Where She Went

So my life got a little... intense, over the last two weeks.

Let me back up to Monday the sixth.

Near on to midnight I get a text from Chris, my best friend Lara's husband.  (Perhaps you remember them?)  He is laying on the floor of a hospital chapel, dealing with the fact that Lara, who had gone in for a routine surgery the Friday before, is now undergoing emergency surgery to repair a perforated bowel.  A perforated bowel, in case you are not familiar with the fantasy or military genres, is kind of a big deal.  As in, it can kill you.  Painfully.

"Is there anything you need?  I can come up if you want," I say, and I mean it. We exchange a few more texts, and I add, "Keep me posted on what you and she need.  I'll come up if you want me (either of you) or wait if that's better."  He tells me he'll let me know.

May ninth (you might recognize this as the date I stop reporting on my "ReDetox" progress), he gets in touch with me to say he "might need" my help over the weekend.  Needless to say, I clear my schedule, arrange for Isis to be boarded, and Nathan and I head up Friday night after work.  We drive straight to the hospital, and are given the eerie, 2330 tour.  Lara is in that twilight-sleep of the Well and Truly Drugged, but seems pleased to see me nonetheless.

I spend all day Saturday with Lara, doing those things that best friends are good for (washing her hair, watching girly movies, cracking terrible jokes, that sort of thing) while Nathan helps Chris move from their old apartment to their new house.  Oh, didn't I mention that?  Yeah, they're in the middle of a move.  Perfect timing for emergency surgery.

Lara's spirits are really good on Saturday, and she seems to be doing better physically, as well- but all that goes downhill on Sunday.  Swiftly.  I'd been planning on coming home on Sunday night, but Lara asks me to stay- and I want to, because things just seem wrong.  I send Nathan home with a kiss and a promise to find my own way back, eventually.  Then come the results of another  CT scan: two additional holes have appeared in Lara's intestines, and her doctor recommends she be moved to a larger hospital where she can have a team of specialists perform yet another emergency surgery.  Like, now.  Unfortunately, however, the soonest a bed can be made available is 1100 the next day, and so it is not until Monday afternoon that we settle into new digs.  The small, shared room is made even more crowded by the much-anticipated arrival of Lara's parents, whom I have not seen in years.

The surgery lasts about three hours- maybe four.  It's sort of a blur.  But one memory is crystal clear: Chris and I have booked a hotel room together, and I am laying back on the bed, feeling the strangest sensation of peace, as though I'm floating free of all attachments.  Honestly, I feel a little drunk- but in a euphoric way.

"It's going to be okay," I say, and I know that it is, with the same surety that I know oxygen is expanding my lungs.  Now, I acknowledge that it may in fact be my mind-body connection finally shutting down in the face of all the stress of the previous week, but even so...

We make our way back over the the waiting area of the hospital, and when the doc comes in I can tell from her expression that it is okay.  She is obviously exhausted, herself- she sits down in a chair and fills us in on everything that occurred, but she is also optimistic in a very matter-of-fact way.  Two more hours go by, and finally we get to see Lara again- drugged out of her gourd, but very much alive.  I find that I can't touch her enough, but I make myself leave, giving her and Chris some precious alone time.

Tuesday dawns, and we spend the morning meeting the team of people who will be spending the next few weeks helping Lara recover enough to leave the hospital.  I finally feel like it will be okay for me to return home, and so I book myself a train ticket, and around 1645 Chris walks me the mile to the station.

I sleep as much as I can on the three hour trip home, curled awkwardly across two seats, and I fall into bed shortly after getting to the house.  I spend the next several days trying to get back to "normal", but it is slow going, and even today I find myself sort of residually exhausted.

But my best friend is alive, and as far as I'm concerned, I've never felt better.