Before the sleep

Chapter twenty one

Daddy

The déjà vu kicks in as soon as I pass the automatic double doors. And like last time, I find my mother sitting in the waiting for room, channeling her worrying into biting her nails. For someone with a medical license, hospitals hold way more gut-wrenching memories rather than happy ones for me.

First it was my little brother now it's my wife and kid. Perhaps it's the universe punishing me for being too ambitious.

"Joe!" Mom runs to me then holds me in her arms, her tears staining my shirt. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry, it's not your fault." My voice comes out rough despite the efforts I put in to not let my emotions get the better of me. There's only a thin twig wall holding them at bay.

We move to a two-seater cream couch while I keep trying to strengthen the wall. Irene needs a strong husband right now, not one who can't control himself.

I clear my throat and swallow to moisten my dry throat. "We all knew this was coming." I squeeze her hand. The smile I try to conjure comes out more like a grimace of a man trying not to scream as his emotions are tearing him limb to limb.

My gaze drifts to the entrance door, expecting a nurse and a surgeon to walk in any seconds just like last time. Hopefully, this time around they'll have better news.

Six months ago, I walked inside this same room with my work clothes on and my mind imagining all the worst case scenarios. I approached my mother who happened to reach the hospital quicker than I did. I had no idea how considering her work place was further away to the hospital than mine.

I beat up on everything in that waiting room including the wall. After the first half hour, no pain registered in my knuckles. They were numb. Nobody was telling me anything so I had to wait inside the tiny room with images after images fuming the fury I could barely control.

Then, the pair walked in, both sporting scrubs decorated by droplets of blood that I knew was from my wife's.

"Mr. Pierre," the woman said. Unlike the tired look on the surgeon's face, she offered me a sympathetic smile which broke my heart. Sympathy could only be offered if something bad had already taken place.

"That's me." I stood in front of them, daring and fearing any bad news to come out of their mouths.

"There were some complications during the operation," his crave voice blared in my temples. My heart picked up its pace as I tried to get pass the emotionless tone he was using to relate what had just happened to my wife. I knew it was the professional thing to do but my mind skipped over all the etiquettes for now.

"But..." I encouraged him to continue.

"But she survived."

I exhaled the breath I was holding. A smile cracked on my lips as I held on to my mother's hands, letting the tension slide away from me.

"Can I see her?" I asked tentatively.

"That was not all Mr. Pierre," he cut through my newly regained happiness. "She's in a coma."

I heard my mother's sharp take of breath but I was in denial. I couldn't wrap my mind around the implication that was being presented to me.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"You don't have to worry so much now. She might wake up in the next few days. Sometimes the brain takes longer to recover than the physical body. That might be the reason why she's not responding, her brain is recovering."