Curveballs

Life has a way of catching us off guard. The most important thing about curveballs is how we choose to handle them. Do we swing at every single one that comes our way, or do we take a pause, assess the situation, and adapt? Sometimes I swing away, but upon reflection, pause and adapt is always the path I should have taken.

For quite some time, my writing has taken a backseat to life. There was always the intent to pick it back up, but the follow-through always seemed to evade me. Then my body decided writing just

wasn't an option. Just like that, I realized what a gift it was to be able to write, think clearly, use a computer, and most days be able to open my eyes in the sunlight. When capabilities are removed against our will, we realize how blessed we were to have the opportunities in the past.

I have had the occasional migraine for 13 years. Just a few a year, nothing horrible. They came and went within a day or two---until the last couple of years. They began coming more frequently, from once every four months or so to every other month. They slowly progressed to every month, then every week. I became sensitive to light most days, staying inside for the majority of the time. Loud noises and people having conversations would trigger pain along with the light. The migraines could last for days, developing into vomiting anywhere from three to twenty-four hours at a time. When it was the latter, the migraine lifted after a visit to the emergency room, IV fluids, pain meds, and steroids. Writing took the furthest backseat in the auditorium of my mind. If I were a concert venue, then writing would sit in the nosebleed section for every painful performance.

Three months ago, I finally went to my doctor after three weeks of intermittent migraines and a 24/7 headache. He sent me for an MRI, and less than two hours later, the result popped into my MyChart---brain tumor. Lovely. Now here we are. After months of visits to Houston for appointments and over a month of physical therapy and more headache and migraine meds, I am less than 36 hours away from a craniotomy. Reality is sinking in, and I find myself wishing I had tried harder to concentrate on finishing my book. I know it will happen, and soon, but I find myself wanting to share a tiny portion of what has been completed.

I have been asked by several people if I would be sharing portions of my memoir of assault online before publishing. This is something I have thought of often since reading about Andy Weir's success from releasing chapters of The Martian as he wrote it. While this is something I will continue to consider, I will at least give this sneak peek in honor of my ride or die, my best friend, Jennifer. She will hound me forever about putting myself first, not just with my health, but with everything. She will also ask me regularly about when I will finish my book already. So, here ya go, Jenn. Just for you.

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Supposed to be Dead

I woke up to the dogs barking. It wasn’t one of their regular barks, like when they hear a truck, see a skunk, or hear coyotes howling. I knew immediately something was off. There was no truck, possum, or squirrel behind their bays. Hearing the sharp tone, I knew they were ready to take someone’s face off. It was still dark in my room, and I couldn’t figure out why they were even outside. They should have been asleep on the couch. I rolled over and saw Cole was gone. 

Did he let them out and forget to put them back in before leaving for work?

The dogs became louder and their barking more urgent. I left the warmth of the covers and drew in a sharp breath when the cold linoleum floor met my feet. There were no lights on in the house, only a glow from the porch light coming in faintly through the drawn curtains in the living room. I walked through the kitchen and stood in front of the couch, looking toward the hallway. 

“Cole?” No answer. Had he heard the chickens outside going bananas and gone to check on them? With the recent raccoon problems, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of reason. I walked out the front door and stepped onto the deck. The dogs ran out of the dark, shot past me, and disappeared around the corner of the house, into the still blackness, toward the chicken coop.  

“Cole?” I called loud enough to reach where the coop stood beyond my eyesight, but he did not respond. I stepped off the porch and into the circle of light provided by the single bulb. My eyes refused to adjust to the dark. I would have to remove myself from the light to make them. I walked toward the corner of the house, and just as I hit the edge of where the lights illuminated the night, I heard a twig snap behind me and the crunch of fallen leaves in the grass. Doom filled my body. I slowly turned around, and there was nothing. No movement, no more sound. Then leaves rustled in the blackness off to the right, and an outline began to emerge.

“Cole? Is that you?” Nothing. “Cole?”, the fear and pleading in my voice were evident. And then, his face appeared as he walked into the light. A chill lit my nerves when I realized it was not Cole.

Oh my God. NO. Please God, no.

I was rooted in place. He found me. But this time, he was not standing in front of a box pretending to rent a movie outside the store. He was at my house. He was not in jail anymore. He had followed me home. 

Run! 

 My legs were frozen. I could not move.  

Scream! 

