Page 71 of Degrees of Power
“Mom, I love you,” I say, not even attempting to wipe the tears that are streaming down my cheeks.
“Love you, Sweetie,” she says very low, almost a whisper.
“Mom, do you need anything?” I say, bending so that she can hear me better.
“Your dad,” she says, tightening the grip on my hand.
“Tell me what you want,” I say.
“Talk to him,” she says, her head moving side to side trying to come out of the medication-induced sleep.
“Hang on, Mom. Just hang on,” I say, kissing her forehead before I run out of her room to my father’s next door. “Wait, my mom wants to talk to my dad before you take him to surgery,” I say to the men starting to move the gurney.
“Ma’am, we’ve already started the prep. We need to move the patient to surgery rather quickly.”
“Let me be just a little more clear. I wasn’t asking if it was possible, I want to know how we make this happen. The best thing for my father before he undergoes surgery is to hear the woman he loves, the reason he has for being on this earth, talk to him. How do we make this happen? I ask.
“Gentleman, is there a problem?” Chase says, walking into the room.
“No sir, we’re happy to move him, it’s just the timing. We need to be quick,” he says, beginning to push the bed my father is on past us. “We’ll pull him right up beside her, but then they’ll only have a few moments before we need to have him on his way to surgery,” the guy says.
“Thank you,” I say, running ahead of them to reach my mom before they enter her room. “Mom, Dad’s prepared for surgery, but he’s coming to see you first. You can talk to him,” I say, just as they wheel him next to me.
“Mom, are you awake?” I ask.
“Hmm. Your dad?” she says.
“He’s here, Mom. You can say anything, here touch his hand, hold it,” I say, placing his hand next to hers, startled when she grasps it and squeezes.
“Come back to me. I love you,” she says, and I see the squeeze of her hand again.
“Dad, Mom is going to make it. She’s going to be okay. She loves you and wants you to get better. Do you feel her squeezing your hand? You need to be strong to get through this and come back to her and me. We love you, Dad. Please get through this,” I say, squeezing both of their hands before I release them and let the transporters take him to surgery. My mom’s eyelids shutter and she falls back asleep before Chase guides me to the couch and pulls me into his arms as I watch my mom’s chest rise and fall with sleep.
“Lay down, Baby,” he says, settling my head in his lap while I stretch out on the couch and he places the blanket over me. He pushes my hair to its side and begins slowly rubbing my neck, massaging it, tracing patterns around it and down my back. I follow the patterns of his hands on my skin and slowly begin to relax.
I wake to voices and people scrambling about the room. I raise my head and my mom is sitting up and has nurses around her checking her blood pressure, adjusting her pillows and giving her sips of water. My heart catches, just seeing her upright, her eyes open and taking in liquid. I wait until the nurses finish and leave before rising from the couch. Chase is sleeping sitting up, and I kiss his lips gently and place the blanket over his body. I walk to my mom’s bedside and take her hand. The battering of her face, purple and green eyes, and bright red lacerations make my heart ache. I kiss her forehead gently, careful not to move her neck which is still in the white brace.
“Dad should be out of surgery shortly,” I say, glancing at my phone. “It’s been over an hour and a half since they took him downstairs,” I say just as a nurse walks into the room.
“Mrs. Larussio, your husband is out of surgery and is in recovery. He’ll be back in ICU within half an hour. The surgeon will be down to speak with you shortly,” she says.
“Thank you for letting us know,” I say, squeezing my mom’s hand and reaching over to wipe the tears that fall from her lovely blue eyes that are filled with shadows of pain and fear.
“He’s going to be okay, Mom. He’s a fighter,” I say, feeling her tighten the hold on my hand.
“Mrs. Larussio, wonderful to see you awake,” a man in blue scrubs says, removing his mask as he enters the room. Chase wakes to the sound of his voice and comes to stand next to me.
“How is he?” Chase asks, shaking hands with the surgeon.
“The procedure went well, we were able to relieve some of the pressure and remove the blood clot. We are already starting to see reductions in the swelling which is a great sign. We’ll continue monitoring and keep you apprised of his condition. Do you have any questions for me?” he asks.
“No, we’re excited to hear the surgery was such a great success and appreciate everything you’ve done for my father,” I say, shaking his hand.
“You’re more than welcome, Mrs. Prestian. If you need anything please ensure the nursing staff are alerted. Mrs. Larussio, your husband should be returned to the room next to you shortly,” he says before walking out the door.
My heart tugs painfully at the tears slowly rolling from my mom’s eyes. “Mom, he’s getting better.” I wipe her eyes and kiss her forehead, giving her a little taste of the ice chip water. I reach into my purse and pull Chapstick out and gently run it over her dry and cracked lips. “Feel better?” I ask.
“Um-hum. So tired though,” she says.
