Waiting for Her Soldier Page 3

  After a quick, hot shower I got dressed and put on some make-up. I didn’t dress up too much, I was going to a hospital, after all, not out on the town, but all the same I wanted to look good for Darren, to be a sight for his sore eyes. But there was nothing I could do about all the weight I’d gained, not with forty-five minutes until visiting hours started, anyways.

  I’d put myself on that crazy exercise regimen, but now Darren was coming home much sooner than I’d expected. I pushed my breasts together in the mirror, trying to suck in my stomach, highlighting the good curves and attempting to hide the bad ones. Was it any use? How would he react when he saw me?

  Staring at myself in the mirror I could feel my self-doubt coming back to haunt me. Why did I keep doing this to myself? I set my hopes so high, only to watch them crash back down to earth each and every time. I remembered what Paul said about Darren and how much he cared about me, but we hadn’t seen each other in years. Darren spent all those years in Afghanistan staring at my high school picture, but the woman he was coming back to was different. I’d grown up, matured mentally, physically, and emotionally. In a lot of ways I felt better than ever, but I couldn’t get past my bad body image.

  Would Darren be able to see who I really was, a woman devoted to him, loyal to a fault, ready to do anything to be with him? Only time would tell, there really was no use fretting about it anymore. I would know soon enough.

  I grabbed my keys and my purse off of the bathroom counter and headed out to my car. I still had time to grab a coffee before heading to the hospital; I wasn’t hungry for anything else. My stomach was completely tied up in knots and was likely to stay that way until I heard Darren’s voice and saw his handsome face again.

  I walked into the sterile lobby of the hospital, with its varying tones of grey and off-white with accents of teal. It was just past 8:30 AM, but already the hallways were brimming with activity as nurses rushed to check on their patients and the PA system rang out intermittently to page various doctors to the Intensive Care Unit. After taking a left down what I assumed to be the main hallway I found a reception desk and a large waiting room, most of the chairs filled by families there to see their wounded fathers and brothers.

  As I waited in the long line, I sipped my coffee, attempting to calm myself down and keep my composure for the rendezvous with Darren that was destined to happen at any moment now. Normally, I found caffeine soothing, and it was a necessary component of my normal workday routine, but on this particular morning it was having a negative effect on my nerves while I stood there, wishing that the people in front of me would finish their business so I could speak to a receptionist.

  At that moment I noticed one of the nurses was walking over the reception desk with a pile of papers. I walked over and asked her if maybe she could help me.

  “Hi, ma’am, I was wondering if you might be able to help me. Could I ask you what room Sgt. Darren Henderson is in?” I asked sheepishly, putting on a big smile as I attempted to appear friendly and cheerful.

  The nurse eyed me back skeptically, a tough-looking woman in her late forties. “Miss, do you think I keep track of all the patients in this hospital? You need to talk to someone at reception.”

  I felt my heart begin to sink. I’d walked away from the long line at the reception desk in order to speak with her and at that very moment saw two more people just getting into the line. Desperate, I tried again, pressing the nurse for more information.

  “He’s a recently admitted patient. He was supposed to arrive today. I just want to know if he’s here,” I said, hoping to find out something about the situation.

  The nurse sighed. “What’s the name again?”

  “Henderson, Darren Henderson. He was wounded in Afghanistan, shrapnel.”

  The nurse’s eyes lit up. “Have you called about him before?”

  “Yes,” I said. “All the time.”

  “I remember you. You’ve been calling us up ‘bout three or four times every damn day for the past week. I spoke to you a couple of days ago.”

  “I thought your voice sounded familiar,” I exclaimed excitedly. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bother, I’m just so worried about him. I can’t help it.”

  “It’s alright, I understand,” said the nurse, her voice slightly warmer and the perpetual frown now disappearing from her face. “My man’s serving overseas right now, so I think I know how you feel.”

  I could see in the lines of her face that she was truly worried about her husband. I almost wanted to give her a hug, but she really didn’t seem like the type.

