The Unbalancing Act Page 15

  The night air is warmer than I thought it would be and I realize I’m sweating. Warm water starts to fill my mouth and I know I’m going to hurl. I run over to the nearest bush by the fence and puke my guts out. I feel much better. There are thick trees lining the fence and I search for a spot where I can get underneath the branches. There it is, a little clearing, and I duck down through the tangled leaves and take a grip on the metal. This is not going to be fun barefoot. This fence has got to be at least eight foot high. Did I mention I am only five foot high? I start to make the climb. I’m so drunkie and so wobbly, but I am doing quite well. I am up about a foot off the ground and I am not even bleeding yet. I keep the climbing going and am pleasantly surprised at how good I am at this. I would never be able to do this sober. I make it to the top and although it is dark and I am covered by tree branches, I decide to bear all my weight on my right arm and swing my body over. Okay...here goes nothing. As I press down with my right hand to make the swing I feel an insane and unnatural sensation spread throughout my wrist. It’s wet. My legs have gone forward, but my feet aren’t on the ground. They are catching on the fence and my hand is stuck. My hand is stuck in motherfucking barbed wire and blood is streaming everywhere. I realize that my dress is torn, my ass cheeks are bleeding and I’m pretty sure I am cut up all down my legs. Well ain’t this a bitch? What a way to die.

  I can imagine the conversation the grief counselors have with my kids. Your mother died climbing a barbed wire fence children...oh and her blood alcohol level was four times the legal limit...oh...and she was in the mental ward. This is not good. I realize that if I was sober it would hurt a lot worse, so I am thankful for my bad choices...kind of. I decide that it’s best to just bleed out and not make too much of a mess. My eyes can’t stay open, and I feel myself being lifted up, lifted up to a better place.

  March 8th

  My trip to heaven was cut short. When I opened my eyes to the bright light, I expected to see the Lord, but instead it was a fluorescent light and a bug was caught in it. I was staring at the ceiling in a hospital emergency room. The aftermath...it’s all coming back to me. Country club, Jessalyn, Sabrina, dancing, bar, cab, fence...Oh my God the fence! Someone must have found me. Where the hell are the doctors? I’m so hung over already and I don’t even know if its morning. The door opens and in walks a super young and yummy looking doctor. He’s tall, clean cut, black hair, blue eyes that I should not look into, and green scrubs. How does this guy make scrubs look so good? I bet he thinks that I’m a dish as well. I can only imagine the troll I would see if I looked in the mirror. I can feel my eyes are burning and watery and I know my hair probably looks like Charles Manson’s. I bet I smell good too, probably like a hobo. I bet he wants a piece of this.

  “Vada, glad you are awake. I’m coming to check your dressings.”

  My dressings...oh no. I know I cut up my butt. Is he going to look at my butt?

  “You took quite a beating, you poor thing.”

  I did? What does he mean? I look at him clueless.

  “When the triage nurse was questioning you about your injuries you stated that you were attacked by two women named Dorothy and Blanche. You described them as elderly and wearing floral dresses with shoulder pads. You didn’t want to file a police report.”

  Oh what is the hell is wrong with me? Why would I say that? I was so drunk I don’t remember anything after the fence. I put a hand over my face and feel a burning sensation in my fingers.

  “I would try to keep that still. You have quite a few stitches in that left hand and you need to rest it as much as possible. You also have several stitches in your lower back, left leg, and your left buttock.”

  Oh my buttock. Why did he have to say buttock? I hate that word. It’s so fleshy sounding and gross. It makes me think of an Easter ham. He walks to the other side of the bed and has me lean over to get a better glimpse of my buttock. He lifts up the sheet and I realize I am terribly tensed up from being nervous. So he probably sees the attractive looking form of two cheeks tightly clinched like they are holding on to a pencil. I am further mortified as he confirms my fear of the cheek-squeeze when he says, “Just relax.” I relax my poor injured buttocks and he gets a good look of my rear and then lays the sheet back over me. He investigates my other sutured injuries and seems satisfied.

  “You’re lucky, you know,” he says and looks me in the eye, “most of my patients who are beat up by the Golden Girls are in much worse shape than you are.” He winks and walks out of the room leaving the blue curtain waving behind him.

