Then There Was You(35)
The EMT didn’t say anything. She just looked at me with a hint of compassion and concern, and maybe even a dash of just-think-of-the-children stink eye.
“Oh my god, Salem!” Graham rushed to my bedside, glancing at the nurse who was charting my vitals. “I just got the call ten minutes ago. I tried to get here as fast as I can. What happened?”
My mouth was dry. The bright, florescent light above my bed caused me to squint my eyes. Feeling too weak to speak or move, it was as if my brain was thinking of all the right things, but the synapses didn’t seem to connect.
The nurse chimed in, “Sir, your wife is being treated for severe fatigue. We’re giving her some fluids through an IV for minor dehydration as well. She passed out while she was with a client, but with some rest, she’ll be just fine. She should be fine to go home soon. In fact, we can go ahead and get the discharge paperwork started now.”
“Thank you, nurse,” Graham nodded at her and then turned his attention toward me. “What’s going on, Salem?” he said, gently clasping my hand. For a moment I saw the compassion in his eyes that I remembered from our years of dating when we were in college—before we were sucked down into the vortex of ‘real life.’
My eyes blinked rapidly as I tried to swallow the cotton growing in my throat. “Just tired… so tired… need sleep.”
“Okay, honey,” he touched my cheek lovingly. “You sleep. I’ll go get Alexis from daycare and then I’ll be back to get you. Hopefully they will send you home by then.”
I simply nodded, my brain less receptive with each word he spoke. I could already feel my eyes rolling back into my head. Goodnight was my last thought.
“Mrs. Honeycutt?” The doctor’s voice cut through my heavenly bliss, rousing me from my deep, dreamless slumber.
“Hmm,” I stirred, my eyes trying to focus on the man in the white coat standing by my bedside.
“I’m so sorry to wake you. I’m Dr. Raman. I just wanted to discuss your treatment.” He stood at my bedside wearing a white coat.
“Okay,” I nodded weakly.
“The EMT brought your injury to my attention.” His eyes travelled pointedly to my injured wrist then back to my face. “I was wondering if we could talk about that for a moment.” His nearly black eyes looking into mine held an element of alarm.
The mention of my ‘injury’ immediately jarred my senses. “Oh, you mean my wrist?” I asked innocently.
Dr. Raman nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Do you mind if I have a look?” Reaching out, he grasped my arm and peered down at it. He turned it over to expose the thin line of a scab. My instinct was to cover it up, to hide my secret, but I didn’t. The truth of my pain was out. I couldn’t avoid it. “How did this happen, Mrs. Honeycutt?” he asked with concern.
The words refused to come. For a brief moment I considered lying, but I knew from the look on Dr. Raman’s face that there was no getting out of it. It was obvious by his expression that he already knew the truth.
“I did it,” I admitted, ashamed by my actions.
“How long ago?” he asked, releasing his grasp.
I tore my eyes away from him and stared at the stark, white hospital blanket that covered my legs. “A few days…”
“Is it something you want to talk to someone about?”
I shook my head vehemently. I was a counselor. I could talk to myself. I knew how to fix this. “I’m not going to kill myself,” I announced firmly. “I have no plans or intentions on taking my life, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Dr. Raman watched me intently over his black rimmed glasses. I returned a gaze of wide-eyed innocence, a further attempt at trying to convince him.
Finally, he said, “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to write you a prescription.” He flipped out his prescription pad and started scribbling. “It’s for an anti-depressant, but I’d like to refer you to a counselor for a follow-up.”
“Okay,” I said dejectedly, hiding the embarrassment of my wrist beneath the blanket.
Thoughts swirled in my head—defensive, wishful thoughts. I shouldn’t need a counselor. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I can snap out of it. I just need a little sleep, that’s all.
A sense of dread suddenly came over me. “Dr. Raman, please don’t tell the staff at Fairbanks about my wrist. They’ll ask me take a leave of absence. I need my job. My kids need me,” I could feel the panic welling up in my chest.
Dr. Raman shook his head, ripping the prescription he’d written off the notepad. “I will not disclose any medical information to your employer. I do, however, highly encourage you to seek counseling as soon as possible. I will have my staff supply you with a referral. Please talk to someone. You’ll be surprised of the results. Even a counselor like yourself should know that.”