  “Can you tell me what room he’s in?”

  “I don’t know that, miss, he’s not one of my patients. I did see him when he was brought in earlier this morning though, so I know he’s here.”

  I hesitated before asking my next question.

  “How did he look?” I asked softly.

  “He looked alright, better than I would have expected. But I really can’t say much because I don’t know his case very well. But I will say this: I think he’s one of the lucky ones.”

  The nurse grabbed my hand and pressed it firmly, yet tenderly. I thanked her and walked back to the line at the reception desk, feeling a wave of relief wash over me as an effect of her soothing words. I was still concerned, of course, but not nearly as much as I had been moments ago. I was still anxious to see Darren, but at least now I could wait in line at reception with my most serious worries somewhat abated. I wanted to be optimistic and hope for the best, but I didn’t want to build up that hope only to be disappointed in the long run. Darren is fine, I thought—he has to be.

  CHAPTER 12

  ———

  Eventually, I found myself at the front of the line. Finally, it was my turn to speak with one of the indifferent receptionists who ran the help desk.

  “Henderson? Let me check,” said the woman in a monotone voice. She sounded bored, with her job and with her life. I just hoped she’d get me the information I needed quickly; I’d already spent over forty five minutes in this waiting room and didn’t know how much longer I could stand. The woman clicked away at her keyboard for another thirty seconds before finally breaking the silence.

  “I’m not seeing anything,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Can you please look again? I’m sure he’s here. One of your nurses told me he was admitted earlier today.”

  “It’s a computer, if he was here, he’d be in the computer,” she said rudely. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Listen,” I said, feeling myself start to lose my temper, but trying to remain calm. “I have been waiting and waiting. And I’m not just talking about waiting in the visitors area by the reception desk; I’m talking about months and months and months while my soldier was overseas. He was admitted today, I’m almost 100% positive. If he wasn’t admitted, then there must have been some reason why. Please have a heart about this.”

  “Fine, ma’am. I’ll take another look, but if it’s not in the system I can’t do nothin’ about it.”

  She started tapping away again, but she looked like she was faking it, pretending to search the database just so she could get rid of me sooner.

  “Nope. Nothin’ here.”

  “I’m not leaving until I get a real answer from someone,” I said bluntly.

  One of the more senior receptionists was just getting into the hospital and she could tell something was going wrong. I’m not ashamed to admit that I was on the brink of making a scene. I would do whatever it took to get me in front of Darren sooner.

  “Is there a problem, ma’am?” the head receptionist asked in a far friendlier tone.

  “I hope not. I’m trying to find a soldier who was just admitted here. His name is Sgt. Darren Henderson. He just came back from Afghanistan.”

  “Let me look take a look,” she said, pushing aside the younger receptionist to get at the computer keyboard. The keys tapped and the mouse clicked for what seemed like decades. I waited patiently, hoping tha
t my persistence would finally yield some good news.

  “Ok, I’ve found him. He hasn’t been assigned a room yet. As soon as he was admitted he went into prep, and now he’s in surgery.”

  “Can I see him?” I asked meekly.

  “Not while he’s in surgery, ma’am. Doctors and nurses only.”

  “Well, when is he going to be out?”

  “Five, six hours. But could be as long as eight.”

  “Eight hours in surgery? What are they doing to him?” I asked, the panic in my voice bordering on the edge of hysterics. Was it possible that things were much worse than I’d been led to believe?

  “It’s a complicated and meticulous procedure, ma’am. If the shrapnel isn’t removed completely, there’s a risk of infection and that could mean a possibility of eventual amputation.”

  My heart skipped a beat as I heard those last words. The receptionist seemed to pick up on my unease, because her next words were more reassuring.

  “Ma’am, that’s only if the procedure isn’t performed properly. That’s why it takes so long, our doctors are very careful. We all want the same outcome here, and that’s for our soldier to get the medical attention he deserves. Dr. Williams is the head surgeon on this case, he’s one of the best in the state. Sgt. Henderson is in very capable hands right now.”

