking my head. I can’t let them see her like that. Look what it’s done to me. I’m barely holding myself together.
‘You can’t stop us,’ Jacob yells, stepping back. ‘She’s our mum.’
My exhausted body lets me down, and before I can stop him, Jacob takes off down the corridor, Maddie quick on his heels. I drag myself up, watching as my boy slows to let his sister catch up before taking her hand and leading her on. The fact that they don’t know exactly where Ava’s room is won’t faze my babies. Like their father, they are determined. They have a sixth sense when it comes to Ava, too. They’ll sniff her out in no time at all.
I slowly follow, rounding the corner to find them standing at the glass window, staring into Ava’s room, holding each other’s hands. I study them silently, each of their faces a picture of pure shock. Then Maddie breaks down and Jacob turns into her, grabbing his sister and hugging her. The sight could bring me to my knees, and I once again have to find strength from somewhere to remain upright. It’s in this moment that I realise my babies aren’t really babies any more. My eleven-year-old son is holding his own emotions in check so he can comfort his sister. My eyes well, and I quickly and roughly brush at them to clear my vision.
Elizabeth approaches, looking up at me with tightly pressed lips. I shake my head mildly, showing her the despair I’m fighting to hide from my children, and make my way over to them. My arms circle their shoulders, and I hold them tightly, absorbing the jerking of Maddie’s body. I kiss the tops of their heads one after the other, over and over. ‘She’ll be okay.’ I only just hold myself back from tagging I promise on the end, and it kills me to accept that my unwillingness to make that vow is because I never want to break a promise I make to my children. ‘Are you two listening to your dad? She will be okay.’ Those words, they’re stupid but unstoppable. They are as good as a promise to my kids. Because Dad said so.
‘Mr Ward?’
I look up over the twins’ heads. ‘Dr Peters.’ With my kids still held securely in my arms, I cock my head, silently asking him if we need to be alone.
‘It’s good news, Mr Ward.’
Good news? I look through the window to Ava’s lifeless body on the bed. She looks exactly the same as she has since coming out of surgery. Unresponsive. No improvement. Good news?
‘The scan we did this morning has shown the swelling has subsided considerably over the past twelve hours.’
My head swings back towards him, the kids breaking away from me. He says it’s good news, so why does he still look so serious? ‘And?’ I question.
‘It’s still early days, and the extent of the damage won’t be clear until she comes around. But it’s a step in the right direction.’
I know I should feel relieved, but the word damage is a constant in my mind, like they’re priming me for something. ‘Thank you, doctor.’ I end the conversation there, refraining from asking the questions I need to. Not in front of the kids. I look to Elizabeth, who moves towards us before I ask.
‘I’ll take them in,’ she says, steering the kids to the entrance of Ava’s room.
‘They should talk to her,’ the doctor suggests. ‘Quietly, but they should talk to her.’
Elizabeth takes the children into the room, leaving me alone with the doctor. ‘Damage,’ I say, returning my attention to him. ‘Tell me honestly, what’s the probability?’
‘It’s impossible to say until she’s awake. While she’s in a coma, her brain is resting, giving it the best chance to heal.’
I don’t want to ask, and I won’t. She will wake up. Of course she will wake up. ‘So what are you doing in the meantime?’ I ask, unable to keep the curtness from my tone. It’s all a load of ifs and buts. That’s all I’m getting.
Through my fog of growing fury, I notice the doctor looking a little wary all of a sudden, backing up, and I realise I’m glaring at him, my jaw ticking, my body moving forward.
‘Mr Ward, we’re doing all we can.’
‘And what if it’s not enough?’ Just as I utter the words, I hear the shrill shriek of Ava’s mother, and I’m flying into the room like a bull, the doctor hot on my heels. I don’t know whether to be elated or terrified by what I find. Ava is squirming around on the bed, sobbing and distressed.
