Wounds Pt. 02

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Author's Note:

This story contains disturbing mental/physical themes that may cause discomfort. Readers be advised.

This is Part 2 of 4. Previously the story title was incorrectly shown as "Woulds Pt.02", it should be "Wounds Pt.02"

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Wounds: A Seaside Story

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CHAPTER 2

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A few days later, Janelle saw Mrs. Anderson at the Bright House café. It was Mia's second day at the preschool and Mrs. Anderson asked her how the first day went.

"Good! She actually really likes her classmates and teachers!" Janelle was proud of her sweet 4-yr old adapting to a new environment so quickly, "She still says she misses visiting you!"

Mrs. Anderson was apologetic, "I would love for Mia to come soon! Once Ezra settles into a routine, Mia's presence may be good for him. He likes kids."

Janelle looked around. There were no customers at the restaurant, so she felt emboldened to ask, "What happened to him?"

Mrs. Anderson, in her usual reserved manner, explained that she didn't know the full details. All she knew was that six months ago, she received a call from the Marine Corps headquarters that Ezra was wounded in action. At first, she didn't know the scope of his injury. Then, she was told that he had both of his legs blown off, that he was already going through double amputation at the field trauma center and would be sent back to Walter Reed for recovery. She flew to Maryland to look after him for a month, but then Ezra asked her to leave him there, saying he didn't need help. The doctors were still waiting for his wounds to fully heal before he could be fitted for prosthetics. They said he would be re-evaluated in the next three months.

When Mrs. Anderson did not receive word from Ezra about when he would be ready for a prosthetics fitting, she reached out to him. Ezra was reluctant to give her more information. It sounded like he did not want to go through the painful process of learning to use artificial limbs. The doctors informed Mrs. Anderson that he had lost even more weight and was physically diminishing. Mrs. Anderson called Ezra once more and urged him, with all the motherly power she had in him, to come home. She pleaded him to come and stay at Seaside until he was physically healed enough before considering going back to Walter Reed or any facility for prosthetics. Ezra said he didn't want to come home, but for once in her life, Mrs. Anderson was insistent. Ezra obliged.

"You can see he's not well. He needs to be healthy again before anything else can happen. Right now, he's not even strong enough to move around in his wheelchair and he refuses to go into those motorized ones."

He's more than just unwell. He's fading. Janelle thought to herself.

"Is there anything I can do to help him? Or help you?" Janelle asked.

Mrs. Anderson smiled that warm, appreciative smile, "He needs friends. I wish there are more friends he could talk to, but he says most of his Marine friends are still deployed and most of his childhood friends no longer live here. I can help him with taking him to the doctors and tending to his daily needs, but he needs to talk to somebody closer to his age. You are a few years older than him and you have a kid. I think that will make him respect you and listen to you."

Mrs. Anderson thought for a bit, then continued, "Maybe you can bring Mia over for a playdate next week. I think he'll be ready by then."

"I will be happy to do that!" Janelle answered.

Mrs. Anderson called the following week and arranged for Janelle to bring Mia.

Janelle's heart beat wildly as she pulled into the driveway. She had instructed Mia about Ezra's condition, but was still worried that Mia would say the wrong things. Heck, she was worried she would say the wrong things!

She didn't want it to be obvious that she was there to be a "friend". She knew that wouldn't work. Instead, she was going to act like she was there because Mia really missed Mrs. Anderson's backyard. They brought mini ceramic gnomes and houses to decorate the garden. Mia wanted to make the backyard a secret fairyland.

To her relief, Mia did not really pay attention to Ezra. As soon as she got to the house, all she wanted to do was run into the backyard to water the plants and find a good place for her gnomes. Mrs. Anderson pushed Ezra's wheelchair to the backyard so he could watch his mother play with Mia.

Janelle stood awkwardly next to the wheelchair; Mia was not interested in her mother at the moment. She searched her mind for the appropriate conversational topic, "How are you feeling today?"

Uh, that's a terrible question! She reprimanded herself.

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking." Was Ezra's curt reply.

Janelle sighed inside. This wasn't going to work unless she became more straightforward, "Are you able to sleep at night?"

"No." Came the answer.

"At least that was an honest answer." Janelle then realized she actually said that out loud and was immediately embarrassed.

She was surprised that he followed up with a longer answer, "I don't want to get hooked on opiates and I guess regular drugs don't work." Ezra paused, then said, "It doesn't matter anyway -- whether I sleep or not."