  I breathed a slight sigh of relief. It’s funny, but I was more worried about Darren in this hospital than I’d ever been when he was serving in the Middle East.

  “Ok, thank you. That’s reassuring.”

  “Sweetie, you should go home and get some rest. You’re gonna worry yourself sick waiting here through his surgery. Go home and take a nap or go get yourself some lunch. Do something to get your mind off things. Waiting here isn’t going to make the surgery go any faster.”

  “But I want to be here the moment it’s done.”

  “Give me your cell number and we can call you, ok?”

  “Ok,” I said, and proceeded to give the receptionist my number.

  CHAPTER 13

  ———

  I walked out to the parking garage to find my car among the other hundreds of automobiles. I thought about all the other people here today to see their loved ones. Some of them would be getting good news, others bad. I remembered what the first nurse I spoke to had said, the phrase she had used: she though Darren was one of the “lucky ones.” How tragic that today some people would be getting the worst news of their lives.

  I tried my best not to think such glum thoughts, but it was hard to do as I pulled out of the parking garage and onto the streets of the town. It was pouring rain right now, the sky a dull, dark grey, despite the fact that it was before noon. The gloomy weather cast a foreboding tone over the day, one of solemnity, more fitting for bad news than good.

  It’s strange, I’d thought Darren coming home would be one of the happiest days of my life, but as it turned out I was plagued by doubt and fear, not because of my insecurities or worries about how Darren might react to seeing me, but because I was legitimately worried for his future back home. It seemed so unfair that a man who had sacrificed so much might have sacrificed his future overseas as well.

  As I came to a red light, I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer for him. All things considered, he was one of the “lucky ones”; he was alive and receiving top-quality medical attention. Many of his brothers in arms hadn’t even made it back to the country that they loved and fought for.

  Loud honks and beeps brought me back from my daydreaming as I realized the light had turned green and I was holding up traffic. I started driving again and pulled out my phone to check for any good breakfast places in the area. I needed something to kill the time, and it was still well before lunchtime. The only thing I’d had this morning was a coffee, after all. A solid meal might be a good idea.

  There was a place with good reviews a couple of miles away. I turned on the GPS and headed in that direction through the pouring rain and dull light of the late morning. Pulling into the parking lot of the small diner, I hopped out and locked the car doors.

  The inside of the establishment was warm and comforting after the nipping cold of the November rain. I found a booth to myself and opened a menu, looking over it thoroughly as I decided what to order. There was no rush, after all, it’s not like I didn’t have time to kill. A waitress came over and I ordered a cup of coffee to drink as I perused the menu for something good to eat.

  The atmosphere of the diner was great and everything on the menu looked delicious; it had exactly the type of atmosphere I hoped I could one day create in my own little shop, quality home-style food in a warm and inviting interior. When the waitress came back I ordered Eggs Benedict and home fries. I saw a discarded newspaper on the table in front of me, so I went over and picked it up, thinking something to read would help keep my mind off everything that was worrying me at the moment.

  Unfortunately, I opened the paper exactly to the world affairs section. More stories about casualties in Iraq and Afghanistan. Iran was trying to obtain nuclear weapons. Terrorist threats scattered throughout the Middle East and Africa. I closed the paper and set it down next to me in the booth, nauseated by the headlines I’d read. The world was a dangerous place and it was up to soldiers like Darren to protect us.

  I sighed, knowing that things never change, that there would never be a time when all our soldiers could come home. We would always need people out there defending our country, serving with pride to protect the freedoms so many of us take for granted. After what Darren was going through right now, never again would I forget the sacrifices that had been made, never again would I ever be ungrateful for all that had been done to preserve our country in a world of hostile enemies.

