Compass (Siren Songs Book 2) (7 page)

I
heard
the words Piper said, but can’t really wrap my mind around the possibility of a stroke. It didn’t take a genius to notice the nurse didn’t correct her assumption. I can’t fathom how the hell I could be having a stroke. My head is throbbing, but I’m completely lucid. I’m young, in great shape, eat a healthy diet; this only happens to grossly obese people my age, not healthy, thirty-two-year-old men. My limited knowledge of stroke symptoms, patients, and the like is zilch, but the point is it shouldn’t be me. I don’t smoke, and I rarely drink. I just married my wife for the love of God. What the fuck is Piper going to do with what’s left of me?

Lying on this bed, unable to talk to my wife, the emotions seize me, Heather steps to my side. She doesn’t speak. She places her hand on my forearm while we wait for the nurse to usher us in for the CT scan. The warmth of her touch grounds me and reminds me I’m not alone. When the doors finally open, signaling our turn, she gives me a gentle squeeze and a soft smile. I wish I knew if Heather would be with us for the duration, but I’m sure her shift will end in a few hours, and another nurse will replace her. Not being able to communicate clearly is maddening to say the least, but it’s hard to understand someone who sounds like they’re chewing on marbles.

The nurses help me shift from the bed to the platform on the machine. Unable to even move my body on my own ignites a level of irritation I’ve never felt. Something that only yesterday seemed so insignificant, I wholeheartedly took for granted, and now I’m completely debilitated. As each minute passes, I lose more control over my muscle function. Taking deep breaths to calm myself, the table slowly moves into position and the lights go out in the room around me. I hold as still as possible while the technicians do their job counting the minutes until I can see Piper again.

Returning to my room in the ER, I don’t find my wife. Instead, my mother and father are both waiting for me. My mom looks like Jeremy’s mom did the night he passed away. My dad seems confused. Hell, so am I. As much as I love them, they aren’t who I want with me.

“Where’s Piper?” My question is callous, but I need her. They don’t understand me, so I grab the paper in my mom’s hand indicating I need something to write with. She produces a pen from her purse and waits while I scratch out my question.

“She’s in the waiting room. They didn’t want two of us back here. She begged the nurse to let us both in so we could see you.” My mom’s voice sounds haunted. Fear hangs in the air.

I nod my head in understanding. This is all going to become a waiting game, so I’m sure there’s plenty of time for me to spend with her. The presence of anyone else at my side irritates me.

“Son, we’re going to get through this. You have a group of people who love you and are going to do whatever we need to do to get you back to a hundred percent.”

It’s a nice gesture. I’m sure my dad means well, but it’s a little premature. We have no idea what
this
is, nor what it will take to get me back to fully functioning, or if that’s even possible. I try to voice my concern, but neither of my parents understand me. When my mom tries to hand me the paper and pen again, I knock it out of her hand, sending it sailing across the floor before turning away. She starts to cry and it just pisses me off. She’s not the one lying in a damn hospital bed. If I’m not crying, she needs to suck it the fuck up.

“We’ll be in the waiting room, Moby. I’ll send Piper back in.”

I don’t turn to face him but I know he’s still in the room.

“You need to change your attitude, son. My guess is you have a long road in front of you. Anger won’t get you anywhere.” He pats my arm as he exits.

Fuck him.

Did he really just tell me anger won’t get me anywhere? My dad’s not the one lying here unable to move the left side of his body at thirty-two years old, unable to speak coherently. He’s not the one with a new wife who has two mortgages to pay on her own if I can’t work. No left side function leaves me pretty well useless in a gym. The rage building inside me is threatening to boil over, and we’ve only been here a few measly hours.

When the curtain opens, my wife’s sweet smile greets me. I’m sure my parents gave her the run down on my attitude, but I can’t tell it by looking at her.

“Any word from the doctors yet?”

I shake my head, no sense in pissing myself off more trying to talk when no one understands me.

“Are you hungry?”

I shake my head again. I’m not going to bother trying to respond with any other answer. Surely, someone will bring food eventually.

“Are you not talking to me?” She pokes me in the side, repeatedly trying to get me to crack a smile. I can’t ignore her peppered kisses and continued assault on my ribs. Releasing a laugh, she pulls back. “So?” Apparently she wants an answer. I motion for the pen I so loving shoved out of my mom’s hand that’s now lying on the floor. “No way. Talk to me.”

“You won’t understand me.” My words a garbled mess. Hell, it sounds foreign to my ears, and I spoke the damn words.

“Sure, I will. So tell me, are you hungry?” She always brings me back. Points me in the right direction. There’s no doubt in my mind she’s a gift to me from God. He sent her to me to direct my path in life.

