Soul Rivers was born and raised in the heart of Detroit, Michigan. She grew up listening to the sounds of Motown and was inspired by the likes of Aretha Franklin, Stevie Wonder, and Marvin Gaye. She started singing at a young age and quickly develop...
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""I'll always be with you, Alsina."...."— Soul Rivers.
SOUL • RIVERS.
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"So, what have you decided about the surgery?" I asked, breaking the silence that filled the sterile hospital room. He stared out the window, eyes unfocused, as if searching for answers in the gray, overcast hallway. The corridor stretched out, dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights, with nurses bustling past and the occasional squeak of a gurney wheel. The white walls were lined with bulletin boards cluttered with memos and schedules, and the air was thick with the smell of antiseptic.
The ticking of the wall clock grew louder, a constant reminder that time was slipping away. The bullet, lodged precariously near his spine, demanded swift action. The doctors had stressed the urgency—they needed to operate soon, or risk permanent damage.
He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the decision. His fingers traced the pattern of the blanket absentmindedly. Each option before him seemed like a double-edged sword: undergo the risky surgery and face potential paralysis, or avoid it and risk further complications. The uncertainty etched lines of worry on his face, and I could see the fear in his eyes as he struggled with the impossible choice.
"Neither option is exactly reassuring," he said, his voice trembling. "There's risk no matter what. But I can't imagine living with a bullet in my spine, in constant pain." He shook his head, frustration etched in every line of his face.
I leaned down and kissed his cheek, hoping to offer some comfort. Just then, the door opened and the doctor walked in, followed by my mother. A small, reassuring smile appeared on both their faces.
"Mr. Alsina, how are you feeling?" the doctor asked, his tone gentle but probing. "How do you think I'm feeling?" he snapped, his voice rising. "I've got bullet holes everywhere I look. I'm in extreme pain, and I'm stuck with two fucked-up options because you're not exactly giving me good ones." His frustration boiled over, the anger evident in his clenched fists.
I placed a calming hand on his arm, leaning in to hush him gently. "Stop. Don't be rude. I get you're upset, but don't take it out on him. He didn't put you here, and he's working tirelessly to do right by you." He glared at me for a moment, then his shoulders slumped as the fight drained out of him. The doctor maintained his calm demeanor, nodding slightly.
"I understand your frustration," the doctor said gently. "This is an incredibly difficult situation. We're doing everything we can to give you the best possible outcome."
My mother stepped forward, her eyes filled with concern and sympathy. "We're all here to support you, honey. We're going to get through this together."
He took a deep breath, the tension in his body easing slightly. "I just want to make the right choice," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I don't want to live in pain, but I'm scared of what might happen if the surgery goes wrong."
"We'll take it one step at a time," the doctor reassured him. "We're here to help you make the best decision and to support you no matter what you choose." I squeezed his hand, feeling his grip tighten in response. The room was filled with an uneasy silence, but there was a sense of solidarity. Despite the uncertainty, we were all in this together, facing the challenges head-on.
He sighed heavily, the weight of his decision clear on his face. "Give me the options again," he said, his voice steadier now. "And tell me the risks of leaving the bullet in versus taking it out."
The doctor nodded, pulling up a chair to sit closer. "Alright, Mr. Alsina. If we leave the bullet in, there's a significant risk of infection, ongoing pain, and potential nerve damage that could worsen over time. You might also face mobility issues and chronic pain that could severely impact your quality of life."
He paused, letting the information sink in before continuing. "If we perform the surgery to remove the bullet, there's a risk of complications, including paralysis or other nerve damage due to the bullet's location near your spine. The surgery itself carries typical risks like infection and adverse reactions to anesthesia. However, if successful, it could significantly reduce your pain and prevent further damage."
My mother listened intently, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "What are the chances of a successful surgery?" she asked, her voice tinged with hope.
"The success rate is relatively high," the doctor replied. "But it's not without its dangers. We'll have a team of experienced surgeons working on you, and we'll take every precaution to minimize risks."
He sighed again, looking from the doctor to me, then to my mother. "I just want to make the right choice," he said softly, his resolve starting to solidify. "I can't keep living in this kind of pain."
"We'll support you no matter what," I said, squeezing his hand again. "Whatever you decide, we're here for you."
The doctor stood up, a reassuring smile on his face. "Take your time to think it over. We're here to answer any questions you have." As the doctor and my mother left the room, he looked back out the window, the gray hallway now a little less daunting. He still had a difficult decision to make, but now, he didn't feel so alone. "I want the surgery."
I looked over at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt. "Are you sure you want the surgery?" I asked softly.
He brushed his hand over his face, his eyes filled with uncertainty and determination. "I'm not sure about either option," he admitted, his voice heavy with resignation. "But, yeah, I'll do the surgery." I nodded, squeezing his hand. "Okay. We'll get through this together."
The decision made, the room felt a little lighter, though the uncertainty still lingered. Just then, the doctor returned with my mother, both of them sensing a change.
"Have you made a decision, Mr. Alsina?" the doctor asked, his expression attentive.
He nodded, squaring his shoulders. "Yes, I'll go through with the surgery."
The doctor gave a reassuring smile. "Alright. We'll start preparing immediately. The surgical team will come in shortly to discuss the procedure and answer any remaining questions."
My mother stepped forward, her eyes glistening with relief. "We're here with you, every step of the way."
As the doctor left to make the necessary arrangements, I looked back at him. Despite the fear and the risk, there was a newfound resolve in his eyes. I leaned in, resting my forehead against his. "You're so brave," I whispered. "I love you." He gave a small, grateful smile, his hand still firmly gripping mine. The road ahead was daunting, but in that moment, surrounded by love and support, we both felt a glimmer of hope. "I love you too, thank you for being here. Makes this shit less scary."
"I'll always be with you, Alsina." I winked my eye at him.