  The waitress was walking back toward me with my order, steam rising from the home fries, the hollandaise sauce looking extra decadent. I opened the bottle of ketchup and poured some of it out on the plate. I took a few delicious bites, but soon I wasn’t hungry anymore. No matter how good the food was, I couldn’t think of eating right now, not with my stomach tied up in such tight knots. I forced myself to eat a bit more, knowing that otherwise I’d be starving later, but there was no way I was finishing this meal. I simply had too much on my mind right now.

  I waved to the waitress to bring over my check and take away the leftover food. I tipped her generously, thankful for the quick service and the good meal, even if on the surface it looked like I hadn’t enjoyed it. After exiting the diner I sprinted through the rain back to my car. I couldn’t think of anything to do besides driving back to the hospital and waiting out the surgery, so I started the car and headed back in that direction.

  CHAPTER 14

  ———

  Hours and hours passed by as I waited in the drab waiting room, sitting on a cheap, uncomfortable chair as I paged through dozens of US Weekly magazines, idly reading celebrity gossip. The words hardly made sense to me, the pictures barely caught my attention. A young starlet charged with a DUI. Aging actor cheating on his young wife with a cast member in the blockbuster movie he was filming. Reality TV stars fighting with one another. These were the people we idolized, while our soldiers were practically forgotten. It made me sick just thinking about it.

  After a couple hours I put the magazines down for good. I walked around the hospital hallways, tired of sitting in the chair for so long. I found a vending machine and bought a Diet Coke. Back in the waiting area I sipped the Coke and watched the small TV in the upper left-hand corner of the room. A daytime talk show was playing, with the sound on mute. I shifted in the chair every couple of minutes, unable to find a comfortable position, each extra minute I waited feeling longer than the last. Then I felt my eyes getting heavy and before I knew it…

  I woke to find the head receptionist gently shaking me, trying to rouse me from my mid-afternoon slumber. I blinked my eyes, rubbing them with my index fingers as I yawned.

  “Wake up, honey. Sgt. Henderson is going to be coming out of surgery in the next fi
fteen minutes.”

  Suddenly, I was wide awake. The receptionist knew she had my attention.

  “He’s been assigned to room 1095. That’s up on the 10th floor, as I’m sure you realize.”

  “Is he ok?” I asked excitedly, anxious for answers. “How did it go?”

  “I’m not really qualified to say, honey. But the doctor will be with you shortly and he can answer your questions. I’ll page him and he can take you up to see your husband.”

  I smiled slightly to myself. I’d forgotten that all these hospital employees were under the impression that Darren and I were husband and wife, but to tell them otherwise was to risk not being able to see him, and that was a risk I just wasn’t willing to take.

  Within minutes Dr. Williams entered the waiting area, looking for a Mrs. Henderson. I grabbed my purse and followed him to the elevator, which we rode to the 10th floor. As soon as the doors closed, I started bombarding him with questions.

  “How is he?”

  “He seems to be doing well, but he’s on a lot of pain medication at the moment, so he’s not entirely lucid. It should be wearing off to some degree over the course of the next few hours.”

  “Did the surgery go well?”

  “Yes, everything went as planned.”

  “Please, be honest with me. Is he going to lose an arm?”

  The Doctor smiled. “Who have you been talking to?” he asked wryly.

  “One of the nurses, a receptionist. They said there can be complications with this procedure and…”

  Dr. Williams cut me off.

  “Not to denigrate any of the other hospital employees, but with respect to this surgery they don’t entirely know all of the facts. Yes, it can be a very complicated procedure, but as Sgt. Henderson’s case is concerned, it was neither the easiest nor the most difficult case I’ve ever seen. I’ve performed nearly a hundred procedures identical to his and all outcomes were positive. It’s a time-consuming procedure, but the failure rate is exceedingly low. Unfortunately, the reason we’re so good at these surgeries is because we get a lot of soldiers coming back with these same sort of wounds, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re damn good at it by now,” said Dr. Williams confidently, but with a certain solemnity in his voice.