“A little.” I shrug my shoulders.

“Sorry, Mr. Cooper. No food just yet.” Heather’s back to check on me and apparently starve me to death.

“Why can’t he eat?”

Heather glances at me sympathetically before answering. “His ability to swallow properly may be compromised. The speech is an indication that might be an issue. Until we can determine it’s not, no food. He could choke. No worries, we have your caloric intake in mind.” She points to the IV bag hanging above me. “Liquid nourishment.” Turning to Piper, she offers, “You might want to sneak down to the cafeteria. There are a couple fast food chains there, so you’re not stuck with hospital food. Be sure to bring your pocketbook because it’s pricey.”

I watch Piper turn her nose up. She’s not a big fan of fast food to begin with and only justifies her occasional consumption with the cost advantage.

“I’ve got coffee. I’ll just hang out until we know what’s going on. Do you think he’ll be here overnight?” She already knows the answer; she asks so someone else has to break the news to me. Piper hasn’t been married long, but she’s smart enough to know she doesn’t want that stigma hanging over her. She doesn’t want me resenting her for telling me what I inevitably have to hear.

“I’m not the doctor, but I can tell you, you won’t be leaving tonight. We’re moving you to ICU shortly.”

“ICU? Why?” Her voice is a little elevated. Her cheeks redden with embarrassment for having screeched at the nurse.

“Mrs. Cooper—”

“Piper. Please. Call me Piper.”

“Piper, your husband had a massive stroke, and his blood pressure isn’t going down. He needs to be in a part of the hospital where he’ll get one-on-one care. That isn’t the ER. He needs specialists who can tend to his needs.”

“Any idea how long he will be here?”

“I don’t, but I would suggest you get familiar with the lay of the land.” Heather leaves us, Piper standing staring after her.

“Pipes?”

Turning to me, she quirks her face in some awkward attempt to smile through the horror of events. She knew it was coming, but it was just as much a shock actually hearing it. “Yeah, baby?”

“Who’s here?”

She doesn’t respond immediately. I see her mind working to process the words she couldn’t quite understand. “Everyone.”

Fuck me. “Who the hell called everyone?”

She scowls. That answers that question.

“I was trying to reach anyone who would pick up their phone this morning. No one answered Moby. Not one friggin’ person. I couldn’t find my phone, so I used yours to call. I gave my dad your phone when we got here to keep trying to reach your parents. I’m sure the others called back.”

The scowl on my face indicates my irritation.

She keeps talking trying to sooth my disdain, “I told my dad not to tell anyone else what was going on. You heard me say that!” She’s so cute when she’s flustered.

Holding my hand out, I coax her to me. She climbs in the bed and nestles in next to me on my right side.

Meeting my eyes with hers, there’s something on the tip of her tongue. I raise my eyebrows, asking the question.

“You know this is going to be a bumpy road?”

I nod. I do know. No clue what all it will entail, but I’m sure it will be a rollercoaster ride I’ll want off of sooner rather than later.

I tell her I love her, hoping she understands the words.

“Love you too, babe.”

H
eather comes
in an hour or so later to prepare Moby for his move to ICU. I ask if she heard the results from the CT scan, but the radiology department is really behind, and since Moby’s blood pressure hasn’t dropped much, they’re going to go ahead and go.

I climb off the bed and see the trepidation in my husband’s eyes. “I need to go tell everyone what’s going on, are you going to be okay for a bit by yourself?”

He nods his response, but I can tell he doesn’t want me to go.

“I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Actually, why don’t you just meet us in ICU.” Heather looks at the chart in her hand before turning her eyes back to me. “Seventh floor, room two.”

After kissing Moby’s forehead, I make the long walk through the winding maze of the ER to share what little information I have with our friends and family. It breaks my heart to leave him, but it’s not fair to all the people closest to us to wait without periodic updates. The truth is, it’s only mid-afternoon, and I’m exhausted. I know Moby has to be tired, too.

When the double doors open, it’s as if they have all been staring at them, waiting for me to come through them again. Their faces fill with worry—worry I won’t be able to eliminate.

“Not much news to offer, but we’re moving to ICU. I’m sure there’s a waiting room there if you guys want to go up with me.”

Joey attaches himself to my hip. “I’m not leaving. Where are we going?”

Before I can answer, Patty speaks up, “Do the doctors know anything yet?”

“Not yet. The radiology department has to read the CT scan, and that hasn’t happened. I don’t know how long he’s going to be here, but it’s long enough they want to move him to a floor he will have more attentive care.”