‘Mum!’ Maddie cries, getting tugged back from the bed by an alarmed-looking Jacob. ‘Dad, what’s wrong with her?’
I hadn’t noticed the doctor passing me at the end of the bed, but he’s now by Ava’s bedside, pressing buttons, shifting machinery, hands working frantically around my girl. ‘Ava,’ he says urgently. ‘Ava, can you hear me?’ He looks across to me, then nods to the children.
I understand his silent order, but I’m damned if I can move to follow it. My heart is going crazy in my chest, my legs full of lead. She looks like she’s having the worst kind of nightmare. Or a seizure. Is it a seizure?
‘Mr Ward!’
The sharp snap of my name shocks me to life, and I grab my kids’ hands, pulling them out of the room with me. I can’t see Ava like this knowing there’s fuck all I can do about it. I feel more helpless now than when she was unconscious.
I look back through the glass in a state of total shock.
‘We should get coffee,’ Elizabeth suggests in an attempt to keep me busy while the doctors work on Ava.
I look down at each of my children in turn, Maddie first, her face tear-stained and red, and then Jacob. He’s looking up at me, squeezing my big hand in his small one. They realign me, bring me back to where I should be. I stand taller and swallow down my shock. ‘Yes, let’s get something to drink while the doctors do what they need to.’
‘Well, what are they doing?’ Maddie looks back to Ava’s room, and I quickly pull her back around, giving her a warning look. ‘Helping Mum.’ It takes everything in me not to look back myself. What I’ve already seen will haunt me for ever.
*
After I force the kids to have some water and a sandwich, we go back to the ward in silence, my mind caught between dread and hope. I have no idea what I should be bracing myself for, what I should expect. And that scares me to death. The unknown. The lack of control.
When we arrive at Ava’s room, the doctor is outside making notes. He looks up and smiles mildly, and the hope takes over the dread. ‘She’s settled,’ he says. ‘Her eyes are open, she is perfectly aware of her surroundings, and she told me her name and date of birth.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ Elizabeth grabs my arm and squeezes, while I have to close my eyes to stop the tears of relief escaping.
Once I’m sure they’re under control, I look down at my smiling babies. ‘What did I tell you?’ I ask them seriously. ‘Always listen to your dad, you got that?’ They both nod, cuddling into my chest as I mentally yell at myself for ever doubting it. I knew she wouldn’t leave me. I knew she’d fight for me and the kids.
‘She’s just having some water and getting a few tubes removed,’ the doctor says. ‘We can go back in once the nurse has taken her vitals. I just need to run a few more tests, but you’re welcome to join me in the room.’
‘Thank you,’ I breathe, squeezing the kids into me. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘You’re welcome, Mr Ward.’ He looks to the door when it opens and a nurse exits. ‘Shall we?’
I take a deep breath, suddenly a bit apprehensive. I haven’t looked into my wife’s eyes for nearly two days, and the thought of doing it now is making me a pathetic, nervous fool. What’s wrong with me?
The nurse looks to Elizabeth as she passes us and smiles. ‘She’s asking for her mum.’
Elizabeth’s hand goes to her chest on a mild whimper as she takes the lead, rushing to her daughter’s bedside. A small part of me is happy for her. For the most part, I’m hurt that she hasn’t asked for me, her husband, but I quickly put the silly slight aside and follow Elizabeth in with the children. I find my mother-in-law hunched over Ava on the bed, trying to hug her as best she can around the wires and tubes. I can hear the quiet sobs, and when I hear Ava’s voice, I smile, not just because she sounds like my wife, if a little rough in the throat, but because she sounds totally with it.
‘My head hurts,’ she complains.
‘Oh, darling. Of course it hurts.’ Elizabeth’s light laugh as she speaks is loaded with joy. ‘Look who’s here.’ She moves away from Ava, opening up a direct path to me and the twins.
