Warrior (First to Fight #1)(20)
“Most cases of mild TBI persist for a year or more. Each case is unique, like each person. They can persist for a time and heal or they may go on longer.”
Even though I already knew the answer, to hear it confirmed is still devastating. It could be worse, I admit, much worse. A thousand different kinds of hell worse. I almost wish it was. I wish I’d died with them. Gone down in the blaze of glory that I’m owed for my sacrifice.
Instead, I’m sitting on a hospital bed. Alive. Down half a sense and can’t trust my own goddamned brain.
The doctor explains the symptoms of a mild traumatic brain injury but all I hear is that I shouldn’t be alive. I shouldn’t be this lucky. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve it half as much as some of the men that died that day, or the innocent men and women that have been slaughtered for a war they can’t control.
He finishes and I mumble some kind of response that enables him to leave. The next round of nurses come in for the evening shift and with them the medication for pain, both physical…and emotional.
I check my phone again, only to realize that I’d checked it minutes before. Along with the hearing loss, the traumatic brain injury guarantees that I’d never return to Afghanistan again. I’d never see the conclusion of the war I fought so hard to win. I’d spend the next year med-boarding out of the Marines and riding a desk at my new duty station.
That reality is a hard one to swallow. Even though I’d been considering leaving the Marines after my time was up, I hate having it taken away from me against my will.
To pass the time, I check my email and surf the Internet. My heart damn near stops in my chest when I see a new email from Olivia in my notifications. I glance at the photo of her I have on my side table and hesitate, one finger hovering over the little envelope.
I take a deep breath and click.
Dear Ben, it starts. I was thinking about you today and I thought I’d give emailing you another try. It’s okay if you don’t respond. I just miss talking to you. There are so many things I wish I could say. I was hoping we could meet when you get back. Maybe grab a cup of coffee? I could really use one of your smiles right now. Missing you, Olivia.
I click back and see dozens of previous emails she’d sent over the months I’d been deployed. My hand aches to move the mouse and devour her words. I nearly do it, but I’m distracted by the ringing in my ears—tinnitus, the doctors call it. It’s another one of the things I’ll have to deal with for the rest of my life.
I thought I was broken before? That is nothing compared to the desolation I feel now. Now I’m a warrior put to pasture and forced to rejoin the world with death and destruction on my conscience.
My lips firm into a line and I select all emails—from Olivia, from family members, guys attached to my unit—and I bulk delete them.
That was my old life. Who knows what the hell my future will hold for me, but the least I can do is save Olivia from the shell of a man I’ve become.
THE DATE TO the echocardiogram rolls around, no matter how much I try to distract myself with work and finishing up the renovations on my house. Despite how much they wanted to come, Dad has a fishing trip that he’s been planning for months and that I refused to let him bail on. Jack has some kind of promotional thing at the gym that he couldn’t get anyone to cover for him. I promise them I’ll call them with the results and ensure them that Sofie volunteered to come.
The hospital is a modern-looking building, all smooth white stucco and glass. The cardiology unit, especially, is clean and high-tech. I appreciate all the gadgets that we pass and my reverence for doctors and all their hard work grows a million-fold.
“You sure you don’t want me to go in the room with you?” Sofie asks.
I shake my head. “Yeah, I’m sure. They said this exam could take a while and I’ll just be laying there. Feel free to take a nap or something.” I laugh, but the sound is breathless and lacks conviction.
“I’ll be here if you need me.” She pulls me into a quick, hard hug.
There is a repeat of the gel and the wand. I try to pay attention to the screen and the tech, but in truth, my mind is racing too fast for me to notice anything other than the long time it takes for the exam. The tech lets me clean up and I go back to the waiting room to sit with Sofie until the cardiologist calls me to discuss the results.
Sofie holds my hand, but doesn’t try to start a conversation or give me meaningless assurances. Her simple touch keeps me from coming unglued as the minutes tick by.
When the receptionist calls my name, I jump and Sofie tightens her grip on my hand. We rise and follow the nurse back to another exam room for another lengthy wait. I can’t decide if it took so long because they’re being thorough or if they have bad news and just want to put off delivering it. By the time the doctor arrives I’m nearly overcome with shivers.
“Ms. Walker, I’m Dr. Foley.” She’s a woman in her late forties with red-blonde hair pulled back into a bun. She has kind, watery blue eyes and a brightly colored, heart-bedecked stethoscope. I like her immediately and take back every negative thought I had while we were waiting.
I offer her a faint hello. Sofie stays quiet, but smiles, lips betraying her outer shields with a tremble.
I watch as Dr. Foley’s lips move, but after the words, “Your son has HLHS,” I stop listening.