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With a bit of luck and divine providence, Dylan is taken back to a room within minutes. The doctor on duty does an initial assessment as I watch. Every movement she makes with Dylan’s knee sends my wife to either make a hissing sound, a whimper, clutch the side of the bed, or all of the above. Not long after, a nurse returns to place an IV in Dylan’s arm to not only help her with the pain, but to set up for MRI imaging. No one is saying anything definitive, but this doesn’t look good to me, and I know it doesn’t for her either.
I pace the room for the near hour she’s missing. When she does return, she seems calmer and not in as much pain as before.
“Hey. How are you doing? Did they tell you anything?”
“No. Not yet. I like IV drugs though. I like them a lot.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “You’re making jokes. That’s a good sign. Can you tell me what happened?”
“How much did you see? I thought I felt you there for a while.”
“I just wanted to watch you from afar. You seemed so unhappy; at least that’s the word I would use. It was angry dancing. I don’t know if you felt you couldn’t do anything right or what it was. Then you did some moves I’ve never seen you do. They looked like they were from somewhere kind of dark and then… bam you were in a pile on the floor. After that it was all about action.”
“I was angry and sad and frustrated. I don’t know. I was trying to get rid of it and in doing so I guess I wasn’t paying close enough attention to what I was doing or how my body was feeling. I felt a pop then a rush of pain. I’ve twisted this knee before, but nothing this bad. For a while I thought I might puke or pass out or something. I’m so glad you were there.”
“Me too, baby. Me too.” I reach over and kiss her hand. The backs of her knuckles are stained black with the remnants of mascara that once coated her long lashes. My wife closes her eyes and takes a deep breath as my lips meet her skin over and over again in an attempt to comfort her in the only way I can.
Dylan startles from a knock on the door. As the doctor enters, I stroke her hand again to help prepare her for whatever we’re going to hear. “Hello, Dylan. I’m Dr. Forbes. I was able to look over your chart as well as your X-rays and your MRI results are back. The good news is that nothing’s broken.”
“That means there’s not so good news I’d imagine,” I offer.
He sits down in the chair across from us, pulling up the images on the computer. As the monitor swings to us, Dylan tries to push herself taller in her wheelchair. “The MRI shows something different. You’ve got a moderate tear in your meniscus. That was the pop you said you felt.”
I know this isn’t good, but the look on Dylan’s face tells me more than that. It’s something I’ve not seen before where her dancing is involved. It’s the look of fear. The tubes of the IV dangle across her lap and the resignation of this news dims the last bit of light in her eyes. “What am I looking at? Surgery?”
“I can’t say definitively no. It will all depend on what we do from this point over the next several weeks.”
“Several weeks? Are you sure?” I ask.
“Eli, this could end my dance career if it doesn’t heal right.” Now I understand. I can feel the weight of what’s going on inside of her and what she must have known from the minute she collapsed. “What’s my treatment plan?”
“I can’t say with certainty. You’ll need to follow up with your primary physician, and I’m sure they’ll get you with a specialist and a physical therapist when the time comes. From my experience with these injuries and where this fits in comparison, I’d say you’re looking at weeks, if not months, off the dance floor. If you need surgery, it could be longer than that. I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear.”
Dylan’s hands cover her face as she can no longer hold her tears in. I can hear her soft sobs, quiet as they are. Each one cuts my heart again and again. “Thank you, Dr. Forbes. When can I take my wife home?”
“I’d like to get her fitted for an immobilizer and crutches to make life easier for her. I’ll also get her some medication for the pain. She should remain as restful as she can until she can be reevaluated in the next day or two. Do you need a note for work?”
I can’t help but chuckle a little. “I’m her boss, so that won’t be necessary.”
The doctor smiles back before clearing his throat. “Dylan, we’ll give you another dose of the medication we started you on when you got here to get you home more comfortably. I will have one of the nurses get you fitted with the other things I was talking about and remove your IV. Do you have any more questions?”
Dylan looks up at the doctor with tears quietly streaming down her face and shakes her head. He pats her hand gently before he leaves the room and us behind the closed door. I kneel down in front of her to tilt her chin back up to look into my eyes.
“Are you listening to me, Viper?” I see her eyes go in and out of focus for a minute before she looks in and through me. “You will get through this. We will get through this. You’re alive. You’re whole, even though you don’t think so right now, you’re whole. This isn’t game over. I won’t let it, so neither will you. Do you hear me?”
Dylan leans her body forward, wrapping her arms around my neck. I can feel the fear radiate off her like rays from the sun. I just made a promise I fucking hope I can keep.
Dylan
The medication is helping for the most part, but the only time I’m not in pain is when I’m asleep. I wish I could sleep the next however many weeks and not know the possibilities or non-possibilities of how this is going to turn out. Eli’s right. I have to think positive, but I also know the reality might be I won’t dance on my own again like I had been or hoped to be.
Eli wants to lay me in our bed, but I want to be near where he is. I feel like I am lying on a cloud of marshmallows as I fall asleep. I think I even have a trippy dream to that effect. As the medication begins to wear off and I become more aware of the pain and my surroundings, I can hear Eli on the phone. For a minute I can’t tell who he’s talking to, then I realize it’s Anna.
He’s making all kinds of changes to his schedule. He’s moving meetings to virtual, postponing a couple of day trips, and a longer trip Wes helped set up. That was supposed to be part business and pleasure for us. Now it’s on indefinite hold and I hate it. He can sense me stirring because within just a few words, he’s right behind me stroking the hair away from my face. Even though he’s talking about work, his soft voice is its own pain killer.
“Okay, Anna. Thank you for all you’re doing. Route everything you can’t send in email to me twice daily. If you can’t get the board to go virtual, I’l have someone stay here with her and I’ll come in for that only. Make sure I have Skye first thing so we can get Dylan’s projects covered for at least a week, then we can modify when we know where things stand. Yes, I’ll tell her. Make sure you’re taking care of yourself too. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Good night.”
“I’m sorry.”