I move forward, desperate to look into those eyes, to touch her and feel her respond, even if it’s just a light squeeze of my hand. I’ve missed her so much. But when our eyes connect, Ava frowns, flicking her gaze to the children and then back to me. I stop, watching carefully as she seems to assess us. Where’s the sparkle in those eyes I love so much? Where’s the love? My heart slows to a faint thud in my chest, my joy fading with it. Something isn’t right.
‘Ava, do you know who this is?’ the doctor asks warily.
My head swings towards him in horror. ‘Of course she does,’ I blurt. What is he suggesting?
The doctor ignores me and moves closer to Ava, whose eyes are still passing continuously between me and the kids. Still no sparkle. Still no love. ‘Ava, tell me your full name.’
She doesn’t hesitate. ‘Ava O’Shea.’
I recoil, not quite sure what to make of this.
The doctor flicks a glance towards me. I don’t know what to make of his look, either. ‘Ava, do you know who this man is?’
‘What?’ I blurt, my horror growing.
That horror reaches unspeakable heights when my wife slowly starts to shake her head. ‘No.’
I gasp, suddenly struggling for breath. No?
‘Oh my goodness,’ Elizabeth breathes, coming straight to me and claiming the children. ‘Come on, darlings. Let’s go and find your pap.’ She steers them out of the room, both of them looking back at me with confusion all over their faces.
And I just stand there, useless, staring into the eyes of the woman who rules my heart, trying to comprehend what’s unfolding. ‘Ava.’ I barely get her name out, my mind frantically searching for words.
‘Can you tell me how you crashed your car?’ the doctor pushes on.
She shakes her head on a frown, reaching up to rub her forehead. But her eyes never leave mine. They’re holding me frozen where I stand, taking me in.
‘And this man isn’t familiar to you?’ Dr Peters asks, making notes while he talks.
I hold my breath, begging she puts this right, praying that I didn’t hear her correctly, that she’s just confused. Of course she remembers me. I’m her husband. I’m the man who would lay down his life for her. She has to remember me!
She studies me for a few moments, looking me up and down, as if trying hard to place me. My heart cracks. ‘I don’t recognise him.’ She looks down at the sheets, and the inevitable tears start to pinch the back of my stunned eyes.
‘Do you have any children, Ava?’
‘No.’ She almost laughs, quickly looking up at me again.
My world shatters into a million shards of devastation, and I stagger towards a nearby chair, sitting down before I fall. Her gaze follows me the entire way.
‘You don’t remember me?’ I whisper the words.
‘Should I?’ she asks, her laughter gone and clear worry in her tone.
Her reply slays me. It turns my stomach and rips my broken heart from my chest. I want to scream at her, tell her that yes, yes, she should remember me. Everything we’ve been through. Everything we’ve done together. How much we love each other.
‘Ava, this is your husband.’ The doctor points towards me where I’m slumped in the chair. ‘Jesse.’
‘But I’m not married,’ she argues, seeming to be getting frustrated. Frustrated? She’s frustrated? I hate myself with a vengeance for concluding that she has no fucking idea. I positively hate myself. She doesn’t remember me? Her husband. Her Lord.
I can’t take this. I’m going to throw up. I dash out of the room and sprint down the corridor, thrusting the door to the men’s open with force and falling into a cubicle. I haven’t eaten for days, but that doesn’t seem to be a problem for my stomach. I retch and cough over the toilet.
She’s forgotten me. Forgotten our kids. What is this madness?
My body starts to ache with the force of my retching, and when I finally accept that there’s nothing to bring up, I push myself up with too much effort and move to the sink to splash my face. I stare at myself in the mirror. I don’t even recognise myself right now. I’m pasty, my eyes are sunken, and I look drained. I am drained. I was before Ava came around, and the small, momentary sliver of life I found when she opened her eyes has been cruelly snatched away.
What am I going to do? How do I fix this? The only thing in this world that keeps my heart beating doesn’t know who I am.
