Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“What are his chances?” he asked, his voice tight.
Dr. Fletcher dragged in a long breath and scrubbed his face. “He is young, strong, with no other medical issues. His body will heal from the bruises and cuts. We need to get in there as fast as possible and relieve the pressure on his spine in order to give him the chance to recover from the trauma.”
“Will he recover?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
He met my gaze. “There are no guarantees, but I’ll do everything in my power to make sure of it, Mrs. VanRyan.”
Laura spoke up. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”
Dr. Fletcher didn’t answer her directly. “Let’s get him through the surgery first. That is my one goal today. To keep him alive. His recovery will depend on what we find when we go in. I’ll know more after that.”
“Please,” I said. “Please, can I see him?” I begged.
He hesitated. “All right—for a moment. I need him in the OR, Mrs. VanRyan.”
A moment.
I would take whatever they gave me.
I stepped beside Richard’s bed, my legs trembling, tears clouding my eyes. I signed the forms where the doctor indicated, anxious to get to Richard. The doctor had explained how much machinery Richard was hooked up to and warned me not to panic. “It’s all there to help him, Mrs. VanRyan. The machines are doing the job his body can’t do right now.”
I thought I was prepared, but I wasn’t.
The room buzzed with activity, the entire team focused on getting Richard upstairs to the OR. I knew I had mere seconds before they whisked him away. I stepped forward, laying my hand on his forearm—one of the few areas not covered in wires or bandages. He was cool to the touch…and unresponsive. I stared at him, the tears streaming down my cheeks. His handsome face was a mass of bruises, barely recognizable with the swelling. A jagged cut stretched horizontally over his left eyebrow and disappeared into his hair that had been shaved. A breathing tube was in his mouth, taped across his lower face, and I could see more cuts under the white gauze. Everywhere I looked, there was trauma to him. Cuts, bruises, swelling, and bandages. Machines buzzed and whirred. Bags of blood and saline dripped into his veins, keeping him alive. He was pale and still—that fact unnerving since Richard was never still. I tried to focus on him, not the grisly sight of the room around me that told the story of how hard they had worked at keeping him alive.
“We need to take him, Mrs. VanRyan,” a nurse informed me, her voice laced with sympathy.
I leaned as close as I could to him, my voice quivering.
“Fight, my darling. Come back to me. To us. We need you.” My voice caught. “I love you, Richard, and I’m not ready to let you go. You can do this. You can do anything.”
The medical team stepped forward, and I clasped his hand in mine, careful not to press too hard with the cuts and bruises forming on his knuckles. “Please,” I whispered, choking. “Come back to me. I’ll be waiting right here.” I rose on my toes and kissed his cheek, my tears dripping and mingling with the streaks of blood on his face.
They wheeled him out of the room. I followed as long as I could, silently weeping as the doors swung shut in front of me.
“Please,” I prayed. “Oh God, please.”
“Katy.”
I turned to Graham and Laura. They were distraught and pale. Laura held out her arms, and I went to her, sobbing on her shoulder, praying in my head.
“Bring him back to me. No matter what else, please, God, let him live.”
7
Katy
Time in a hospital waiting room ceased to exist. It could have been hours or days that I had been waiting. The pumped-in, recirculated air was stagnant and carried the medicinal smell I couldn’t get out of my nose. The molded plastic chairs were uncomfortable and cold, the linoleum worn from miles of endless pacing as people waited to receive news of their loved ones. The vending machines hissed and groaned, spitting out undrinkable coffee and lukewarm cans of ginger ale or juice. The dull thud as a bottle of water rolled into the dispenser was almost constant since the room temperature was stifling.
Yet, despite the heat, I was freezing. Even with the sweater Jenna insisted on buying me in the gift shop and slipped over my shoulders, I shivered constantly, tremors running down my spine.
From fear or cold, I wasn’t sure.
I kept praying. Begging God not to take Richard from me. From his girls. I couldn’t imagine life for Gracie without the father she adored. Heather never knowing Richard and growing up without his love. My life without Richard.
It was unthinkable.
Adrian returned to the office to help Adam. Graham, Laura, and Jenna stayed close. They murmured reassurances about Richard’s strength. His determination and stubbornness. They insisted over and again that he would pull through and be fine. Recover and come home to heal.