"Sleep will help you heal faster. It's the most important thing." Janelle channeled her mom attitude. She decided she might as well pretend she was talking to another 4-yr old, "You are too skinny. You need to eat, sleep, and exercise!"

She glanced down at his upper limbs resting at his side. Thin skin covered the long forearm bone. His hands were like big spidery skeletons. His whole body lacked color.

But it was really the eyes that got her -- that thousand-yard stare into nothing. Mrs. Anderson must have been seeing what Janelle saw in his eyes. Otherwise, she would not have asked Janelle to be his "friend" -- as if that sort of direct request ever worked for anyone.

No, Janelle determined that while she would not befriend Ezra, she would be there as a family friend. It was her way to give back to Mrs. Anderson for taking care of Mia.

Easter had just passed, and Mia decided she wanted Mrs. Anderson to hide plastic eggs in the garden for her to find. Janelle remembered helping Mrs. Anderson put the eggs away on the top shelf in the kitchen pantry. She offered to go with Mrs. Anderson back inside the house to retrieve them.

"Ezra, can you watch Mia in the garden while Janelle and I go get the eggs?" Mrs. Anderson asked her son. It was her not-so-subtle way of giving Ezra something to do.

"Yes, ma." A sad smile came over Ezra's pale face, "I can do that."

"Help her fill up the pail if she wants to water the plants again, but don't let her water the succulents anymore or they will die!" Mrs. Anderson pointed to the garden hose that was a few feet away from Ezra's wheelchair.

Back in the kitchen, Mrs. Anderson brought a stool for Janelle to stand on to retrieve the plastic eggs. Mrs. Anderson wanted to wash the cabinet dust off the plastic eggs before giving them to Mia. Janelle thought that was unnecessary -- Mia touched way dirtier things all the time -- but she did not stop Mrs. Anderson.

"Go back outside and make sure they are OK." Mrs. Anderson urged her.

Janelle walked to the back door leading out to the yard, but stopped before reaching for the door knob.

Mrs. Anderson had said Ezra liked kids. Perhaps, by leaving them together longer, Mia's innocence and energy would invigorate him.

She could hear the garden hose being turned on. Mia was blabbering about wanting to water all the plants again. Ezra reminded her that succulents would suffer from overwatering.

"They're desert plants. You should only water them when the soil is dry."

"Oh..." Mia sounded confused. Her toddler mind worked to get what she wanted, "But...but...it's dry! It's dry now!" It was classic toddler wishful thinking.

"How do you know it's dry?"

"I don't know..."

"Did you touch the soil beneath the succulents?"

"No...but...but..." Janelle could hear the thoughts in Mia's mind: BUT I WANT TO WATER THE PLANTS! What can I say or do that will make this grownup stop telling me to not water the plants?

"How about we go over to the succulents, then you can feel the dirt, and tell me if it's dry? If it really is dry, you can water them."

The exchange put a smile on Janelle's face. She was right about having Mia talk to Ezra. Mrs. Anderson was also right about Ezra liking kids. He was guiding her in the right ways.

Then, she heard Mia ask, "Over there? How are you going to get there?"

"I'm going to push this wheelchair."

"Oh..." Mia's voice trailed off as if she was now noticing the unique situation Ezra was in, "Why don't you have legs?"

Janelle gasped. She had explicitly told Mia to not ask that question! Her heart started palpitating as she pondered what the right move was: Does she interrupt their conversation, or listen on?

Before she could make a decision, she heard Ezra answer Mia's inquiry, "I stepped on a bomb that blew up my legs."

Janelle put a hand over her mouth. Her body became immobilized.

"Oh..." Came Mia's confused, high-pitched toddler voice, "Why did you step on it?"

"I didn't know it was there." Was Ezra's answer. Then, as if he knew that a toddler would just continue the same line of questioning (which would be "Why didn't you know it was there? Why? Why?"), he interrupted her, "Let's go to the succulents."

Janelle stood behind the door, her body immersed in pain. Her empathic nature made it difficult for her to move. She felt his pain and despair.

Mrs. Anderson came up behind her, "I've washed the eggs."

"Oh, good!" Janelle snapped herself back to reality and hid her emotions, "I think Mia is trying to water the succulents again and Ezra is doing a good job stopping her."

