count to ten; a.i

E I G H T

EIGHT

Eight weeks later - two months - you were still in the hospital. I'd spent new years all alone and Amelia was growing every day without a father.

I took her to see you occasionally, but I couldn't find the energy anymore. I'd just given birth to our second child - a boy - and every night I cried myself to sleep because you weren't beside me. Because you didn't even know your son, yet, and your daughter was slowly forgetting you.

I wished that you could be there again - drunk or not. You may not be who you usually were but at least there'd be someone there.

I got a call from the hospital for the third time in a week. It was one of two things: my GP calling to organise checkups for our son, or your Doctor calling to tell me something dreadful.

'Hello?' I'd said, my voice etched with fear.

'Hello, is this Miss Irwin?' The person asked, and my heart plummeted. It was Doctor Cochran.

'Mrs Irwin,' I'd corrected him half heartedly.

'I have some critical information about my patient, Mr. Ashton Irwin,' He'd said. 'I'm afraid he's come down with Jaundice,'

'Jaundice?'

 'The yellowing of skin and whites of the eyes. His body is producing excess biliruban, and-' Dr. Cochran explained.

'I don't care about the sceientific explanation,' I'd cried, cutting him off. 'Is this bad?'

There was a loud sigh and I couldn't tell if It were mine or Dr. Cochrane's - that's how out of it I was.

'Well, the good news is it's very common with liver disease,' He paused, and the suspense was killing me. 'The bad news is it's only common with the very extreme cases,' 

'Extreme? Extreme as in?'

'Extreme as in your husband only has one - possibly two years to live,' Dr. Cochrane said with a heavy heart.

It was like my whole life came crashing down at that moment, because I knew you were the only thing that kept me going.

I was opening and closing my mouth as though I actually thought something positive would come out.

'Miss... Mrs Irwin, please. Say something,' Dr. Cochrane urged.

'You don't understand,' I replied angrily, hanging up.

I wasn't angry at Dr. Cochrane, and I wasn't angry at you. To be honest, I'm not sure who I was angry at. 

Maybe God.

Maybe the world. 

Maybe myself.