It was as if there were no air in my lungs. My voice had hidden itself away, and I was frantically trying to find it. I wanted to yell out for my husband, but my attacker began to run toward me. His shoes pounded hard onto the winter ground with each step, the dried leaves crunching beneath his feet. He reached me in a moment, and I was knocked to the ground. Before I could react, his hands were around my throat. His buzz cut left short bristles of hair poking out of the silhouette of his head. His cheeks were sunken in, his skin pale with a touch of yellow. He looked dirty, his complexion splotchy and dark in scattered places. His lips were parted slightly, thin, and tight. Each side of the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, as if he were stuck between rage and happiness. Then my eyes met his, and the rage and madness within revealed themselves in his electrifying black eyes. His eyes held mine, speaking to them, and I knew I was not meant to escape. 

The grip on my neck tightened. I could feel my throat crushing. I couldn’t scream, but I could cry. Tears were rolling from my eyes and pooling in my ears. I tried to get away from his hands as my lungs begged for air. Then, he readjusted them, put one on the front of my throat, and reached toward his waist with the other. He pulled out a large hunting knife, and my hands grabbed his single wrist to remove his hold, and he smiled, his teeth gleaming in the dark. The madness in his eyes washed over his face as he thrust the knife into my side. He released me so that he could hear my scream. It was loud and pierced the dark. I felt the knife pull out of my skin, then the blade thrust into my gut. I screamed out and tried to reach for his hands to stop the blade, but my arms simply flailed about in no particular direction. He kept jabbing the knife in and out. I could feel the warmth of my blood leaving my body, pulsing out with each beat of my heart. Beat. Gush. Beat. Gush. There was no one to help me. My dogs had run off, my husband was nowhere to be found, and I had no neighbors to speak of. This was it. But I kept fighting, kept crying. 

 “Darlin’………..Darlin’.” Cole’s voice was soothing but sounded faint and far away. I continued to swing my arms about, not knowing how long it would take him to be there.  

Where are you? 

My attacker leaned into my face, grabbing my attention. “You’re supposed to be dead.” I turned my head away, trying to find Cole. 

“I’m here. It’s me. It’s me, darlin’.” I could feel someone else touching me and I struggled against it. Then my attacker was no longer there. “Darlin’?” It was just Cole’s voice.  

Where have you been? Save me. 

“I’m holding you. It’s okay. I have you; I won’t let you go.” His gentle voice grew stronger and clearer as he tried to lead me out of the dark forest. I could hear myself crying loudly, feel my body shaking from the sobs. My face was wet with tears, my hairline soaked from them. His arms were around mine, holding them to stop them from hitting him.  

“Wake up, Darlin.’ I love you, please come to me.” How his voice was without the worry I know he felt, I will never understand. The violent sobs slowed with my breathing, and my mind began to wake. I felt him stroking my hair with his hand while holding himself up with the other. 

He was watching my face. I felt cocooned in safety. He had pulled my body into his. Cole’s tall frame completely encompassed my smaller one. When he sensed I was more conscious of what was happening, he went from smoothing my hair to wiping my tears and putting a tissue to my nose, like a parent to a child. My eyes did not want to open. While I knew I was safe, my body was still consumed by the fear brought on by the terror of my dream. 

And then, realization and humiliation took fear's place. The warm blood I felt leaving my body was not blood. I took in a sharp breath and began to cry again. “Darlin’?” Cole asked with concern. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” And with that, the sobbing began again. 

“Why? What in the world are you sorry for?” Cole tried to turn my chin to look at me, but I buried my face in the pillow. 

“I thought I was bleeding, but it wasn’t blood. I wet the bed.” I was humiliated from head to toe. Every ounce of me felt embarrassment. I was forty-one years old, and I wet myself in my sleep. I wanted to crawl under a rock.  

“It’s okay. I’ll fix it.” I continued to cry, my breathing became short and ragged. “It’s okay, Beautiful. I will change the bed while you take a shower. It’s all washable, not a problem.” 

“I peed on my husband.” My face remained in the pillow. 

“Did you know some people do that on purpose because they like it? But that’s probably not for us.” I could hear the smile in his voice, and I loved him more than ever for trying to make me laugh in that moment. “Ya know, I’m washable too, so no biggie.” He rolled out of bed and walked around to my side, and knelt to be level with my face. “Let me help you”, he said as he reached his hand out and grabbed hold of mine. “Darlin’?” Slowly, I removed my face from my pillow and looked at the incredible man in front of me. “Come on, Beautiful. I’ll help you get up.” He took my other hand and stood up, doing most of the work to pull me into the sitting position. As I slid off the bed and my feet touched the cold linoleum, I drew in a sharp breath, this time at the memory of my dream.  