Mrs. Anderson nodded approvingly, "Mia will be a good influence on him."

They opened the door to the view of Mia crouching down and touching the soil beneath the succulents with her tiny fingers. Ezra was beside her in his wheelchair.

"It's...dry." Mia declared with utmost certainty. In the mind of a toddler, if she willed it, the entire Pacific Ocean might as well be dry.

"It doesn't look dry to me at all." Ezra said, "Let's water the tomatoes. They could use more water."

The toddler and wheelchair duo moved around the garden for a while. Eventually, the pink water pail was emptied. When Mia wanted another round of watering, Mrs. Anderson smartly diverted Mia to an impromptu egg hunt. The conclusion of the egg hunt was followed by eating Mrs. Cook's apple pie with vanilla ice cream inside the house. Mia was satisfied.

When it was time to leave, Mia looked up at Ezra with her big blue eyes, "Are you going to be here next time we come?"

Mrs. Anderson answered the question, "Yes, Ezra will still be here, and you are welcome to visit us anytime!"

Janelle drove Mia home. She cooked dinner, fed Mia, then gave her a bath and readied her for bed. Tom walked into the house right after Mia was put to bed. He smelled of liquor but was sober enough to sit down and eat his dinner. He even seemed to be in a decent mood, as he asked Janelle how her day was. Janelle recounted the errands she ran with Mia in the morning, then told him about taking Mia to the Andersons in the afternoon.

When Janelle told Tom that Mrs. Anderson thought Mia's presence would be healing for Ezra, Tom snorted, "What good does it do for him? His life is done anyways. He should be happy! Unlike the rest of us with legs who have to work our fucking asses off, he gets to sit in a wheelchair and do nothing for the rest of his life while the government pays his bills!"

"You shouldn't say that." Janelle said, "He must be in a lot of pain. He says he can't sleep."

Tom shrugged, "He knew what he was in for when he signed the dotted line."

Janelle was silent. She wanted to say that no one ever knows what they are in for when they make any decision in life. Whether it is to be in a relationship, to have a child, or to sign a piece of paper giving four to eight year of one's life away. With age and experience, one would learn from the mistakes and make less risky choices. But still, choices are choices. Going down one path means never knowing what would have happened if one had chosen another path.

The dinner conversation did not dampen Tom's good mood. He was lustful, but not as forceful as he had been recently. He approached her from behind when she was doing dishes in the kitchen. Janelle let him have his way with her body. He groped her tits from behind and commented on how nice they'd be if they were just a little bit bigger. His tone was lighthearted and full of boyish excitement as he measured her size with his palm, "Yeah...imagine if they were just so big that these hands couldn't even cover them!"

Janelle laughed awkwardly, "You know I can't change my breast size."

"I know, I know, I'm just thinking out loud, you know."

He took off her pants and panties and told her to bend over a dining chair.

Even though she knew the chances of Mia waking up were slim, she still didn't want to risk it, "Can we go to the bedroom?"

Her request was met with a sharp pain coming from her scalp. Tom maintained a firm grip on her hair, "We're going to fuck here! What difference does it make?"

Mia is not going to wake up. She never does. Janelle thought to herself. "OK, OK."

Tom slapped her ass loudly. The sound jolted her more than the sudden pain.

"What's gotten into you recently?" Tom's voice was laced with distrust, "Have you been cheating on me?"

"No!" Janelle was tired of this topic. She was offended enough to defend herself, "You know I would never do that!"

"Give me your phone!" Tom barked.

Janelle reluctantly picked up the phone from the kitchen counter and handed it to Tom. Her phone had no passcode because Tom could never be bothered to remember one, but constantly demanded to read it. Janelle stood there with her lower body naked and cold while Tom scrolled through her text messages. There was nothing besides talking to Maria about meeting up at cafes and Bright Horse, to Mrs. Cook about pie recipes, and to Mia's preschool teacher about school pick up time. Mrs. Anderson didn't text; she communicated by calls.

Janelle's heart hurt as she realized how small her life was. Besides Maria and Mrs. Anderson, she had no friends. Besides Mia and Bright Horse, she had no life.

She used to have friends. When she went to college in Santa Clara, she had plenty of friends. After she moved back to Seaside, she still had friends at first. Then she went out with Tom. Tom would never allow her to hang out with a male, single or not, so her number of friends were immediately cut down. Then she suffered through the terrible pregnancy where she was not well enough to see almost anyone, and finally, there was the traumatic birth that took months to recover, compounded by the excruciating first years of childrearing -- and she was isolated.