“That can’t be good news,” Dax mumbles to himself but loud enough I heard it.

“I don’t know, Dax, but I do know Moby’s scared. It’s written all over his face. He’s frustrated because he can’t communicate and he needs support. Please don’t go in to see him and utter anything other than encouragement.”

Arriving on the seventh floor, there’s a large waiting room with no one in it. No sooner than our herd has settled in, Heather appears, telling me the doctor is with Moby, and he wants me to join him. Patty gets up to go with me, but Heather stops her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Moby just wants Piper.”

My heart shatters as Patty’s shoulders deflate. Her eyes soften and her gaze shifts to the floor in the distance. I’m sure it hurt to know just a few months ago, she would have been his next of kin, she would be the one with him, but as his wife, those responsibilities now fall to me, not his mother. It has to sting, but she resigns herself to silence. With a weak smile in my direction, she returns to her seat.

Somehow between the ER and the ICU, Moby went from looking pale to appearing gravely ill as if he’s on waiting on death’s doorstep. It hasn’t been that long since I’d seen him. Maybe it’s the lighting, or lack of, that’s making his skin pale and his eyes lackluster. Whatever it is, I don’t like it.

I extend my hand in greeting to Dr. Sandhar when she introduces herself. “Piper Cooper, nice to meet you.”

“I’ve reviewed the CT and honestly don’t think they’re giving us a clear enough image to see what we’re truly dealing with. CT scans are great for head injuries, damage to the skull, that kind of thing. I had hoped to be able to have an accurate assessment, but I’m not getting the quality I need on the soft tissue. CTs are much faster to complete and easier on the patient. At this point, I have ordered an MRI. We’re still waiting on the blood work to come back from the lab, but that should be here anytime. Do you have any questions?”

Do I have questions? Yes, about four million of them. “Do you have any idea what’s going on with him?” I can’t figure out why no one will confirm what is obvious.

“Without a conclusive head scan or blood work, I can only speculate.”

I wait for her speculation, but she offers nothing, zilch. “And that would be?” My question is left lingering in the air.

“A stroke. The blood pressure is the only conclusive evidence we have for that at this point so it could be something else.”

“But you think it’s a stroke?”

“If I were waging guesses, yes.” Her indifference grates on my already frayed nerves.

“Wha ca ew do fu da?” Moby asks. Dr. Sandhar clearly did not understand his question.

“He wants to know what you can do for it,” I clarify. Moby squeezes my hand next to his bed.

“Stabilizing the blood pressure is critical. We have to bring it down before it starts to cause permanent damage.”

“Permanent damage to what?”

“His brain and kidneys.”

My eyes widen. Her proclamation shouldn’t shock me. I know the damage a stroke can do, but I guess I never really thought about the impaired organs causing the outward signs.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. He’s been given several medications to help bring his blood pressure down, we’re going to start him on Heparin, which is a blood thinner to ensure he doesn’t develop any clots, and the MRI will give us a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

The four million questions I had turned to eight million, but nothing comes out of my mouth. With Moby still holding my hand, I bob my head, essentially ending the discussion with the doctor.

* * *

T
he worst part
about all this is the incessant waiting. Waiting for nurses, waiting for tests, waiting for lab work, waiting for results, waiting for doctors. After Moby’s MRI, the new nurse, Asten, has come on shift. Sweet girl, but if she doesn’t stop making googly eyes at Moby, I may have to kick her in the ovaries. Overhearing me talking to Moby about running home to get his things, primarily his glasses so he can see, she tells me I have plenty of time before a doctor will be back in.

“You can go home. I’ll be here. We won’t let anything happen to him,” she winks at Moby.
Bitch, I’m not playing.
She better lay off the flirty shit before I take out her kneecap.

Glancing up and huffing in irritation at Asten, I turn to Moby, who is somehow oblivious to her advances. “Are you okay with that?”

He nods. He looks tired. His eyes are dull, not their normal vibrant blue. Dark circles are forming around them. I can’t help but notice his skin has a ground mustard hue that’s unflattering.

“Why don’t you try to get some rest? I’ll go home and grab some of your stuff and come right back.”

The right side of his mouth turns up weakly, the left never moving. Only half his smile reassures me. I try not to allow him to see my sadness, the fear bubbling just under the surface. It won’t help him at all for me to be anything but strong.

“Your mom really wants to come in, Moby. Do you want me to tell her to come back?” I ask before I go.

“No.” It’s intelligible when not much else is.

