Things I'll Never Say

Biting the Bullet

"Excuse me. I need to know when Jonathan Jamie is? He was just rushed here about ten minutes ago," I frantically asked one of the nurses sitting behind the computers.

She gave me a once-over, staring at my bloody hands and my overall distressed appearance.

"Just a minute ma'am. Let me look that up for you."

I nodded, staring at her anxiously.

"He was just checked into the OR, number three. There are some benches just outside, you can wait there."

"Thank you," I managed, out of breath as I ran down the hall.

It had been twenty minutes since the accident occurred, yet I was still shaking with an anxiety attack. I received many looks as I ran frantically through the hospital, eager to even just catch a glimpse at John to make sure he was still alive. I was so consumed by adrenaline and fear that I didn't know if I was going to burst out in tears or punch something. The only thing I was certain was I was not about let John go. I wasn't ready for a final goodbye.

The OR was on the opposite wing, but that didn't stop me from arriving there in less than a minute. Number 3 was on the left with draped curtains, blocking the view from the outside. I sat on the hard bench on the wall next to the door and just slumped over, my face in my hands, my mind racing.

As I was waiting, I just let my mind flood with thoughts, possibilities, memories. I pulled a hair tie off of my wrist, pulling back my hair in an attempt to pull myself together. It was then that I remembered all the blood that was left on my hands and my clothes. I could only imagine what I must have looked like running into the building with my hair in a disheveled mess and blood dried down my arms. They must've thought I was crazy. I humoured myself in imagining their conclusions.

All of a sudden the OR door opened with a group of nurses and doctors pushing a stretcher out of the operating room and down the hall, followed by a surgeon who was taking off his surgical mask and gloves to reveal slight stubble on his face and his warm hands. I stood up immediately.

The surgeon smiled at me, putting a hand on my shoulder as a smile formed on his lips. "He's going to be just fine."

My hand covered my mouth as tears began to form in my eyes. "Thank you," I managed through my tears.

"He's going to be in room 626. How about you go see him. He'll be waking up shortly."

I quickly wiped my tears before nodding, saying once more, "Thank you so much."

His room was back in the other wing where all of the recuperating patients were staying. One nurse stayed in the room, adjusting the fluid bags they had positioned next to his bed as the rest of them cleared out. It wasn't until the last one walked out that I was actually able to make it in through the doorway.

"The anesthesia won't wear off for another half hour or so. He'll be a little groggy when he wakes but he'll still be able to hear you. Hit the red buzzer if something happens or you need me and I'll be right down," the last nurse informed me, looking back with sympathetic eyes.

"Thank you," I whispered, forcing a smile before she finally left with the rest.

John lay motionless on the bed, tucked under white blankets and adorned in the standard hospital gown. White bandage peeped out on his left shoulder from where the gown's shoulder had shifted. His chest raised at a steady rhythmic pace, matching his calm breathing that was drowned out by the consistent beating of the monitor. I sat next to his bed, grasping his tube-bearing hand.

As I looked closer, I realized how weak and vulnerable John really looked. I was so used to seeing this tall and muscular man, working on capturing serial killers and risking his life for it every single day. And now he was here, lying in a hospital bed, dependent on tubes for pain relief, blood, and breathing. The colour that once made his face so warm and welcoming was completely drained as a faint shade of purple and gray had taken its place. It was like looking at a completely different man.