  Later that day, after being discharged from Rivergate Memorial Hospital with a splitting headache, a lot of stitches, and a prescription for painkillers, I am transported back to the looney bin by none other than Gerri the coveting botox-queen nurse and a driver named Eli who seems to find me interesting. The digital clock on the car radio says it is one thirty. I must have slept a good-while in the emergency room. Gerri tells me that I was found by a security guard around three thirty in the morning. How did they not miss me until three thirty in the morning? Some top notch joint they must be running here to be missing a patient for that long and not notice! I’d like to speak to someone about that. I am sore and tired and am never drinking again as long as I live. I am such an idiot. So far, no one has brought up the fact that I was wasted. Someone has to be covering for me, but who? I need to find out what happened, but Gerri immediately walks me to my room and gives me my pain meds. She tells me to rest and that she has called my husband and he is coming up to check on me. She’ll let me know when he gets here. I realize that Katelyn must have the day off and I’m stuck with this little home-wrecker of a nurse probably for the rest of the day. I’m thankful that Eric is coming, although I have no idea what I am going to tell him. The truth would sound insane and I can’t think of a good lie. I am just going to play this one by ear. But for now, I am sore and am just going to shut my eyes. The pain medicine is making my skin itch and the sooner I get to sleep, the sooner I can wake up and see Eric.

  I wake up to a knock at the door. It opens and in walks Dr. Ames with Eric trailing right behind him. Dr. Ames looks pissy and is wearing clothes that seem way too casual for him. Although still not frumpy, a collared black shirt and khaki pants is not his usual attire. Eric looks so worried. His hair is a mess and he needs to shave, but looks pretty good when he gets all homeless looking. He calls it his mountain man look. He has on jeans and a crew neck blue and gray striped long-sleeved shirt. It’s wrinkled. The iron must not work when I am not home. I try to sit up to greet him but the painkillers have not taken all the pain away. I wince. Eric rushes over and kisses my forehead.

  “Stay where you are, don’t get up.” says Dr. Ames. “We normally do not let visitors into patient rooms, but in this particular case I am willing to make an exception. I thought I would bring your husband down here personally.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Ames.” I say and I mean it. Eric is holding my non-injured hand but stays quiet. I hope he’s not mad. He seems more concerned than angry.

  “You see, Mr. Bower, your wife sustained injuries last night on the grounds sometime in the middle of the night. We have had Vada on a regimen of medications designed for her needs specifically. One of those medications is a sleeping pill, which we have found highly effective in patients like Vada. Side effects like this are extremely rare, but in this case we believe that Vada was sleep-walking and during this episode, attempted to climb the fence. I have already explained to you her injuries and they are minor, however as you can see, your wife had a pretty tough fall. That fence was topped with barbed wire for security reasons. She did receive a tetanus shot at the hospital as well as antibiotics and medication for the pain. The hospital found her well enough to release her to us, so we will make sure she gets what she needs.”

  What the hell is this rubbish that is spewing out of this mad man’s mouth? I’m not complaining. It’s much better than the real story, which would leave me with a lot of explaining,
but does he really think this is what happened? I am so confused, but kind of in a good way. I wasn’t even here to take the sleeping pill last night.

  Eric looks kind of pissed. “It sounds to me, Dr. Ames, that there is some negligence on the part of this hospital. How could you let a patient sleep walk outside? Don’t you lock the doors? I would think you would have security in place so that someone couldn’t just go in and out in the middle of the day, let alone in the middle of the night.”

  I look back at Dr. Ames. “Yes Mr. Bower. I understand your concerns and we will be reviewing the security tapes to find out exactly what happened. I am assuming one of the staff must have made a terrible mistake and we will deal with that directly when we find out who was at fault.”

  I look at Eric. “Well, I should hope so. I don’t want to be rude or anything but this sounds like someone really screwed up. I’m just glad she’s okay.”

  That’s Eric, always trying not to be rude. If this story wasn’t so blatantly false I would be offended that he wasn’t angrier. But I’m just going to lay here and see how this plays out.

  “Mr. Bower, I assure you that this will be corrected and we will cover the cost of all medical bills incurred from this incident. The important thing now is that Vada is patched up and resting and I assure you she is in good hands and nothing like this will ever happen again.” Now Dr. Ames is looking at me, looking at me funny, actually. I look away like a shamed child. “I’ll leave the two of you alone now, just ring the front desk and I’ll have someone walk you out when you are ready.”

  “Dr. Ames, do you think Vada could just come home? Is she ready?”

  “Actually, no I don’t. She has been here a week. I hardly think it’s time and neither do my colleagues.”

  Now I am pissed. “What?!” I yell. “I am so ready. I’m done with this place. You said that you were going to get me out of here.”

  “Vada, I said I would review it with the other doctors and we would have discussed it last night, had you not had that awful headache...”

  He looks at me and raises an eyebrow suggestively.

  “Oh yes, I had an awful headache.” I lie, but I’m not sure why. He’s definitely the one covering for me.

  “However, I cannot in good faith discharge you from here in your current condition. We need to discuss after care treatment and any medication changes that need to be made. Give me until tomorrow. Get some rest. I have an intensive session planned tomorrow if you are feeling well enough and I think it will enlighten you.”

  Eric kisses my face. “At least you can rest here. If you come home, the kids will be all over you. At least one more day won’t hurt. Can you do that, honey?”