I tilt my head, silently questioning his motives, but he ignores it, pointing to his cheek. With a kiss goodbye to the spot he directed, I mentally start making a list of things to grab at the house. In the waiting room, everyone wants the latest update. With not much to tell them, it takes little time. I lie, telling them Moby’s sleeping, to keep from hurting Patty’s feelings. Our group has grown with people from his parents’ church and friends of the Coopers and Wrights. Each offering their condolences as if Moby has died. One going so far as to put a little spending money in my pocket when she gives me a hug. Crazy old bat.

My mom showed up sometime in the midst of the hysteria and offers to ride home with me. I accept although I wish I could have a few minutes to myself to process.

It takes forever to get from the crowd in the ICU to the parking lot and find my car. Looking at my watch, I realize I left Moby over an hour ago. Ten minutes later Patty calls.

“Piper?”

“Yeah, Patty. What’s up? Everything okay?” I can’t imagine why she’s calling. I just left. I hope she didn’t try to go back to see Moby and him be an ass to her.

“They took Moby for the MRI while you were here in the waiting room. The doctor just came in.”

“Do I need to come back? I’m only about ten minutes away.” At this point, I’m not far from home. It would be silly to go back and turn around and come back to the house but if that’s what I need to do, I can.

“Piper, he had a brain aneurysm.” Her voice cracks as she begins to cry.

“Wait. What?” Those two words are synonymous with death in my limited understanding. My heart rate accelerates rapidly, cold sweat beading on my clammy skin. My heart races and dizziness clouds my thoughts. The whoosh of the vents blowing heat become deafening. Not paying much attention, I cut across two lanes of traffic, horns blaring, breaks screeching. My mom grabs the dashboard and the door handle terrified. I have to stop the car. I can’t drive. I can’t breathe. The silence on the other end is making the panic attack worse.

“How did we go from a stroke to a brain aneurysm? I don’t understand.” I feel my mom’s hand rest on my thigh in an attempt to comfort me but all I can think of—all my brain can comprehend—is Moby is about to die.

It’s irrational; he was breathing when I left. She didn’t say he passed away. She said the doctor said he had one.

“Take a deep breath, Piper. The elevated blood pressure caused an aneurysm, the aneurysm caused the stroke.”

I don’t give a shit about the medical timeline, the cause and effect scenario, I need to know what’s happening to my husband isn’t going to make me a widow. Patty’s calmer than I am but she obviously had a doctor there when she was next to Moby hearing this information. I don’t have that luxury. I’m in a damn car, not at the hospital where I should have been, having an anxiety attack.

“How’s Moby handling it?” All I can think of is how alone he must feel. I left him. When he got the worst news of his life, I wasn’t there holding his hand.

“He doesn’t know,” she murmurs.

“What?” I scream into the phone. “Why doesn’t he know? How do
you
know?” One thing I hate about the Coopers, they tend to sweep life under the rug and pretend it doesn’t happen. They refuse to meet situations head on and deal with them like adults. Instead of hashing it out, laying all their cards on the table, the way my family and my Fish do, they tiptoe around their issues, good or bad, as if they don’t exist.

“He was asleep when the doctor came around. Dr. Sandhar came to the waiting room looking for you, but when you weren’t here, she talked to me. His father and I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell him. It will just make things worse, dear.” She’s serious. She has zero intention of giving her son the truth because of her fear of the repercussion.

“I’m almost home. I’m grabbing his toothbrush and stuff while I’m here. I’ll be right back. Who’s with Moby now?”

“He’s asleep. Take your time. We’ll be here in case he wakes up.”

Disconnecting the call, rage ignites in my soul. Moby and I don’t operate this way. We have no secrets. The thought of telling him he had a brain aneurysm instantly turns the rage to terror. Holding the phone in my hand, still parked on the side of the road, I weep.

From this moment forward, nothing will ever be the same. Our lives are forever altered.

My own mother sits beside me, patiently waiting for me to need her, to open the conversation.

With my forehead pressed to the steering wheel, I turn to face her. “I can handle anything we have to deal with, but I can’t lose him, Mom.
That
will break me.”

She pulls me to her, hugging me like she did when I was a little girl, her comforting arms allowing me to release my fears to her so Moby will never see them.

Her hand smooths my hair before cupping my chin, raising my face so she can see my eyes. “You, Piper, are the strongest woman I have ever known. You will get through this, and so will Moby. Together. If you need to let out the emotion, you call me, come to my house, I’ll meet you somewhere, whatever you need. What you don’t do is break down in front of him. Men need to know they’re the strong ones, the providers, the protectors. He needs to know you still feel that with him.” There’s determination in her eyes, maybe to show me I have the strength I’ll need or maybe to scare me into listening to what she’s saying.