Page 161 of Of Heartbreak and Harmony
I wince, then give her a weak smile. “Bathroom, please.”
She gets to work unhooking my arm cage and helping me into some sort of sling. It hurts like hell—my arm, my stomach, my head—and several times I feel dizzy because of it, but I’m determined to make it to the bathroom. The nurse helps transfer me and all my “accessories” to a wheelchair, then slowly, she brings me to the bathroom.
My legs are weak. I’m unstable on my feet, and each movement seems to shoot pain through every inch of my body, so I need a lot of help. The nurse must be able to tell that it frustrates me, because whenshe speaks, her tone is warm and encouraging. I’m sure she sees this a lot. Hell, I’m sure she sees worse.
“Take it easy, Ms. James. You’ve had several major surgeries. It’s going to take you some time to adjust.”
We have to be careful of the incision site on my abdomen. We have to be careful of the wound on my head. We have to be careful of the mess of metal and bone dust that is now my arm. I push through all the pain and make it to the bathroom, determined to succeed in this small, normal task that suddenly feels like climbing Everest, but the unexpected thing sends me over the edge is that I’m wearing adult briefs.
I start to sob.
I sit on the toilet, hooked to an IV bag with my ruined arm in a vise and three separate major surgical sites on my body, and I sob over the fact that I’m wearing an adult diaper.
Even the crying hurts.
When I’m washing my hand, I keep my head down and avoid the mirror. I focus on lathering soap through my fingers and over my palm, then let the nurse help get the back of my hand and wrist. Just before she wheels me back to my bed, I take a deep breath and look up at my reflection.
I blink. I blink again.
A part of my head has been shaved. White gauze and tape cover what I’m assuming are sutures. The hair that’s left is greasy and stringy, hanging around my shoulders. There’s also a bandage on my left cheek. I could feel it there when I woke up. I could even see the gauze from the corner of my eye, but I was so focused on everything else that hurt...
“Can you take this off?”
I glance at the nurse through the mirror. Her face gives nothing away.
“We can go ahead and change it.”
She puts on a new pair of gloves and steps in front of me. I watch her face as she peels my bandage off carefully. She cleans my skin, pressing gently, then steps out of the way, allowing me to finally see my reflection.
“It’s healing well. We can leave the bandage off if it’s been irritating you.”
I don’t answer her as I stare at my reflection. There’s bruising and swelling on the left side of my face, and a laceration, maybe three inches long, slashes across my cheek. The skin around it is red and inflamed, but I imagine it looked even worse before someone with expert hands sutured it back together.
But still...
I clear my throat and tear my eyes away from the mirror to look back at the nurse.
“How badly will all of this scar?”
I almost want to laugh at the vanity in the statement. I’m lucky to be alive, but here I am worrying about scarring and sobbing over wearing a diaper. I bite my tongue on the urge to apologize, though. It’s a valid question. It’s an important question. This is my body, the only body I’m going to get, and wanting to know what to expect is normal.
“It will scar, but you had one of the best reconstructive plastic surgeons on it, so it won’t be as bad as you think. And as for your head, your hair will grow over it. In a few months, no one will even know.”
I nod and look back at the mirror. “Okay.”
She places her hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “I know this is a lot. It’s scary and feels overwhelming, but you’re going to get through it. Your fiancé brought in the best surgeons in the country to take care of you. No one who touched you after the initial emergency was anything less than top of their field. You’re in great hands, Ms. James. I promise.”
I stare at her through the mirror, running back over every word. I can’t bring myself to speak. I can’t bring myself to look back at my reflection, either. I nod instead and let her take me back to my bed.
Just before she leaves, I stop her.
“I’m sorry...I didn’t ask your name.”
“I’m Kim.”
“Thank you, Kim. You can call me Callie.”
She smiles again. “You’re welcome, Callie. Just hit the button if you need me.”