Only Maria remained in Seaside and continued to hang out with her and Mia. But even Maria was often away for work.

Watching Tom scan through her phone, she knew he had found nothing. Once again, she found a way to forgive him for his lack of trust. Tom had been cheated on in college. It had devastated him.

Janelle assured him once more, "I love you, Tom. You're the father of our child! I would never hurt you."

Tom seemed pleased. He put the phone on the dining table and looked at her naked lower body, "Look at you. You used to be so hot. Now..."

His fingers traced the incision below her navel, "You've ruined your perfect body."

Janelle's body went cold at his touch. Trembling, she defended the wound, "It was worth it."

The horror. The pain. The trauma.

It was all worth it.

* * * * *

After surviving 38 weeks of nausea, vertigo, lack of appetite, and constant tiredness, Janelle found herself lying in the birthing suite, hooked up to an IV and with a fetal heart monitor strapped around her belly. She had labored for 24 hours with no end in sight. The pain came in waves. She had not slept for over a day and was beyond exhaustion.

"The baby's heart rate is dropping. We have to do an emergency C-section." The doctors announced.

"Isn't that going to leave a scar?" Tom was not fond of the idea.

The doctors stared at him, "This is to ensure the baby's safety." Which translated to: You want a dead baby or a live one?

She was pushed into the operating room where the anesthesiologist flipped her on her side and injected a single shot of hyperbaric bupivacaine into her spine. She shivered when the needle went in.

After a few minutes, the anesthesiologist flipped her on her back. He pinched her thigh and ask her if she felt it; she said yes. The anesthesiologist waited a few more minutes and pinched her again. "Do you feel the pain?"

"Hmm....yes?"

Tom, who was standing nearby, was now getting impatient for he had also slept little: "It's going to hurt no matter what, Janelle!"

The anesthesiologist looked at Janelle and tried to ask her in a different way: Was she feeling pain from the pinching, or just the sensation of the pinching?

In her sleep-deprived exhaustion, Janelle lost track. "I...I think I just feel you pinching me."

"Can you try lifting your legs?"

Janelle tried, "I...can't." She was too tired.

The anesthesiologist announced that the spinal anesthesia was in effect.

"Do you want us to drop the curtains?" A nurse asked Tom.

Tom shook his head, "We don't need to see it!"

Janelle closed her eyes and waited for things to happen. The room was cold, and she began to shiver uncontrollably. It'll be over soon...let the doctors do their thing. She said to herself, Soon I'll be able to rest.

Then she felt the most terrifying pain in her life. She felt everything. The blade slicing through seven layers of tissue: skin, fat, rectus sheath, abs...

She was being cut open alive.

"No! Stop! Stop!!" She cried out.

The blade stopped but the wound was already there. The unbearable pain screamed through her body. Pain receptors at the site of incision rapidly fired electronical signals, from one nerve ending to another, to the brain that something was very, very wrong.

A nurse's face appeared next to her face, "You can feel it?"

"I can feel you cutting me, please stop, please stop!" Tears rolled down her eyes as she laid there helplessly.

"Are you kidding me?" Tom was in disbelief.

The nurses and doctors set off a commotion. She could not understand what they were saying as she screamed and cried from the pain. The nurse next to her removed a glove and put a hand on her sweaty forehead and spoke in a calm, warm voice, "It's OK, it's OK, we will put you down. You won't feel anything anymore."

A surgical mask was put on her face. The nurse pressed it down to cover her. "Breathe, Janelle, breathe."

She was barely able to breathe through her nose that was stuffed with snot. She took in a few breaths through her mouth.

Then she lost all consciousness.

When she woke up hours later in the recovery room, her body would not stop shaking. The nurses told her it was a common side effect of the general anesthesia. They pushed her bed into a maternity suite, where Mia was already sleeping in a plastic box on top of a rolling cart.

The nurse informed her that Tom had gone home to take a shower and catch up on rest. He told the nurse he would return the next day.

When the nurse handed the swaddled Mia to Janelle, the sleeping newborn instantly sensed her mother. The hours-old baby wrinkled her red, frog-like face, opened her toothless mouth, and yelped for her mother's warmth and comfort.