Pain is physical or emotional suffering or distress. What I felt before I woke up in the hospital was far beyond “pain.” It was torture.
I opened my eyes and beheld an exceedingly bright light. “Heaven,” I thought, until my eyes adjusted and I looked and I was staring down at white floor tiles, I was lying on my stomach looking down. I tried to roll over but as soon as I tried to move pain shot through me like bolts of lightning. From what I could see I reasoned out that I was in a hospital, in one of those special beds for people with back problems. But I didn’t remember hurting my back whatsoever, or for that matter, going to the hospital. All I could remember was a pain, far beyond any other pain that I had felt, and something else, all I could remember was a small blurred picture in my mind, it vaguely looked like a small rose. I winced and tried it again to get a better view, but only to receive the same result. “He’s moving,” the exclamation echoed through the room and I knew that voice, I had heard it close to everyday for the past two years. It was Sharon, my wife. Memories of our wedding, first house, and our child on the way, due any day now, rushed through my mind. I tried more earnestly to roll over to see her face would help the pain go away. I forced my way through the pain making it onto my side, howling through the torture and just as I saw her face, everything faded into a dark abyss.
My eyes once again opened to behold the abnormally white tile on the floor. Men in white coats, doctors I assumed, surrounded my bed along with my wife Sharon.
“What just happened,” I impatiently asked the doctor with a shortness of breath.
“Well,” he said with a very business-like tone “the blackout was a direct result of your back injury and…”
“Wait,” I interrupted him “what back injury?” the doctors and my wife quickly exchanged glances of surprise and worry. “Honey,” Sharon said to me “Don’t you remember the incident? In the elevator? That irrational madman?” Suddenly it hit, like a bullet train right out of Japan, it was in the courthouse. Just after the Gonzalez v. Hanson case. Gabriel Gonzalez was being tried for assault with a deadly weapon. He was out on bail, for now if I had my way with it. I was heading to the parking garage after the trial when he attacked. The elevator opened and there he was, slightly hunched over, black hair cascading down his face. He looked up revealing a ravenous vengeful look in his eyes. He pulled a gun out of his jacket. This wasn’t your ordinary dinky little pawn shop gun, no; this was a genuine black market purchase, the kind that could fill your lungs with lead faster than you could fill them with air. As a reflex, I turned and hunched down to protect my head. The pain, that horrible feeling I remembered when I woke up in the hospital was from the bullets thudding into my back repeatedly. As I slowly drifted out of consciousness one thing remained in my mind. The wallpaper on the elevator wall, the last thing I saw was a small printed rose.
“I remember,” I said as a tear slowly dripped from my eye. Sharon reached over to wipe it away, and as her hand entered my view, I saw her small tattoo on her wrist, a rose. Panic welled up inside me, I had to get away from it I just had to, the pain from the bullets came back and it engulfed me. I started to flail to get it out of my sight. Sharon snapped her hand away and started screaming at the doctors “What has gotten into him?” As soon as I could no longer see her wrist, the fear left and my body went limp.
Another couple days went by, physical and mental therapy started. I could now lie on my side so I could see Sharon clearer and she avoided letting her small tattoo show afraid of my reaction. Neither of us was sure on what exactly caused it. Our conversations mainly focused on our child and the preparations for him or her and if and when I was going to come home. As more days passed and at the end of that week Sharon started having contractions. We were set on having a home birth and doing so would cut costs since my hospital bills were already taking their toll on our finances, even with insurance. Soon her contractions got worse and a friend of ours, Marcus, who was a doctor, just in case, came and took her home. The doctors heard about this and made special arrangements for me to come home for the day to be there for the birth.
Equipped with special medical equipment they were placing me in Marcus’ care while I stayed at home for the short amount of time. The ambulance trip to my home was the longest car ride I have ever gone through, the excitement was killing me. Sharon had had someone come in to do some redesigning of the house before the incident and I was looking forward to see the improvements. Eventually we arrived at my home; Sharon was already there, with Marcus probably assisting her every move. I was wheeled into the living room; the new design was very nice more warm and comforting than it used to be. I insisted that I be put in my favorite lazy boy recliner, which they did thankfully. The medical personnel left shortly after double and triple checking my medical equipment. I lay in the lazy boy for hours just enjoying the feeling of being home; though Sharon was still sleeping I felt that we were together again.
I slipped into a deep sleep, the best I had had since the assault. The day slipped into night, and no one moved me out of the lazy boy so I just slept there that night. I had a dream a very, very vivid dream. I was in my house and the wallpaper, the curtains, the pictures, and even clothes were covered in rose prints, and those images scared me, I wasn’t sure why but they did. I had gathered everything up in a panic and burned them.
My eyes opened groggily, “Wow that was trippy,” I said half awake. I was lying on the couch, not quite sure how I had gotten there. I tried to sit up but a more sever pain in my back ensnared me. I heard footsteps coming from the hallway, it was Marcus. His face was filled with a look of remorse. I asked him what was wrong.
“Sharon.” He whispered as he knelt down next to me on the couch. “She gave birth to a beautiful baby girl,” A tear fell from his eyes and he wiped it away. “I found you in the backyard just after she went into labor. You were passed out. There was a small fire burning next to you.” My mouth dropped open; it wasn’t just a dream after all. “You had burned everything from curtains to picture, and even,” His voice trailed off into a whisper “Even Sharon’s wedding dress.” It all came back the dress; it was white and embroidered all over with small white roses. “Sharon doesn’t know, she won’t ever know.” He started to cry heavily as the last word exited his mouth. I lay there dumbfounded by what I had done. “How is Sharon?” I asked as I dropped my gaze.
“She died in childbirth.” Marcus said bluntly “It took all of my efforts to keep the baby alive but I did it. But by the time the labor was done, Sharon’s heart had stopped. He stood up and walked into the hallway only to return with my child in his arms. “Her dying words were what to name the baby.” He lowered the little child into my arms. “What is her name?” I asked starting to choke up.
He responded with one word. “Rose.”