A tap on the door prompts me to look past my frightful reflection. ‘Mr Ward?’ The doctor’s voice has lost all the hope that filled it when Ava woke from her coma. Now it’s back to sympathetic. ‘Mr Ward, are you in there?’ The door opens and Dr Peters appears, his lips pressed tightly together when he finds me holding myself up by the basin.
‘She doesn’t remember me, her own husband, and not even our babies?’ I swallow down the lump making me choke on every word, wondering why I’m posing it as a question. It’s not like I heard her wrong. It’s not like I didn’t see the total blankness in her eyes when she looked at me and the twins.
The doctor enters, shutting the door quietly and slowly behind him. Clearing his throat and plunging his hands into his pockets, he finds my eyes in the mirror. I can’t turn to face him. My hands wedged against the edge of the basin are the only thing holding me up.
‘Mr Ward, it would seem your wife is suffering from amnestic syndrome.’
‘What?’ I snap.
‘Memory loss.’
‘No fucking shit, brainiac,’ I mutter. Is he just going to state the fucking obvious?
Ignoring my rudeness, he goes on. ‘Having chatted briefly with Ava, there appears to be a clear divide in her memory.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, my forehead bunching.
‘I mean, from what I have established thus far, there is an obvious cut-off point in her memory.’ He points to the side of his head. ‘The part of her brain that stores certain memories has been traumatised. Our ability to recall memories is a very complex process, without the added handicap of a brain trauma.’
I close my eyes, trying to allow all the information to sink in. ‘What are you saying, doctor?’ I ask outright.
‘I’m saying your wife has lost the last sixteen years of her life.’
‘What?’ I swing around to face him. ‘That’s me. All of me, all of our time together. Are you telling me she won’t remember any of it? Nothing?’
‘The majority of patients who suffer from amnesia as a result of trauma will recover fully. How long that recovery takes depends on so much – the severity of the injury, the patient’s frame of mind, their short-term and long-term memory.’
‘The majority of patients?’ I ask, homing in on that part and that part alone.
‘Ava is a young, healthy woman, Mr Ward. The odds are in her favour.’
‘And if she doesn’t fully recover?’
‘The memories remain lost,’ he says bluntly, making me wince.
The kids’ lives to this point. Me. She’ll lose it all? ‘What about medication?’
‘There is no physical or mental disorder present, Mr Ward. She doesn’t need medication. What she needs is her family to help her retrieve her lost memories. To support her. There are many therapy options we can consider, such as cognitive behavioural therapy, EMDR, energy psychology, neurofeedback, and maybe even hypnosis.’
His spew of words means nothing to me. I’m lost in this crazy. ‘She doesn’t even know who I am,’ I grate. ‘What am I supposed to do? Just take her home and hope she’ll suddenly remember me?’
‘It’s all you can do, Mr Ward. That, and support her in any therapy sessions we decide to try in order to help.’ He takes the door handle, smiling mildly. ‘Ava realises that she’s forgotten things. That’ll be both frustrating and upsetting, especially where her children are concerned. She might have issues with short-term memory, too, and daily life will take its toll. You need to be strong, Mr Ward. You need to help her try to remember.’
‘I don’t think a Reminder Fuck is going to suffice right now,’ I mumble.
‘Pardon?’ The doctor looks at me like I might be going doolally. He could be right.
I shake my head and try to take in what he’s said. Help her. Help her try to find the endless memories we share. I stand up straight and pull my shoulders back, a physical act of determination that I’m trying so hard to back up with mental determination. I can do this. I have to do this. There’s no way I’m going to allow our history to slip away like it never happened. No way. I’ll do anything.
‘I’ll do whatever it takes.’ I nod to myself and make my way to the door, passing the doctor without another word, now full to the brim with the mental determination I was missing only a moment ago. There’s only one way to approach this. Gently. Patiently. Sensitively. Softly-softly. I blow out a breath, laughing at myself. Good God, this is going to be a battle like no other.