  “Oh fine!” I growl.

  “Thank you for being patient, Vada. We can’t be fixed overnight.” He walks out and shuts the big creaky door behind him.

  Eric fills me in on the kids and tells me who’s being naughty and who’s being nice. I miss them and I am so ready to go home. I tell Eric about some of the crazies I’ve befriended and about some of my sessions. We spend some time just sitting together and holding hands. It makes me really appreciate having him. He puts up with all my crap, both good and bad. After an hour, he has to go and I am starving. He kisses me goodbye and tells me he’ll check on me tomorrow. He promises I will be home soon. I’m starting to wonder if that is true. I know I will eventually tell Eric about what really happened last night. This is just not the time...or the place.

  Right when I think he’s going to walk out the door, the inevitable happens. Eric gives me that look. You know the one I’m talking about. I am so reluctant, but considering the circumstances, I feel like it’s the very least I could do. I mean for the love of Peter, Paul, and Mary, he has put up with me and taken care of my babies for this long. I try the whole “yank ‘em down and go to it” thing but he wants to be all romantic. He lays my head on the bed and softly and slowly brushes back my hair with his fingers. He gives me a look again, which after seven years of marriage, I know means he wants to go downstairs. It’s not that he is not good at it. In fact, I do believe that if tampering with lady bits was an Olympic sport he would get a gold medal, it’s just that I’m not mentally or physically prepared for him to go downstairs at this time. First of all, they don’t let nuts have razors. Secondly, I haven’t showered since yesterday.

  “Eric, I haven’t showered since yesterday...what is wrong with you?”

  “I don’t care Vada, you’re not on your period or anything.” He’s right, at least that was over. They are awful but don’t last long. “If you really want to take a shower, then let me go with you.”

  Oh fiddly dee. I hate the sex in the shower thing. It’s so awkward and I am so short that water gets in my eyes and then my contacts slip out and then I’m blind and blinking all while being thrusted into under running water, which happens to always find a way to hit nothing but my face so I am always freezing and bitching the whole time. Not sexy to me. Not sexy at all. Short girls are not built for shower sex, unless they are with a really short man.

  “You know what? Let’s just do a washcloth and soap situation...since I really am sore and I would like to be clean. There’s stuff in the bathroom. Could you just clean me up?”

  Eric looks at me like I am the lamest chick ever and he may be right, but dammit I fell off a bar and then a damned fence for crying out loud. He can take care of me. I’ll eventually let him put it in, but he could at least clean me up first. I have kind of an issue with body fluid and cleanliness...if you haven’t noticed. I don’t like wet things. Take what you will from that bit of information, but it’s true. Eric disappears into the bathroom and comes back with towels and a few paper cups full of warm soapy water. He undresses me and I think that he is actually finding this kind of hot. I probably would too if it wasn’t for all the stitches. But oh well. He lays towels all around me and rubs me with warm washcloths. It actually feels really good and it’s sweet because he’s so careful around my sore spots. He gets two wash cloths and rubs them from my stomach with two hands up to my boobies. He must think my boobies are really dirty because he seems to be cleaning them very thoroughly.

  “You’re going to pop the implants there buddy if you scrub those any harder!” I say.

  “Oh, sorry. Geez, I paid for them and I haven’t seen them in so long.”

  “Well, they are clean now, move along. I don’t want anyone walking in here and catching us being all naked and stuff.”

  “It’s just like at home isn’t it...you haven’t taken your eyes off that door.”

  “Really Eric, would you not be embarrassed at all if a nurse or a doctor came in to check on me right now?”

  “No. I wouldn’t,” he says. “I’d be like, hey man, I got a thing for the crazy girls, now get outta here unless you wanna watch the rodeo queen defend her title.”

  “Oh you are so gross, and I’m hurt you idiot, so there will be no rodeo in here today. Now give me that damn washcloth and let me finish cleaning up and then you can put it in me real quick, but hurry up because I know someone’s going to come to the door.”

  As per usual, Eric does what he is told, even though it’s not his way. It’s not that I don’t find him hot, but my pain meds are making me itch and I am so paranoid about that door opening, that I’m just hoping this goes quick. It’s also not the best feeling considering I have to get on all fours (two knees and two elbows since my hand hurts) because it’s the only position my stitches won’t rub. I can’t really move so I just have to stay still and take it like a little mutt dog. I probably look like one too, because I’m trying to scratch my face with my teeth and I’m wincing from the pain of these injuries. I’m glad he cannot see my face. I probably look like I have rabies. Poor Eric can’t even screw his wife like a normal person. I always have to make everything so difficult. Why is this taking him so long? I know someone’s going to walk in that door. My butt cheek hurts. This doggie-style thing is not working for me. We need to get this show on th
e road.