“Are you okay?” Cole started to examine my body. “Are you hurting?” Truthfully, I was. It had been eight hours since a stranger attacked me outside of CVS, and like a car wreck, the physical damage could be slow in revealing itself. My hand was killing me. I looked down at it, but it was wrapped, hiding the carnage caused by the attacker’s teeth. Every muscle in my body felt slightly sore.

“Yes. A little sore. Sorry. The floor is just cold.” I did not want to go into details of the dream, and he would not try to have me explain it.  

“How about we take the wet clothes off, so you don’t have to walk in them?” Cole suggested. I tried to bend to pull my pajama pants down, but it hurt, and I winced in pain. It did not go unnoticed. “I got it.” And with that, he bent his knees and pulled my pants to my ankles. “Put your hands on my shoulders and lift your feet out, one leg at a time.” I did as he said, and he placed my soiled bottoms and panties in a pile next to me. Then he took my hand into his and walked me to the bathroom, guiding me around furniture and curious dogs. He stopped in front of the shower and reached in to turn on the water, checking its temperature.  

“Thank you.”, I said. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Darlin’,” he looked at me with empathy, “You don’t have anything to apologize for. Okay?” I looked down and nodded my head. He placed his hand on my chin and tilted it up, our eyes meeting. “You don’t ever have to apologize to me. Ever.” And just like that, tears began to fall down my face as I gave him a weak smile. He removed my arms from my shirt one at a time and gently pulled my shirt over my head, fixing my hair afterward. He turned me slightly and removed my bra. “You step in when you’re ready.” He turned to walk away. “I’m going to put everything in the washer.” 

“Please don’t leave me in here.” 

“How about I leave the door open so you can hear me, and I’ll be right back and stay until you are done?” He had the most reassuring look. It was almost hopeful. I nodded in agreement. I opened the shower door and went to step in when I stopped, looking at my dominant hand. It looked like a fat mitten with the fingers cut out, hand wrapped in a bandage and layers of gauze, topped with beige medical wrap. My fingers were visible from where they left my hand to the tips of my fingers. The swelling had begun. I wasn’t supposed to get it wet. We didn’t have anything to change the wrapping with. He was going to do that in a few hours when the store opened. Back to the horribly lit CVS where the man had been hiding around the corner in the dark. “Darlin’? Can you get in the shower?” I turned to see him in the doorway and again I started to cry, this time in frustration. 

“No. I can’t get it wet.” I lifted my right arm. “How am I supposed to do this?” He walked to me, took his thumbs, and rubbed my tears from my cheeks.  

“I’ll help you.” He took my right elbow and then his other hand under my left arm. “Put your leg in and step in sideways, leave your arm out.” I did as he said, and he assisted me into the shower, the water soaking his arm with my body. “Put your arm in the air and I will come in.” I lifted my arm, and he slid the door shut. I could see his hazy silhouette moving around. He slid the back door open and climbed in. He had removed his clothes as well. “Is the water okay?” I 

nodded. For the next several minutes, I followed his lead. I moved slightly as he reached for the soap and sudsed up the washrag. I relaxed so he could move my body as needed to wash it, leaving my one arm elevated, keeping my hand dry. I stood with my eyes closed and let the warmth of the water shower onto my head and run down my body. Cole let me have my moment as he bathed himself. “Turn around.” I didn’t ask why, I just moved and faced the water, letting it hit me in the face. I could feel my body relaxing a little. I felt his hands on my hair as he started to shampoo it. He was like no other. “Keep your eyes closed. They will burn if the suds get in them.” When he finished rinsing the conditioner out, I heard the shower door open, and he exited as I opened my eyes. He dried off and dressed, then reached in and turned the water off, and assisted me out. He delicately dried my body and helped me dress in the fresh pajamas he brought.  

“Do you want me to brush your hair?” I shook my head. His sweetness was almost too much, and I started to feel undeserving of it. So, he towel-dried my hair while facing me. He paused when he finished, and I looked at him. “I love you.” He said softly as he leaned down and 

kissed me on my forehead.  

He walked me back to our room, and I watched as he fixed the bed with clean sheets and blankets. Cole helped me into bed, making sure I had enough covers, and crawled into bed next to me, putting his muscular arm around my waist and pulling my back into him. I could feel his beard on my neck as he gently placed his face onto mine. How could the man I had nicknamed my Irish Viking be so sensitive to my needs? How he could tower over me, be so strong, yet still touch me with delicate ease was an enigma. I was beyond thankful to have him lie by my side at night, ready to slay the metaphorical dragons. He fell back to sleep, and while I did feel secure in his arms, my thoughts played back the night before, piece by piece, pain by pain. I could not escape the horror I felt in the last words I heard him say— “She’s supposed to be dead.”