Page 107 of Midnight Valentine
The surgery took twelve hours, some of the longest and darkest of my life—which is saying a lot. When the doctor came out afterward and found Coop and me in the waiting room, it was almost midnight.
“We’ve done what we could,” he said, at which point my knees gave out and Coop had to carry me to a chair. I listened to the rest crying quietly on my back on a row of plastic hospital seats, all welded together and hard as winter ground.
“He’s in a medically induced coma. That was necessary because of the swelling in his brain. We’ll know more in a few hours, but I have to be honest with you…be prepared for the worst.”
He said something else, but I was no longer listening. I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of my sobs.
* * *
At ten o’clock the next morning, a pretty blonde nurse came and told us we could see him.
By then, I felt like death, and Coop was looking pretty hellish too. Neither of us had eaten or slept. Neither cared. We went into Theo’s room together, holding our breath and holding hands, quaking in fear at what we’d find.
I took one look at him and fell against Coop with a strangled cry of horror.
No one should look that bad and still be alive.
He was black, blue, and purple, and various shades of green. Both eyes were swollen shut. Lacerations slashed ugly red lines across his face and arms. His lips were bruised and disfigured by swelling. His head had been shaved on one side, and a tube stuck out of his skull, leaking yellow fluid. He was hooked up to a ventilator and various plastic tubes and beeping machines, and if it wasn’t for the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest, I’d be certain he was dead.
After he caught his breath, Coop said in a tight voice, “Well, he’s looked better.”
I burst into tears and buried my face in his chest.
“C’mon, now,” he whispered, hugging me. “Dry your tears and go say hello.”
Heart pounding, I crept over to the bed. When I touched Theo’s hand, it was cold. I leaned over and kiss his forehead, and that was cold too.
Shaking, I whispered, “Don’t you dare leave me. Hold on. I need you. I love you. Come back to me.”
Theo made no response. Not a flicker of life crossed his face. His body was still there, but I had doubts about the rest of him.
Then the hardest part began.
Waiting.
29
“Just go home, Coop. There’s nothing more you can do here. You heard the doctor—they’re not going to bring him out of the coma for at least another few days, at the earliest. Go home to your kids, get back to your life. Make sure your crew doesn’t build a bar in my living room. I’ll call you the minute I have any news.”
Coop sighs, scrubs a hand over his face, and nods. It’s been three days since Theo had surgery. His vital signs are stable, but he’s still in critical condition. The doctors look at him like they can’t believe he’s still alive, and though that makes me want to punch them all in the face, it gives me a grim kind of hope. If he’s made it this far, maybe he’ll make it all the way.
“You gonna be okay here?” asks Coop, his face creased with worry.
“Okay or not, I’m not going anywhere.”
He looks at me for a long time. “You know, his parents both passed. He’s an only child, no real family to speak of.”
I whisper, “I know. You said.”
“My point is that he’s lucky to have you.”
My laugh sounds hollow. “No, Coop. I’m the lucky one. You have no idea.”
He looks like he wants to say something more, but then he shakes his head and exhales heavily, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll check on the Buttercup on my way home, see how everything’s goin’. I’ll call you later tonight.”
He pulls me from the chair I’m sitting in beside Theo’s bed and gives me a bear hug. Then he clasps Theo’s hand in farewell. “See you soon, buddy,” he says, his voice choked.
He turns and lumbers out, tears shining in his eyes.
