Page 135 of Tiny Fractures

“We have him intubated right now and will keep him that way for a couple of days, just to make sure his body is recovering okay.”

I listen intently, as does everyone else, not wanting to interrupt Doctor Roberts’ summation of the repairs they performed on Ronan’s body.

“He has a large number of cuts on his body, especially on his back and on his right side. We had to pull embedded shards of glass out of his skin, but none of the cuts required stitches,” Doctor Roberts adds.

I’m trying to picture it all in my mind’s eye: Ronan’s injuries, his broken and bleeding body, but it’s apparently too shocking, because I cannot for the life of me envision Ronan so hurt, so injured, on the brink of death. I don’t even understand where these cuts Doctor Roberts is speaking about are from. Surreal, dreamlike, nightmarish—none of these words come close to describing how this afternoon and evening have felt, how this exact moment feels.

“The bleeding we saw on the imaging came from his spleen, which we removed; it was ruptured and his blood pressure tanked. We couldn’t save it. The risk of toxicity was too great at this stage. He’ll be fine without it. We’ll put him on broad-spectrum antibiotics for a few days to lower the risk of infection. The spleen is an organ that helps our immune system fight bacteria. Ronan’s system received quite a shock, and with surgeries and then long-term recovery, there’s always a greater chance of infection.

“As far as Ronan’s left arm is concerned, his shoulder and hand did not require surgery. With regard to his right knee, we inserted a titanium plate that will stay in place for the rest of his life. His facial injuries are basically surface-only, with the exception of the orbital fracture under his left eye and his broken nose. We did end up inserting a small plate to repair his orbital fracture. We didn’t see a traumatic brain injury on the CTs, but it’s safe to say that, given the extent of his head and facial injuries, he probably suffered a pretty nasty concussion, so once he wakes up he’ll have headaches for some time. He’s stable now.”

Frank lets out an audible sigh, his shoulders tense as he examines the black-and-white images on the light board, comparing the now-repaired fractures to the violently splintered bones on the X-rays taken only hours earlier.

“Can we see him?” I finally ask, my voice cracking and raw like I haven’t spoken in days. Shane gives my hand a little squeeze.

“Yes. He was moved to the ICU ten minutes ago. We typically only allow a maximum of three people in the rooms, but we’ll make an exception for you. I know you’re all anxious to see him.”

We follow Doctor Roberts out of the waiting area and toward the elevators.

“Is Ran awake?” Shane asks, holding Tori’s hand tightly while I walk beside her through the wide, brightly lit hospital corridor.

“No.” Doctor Roberts shakes her head. “His body went through a lot of trauma. There’s no telling when he’ll wake up. That’s completely up to him.”

But he will wake up, right? He has to.

No one speaks while we take the elevator to the intensive care unit on the seventh floor, and Doctor Roberts leads us through a set of double doors secured via an intercom and down another brightly lit corridor. We pass a number of rooms, all walled off by glass, curtains drawn. We finally arrive at Ronan’s room, where a young nurse greets us with a smile.

“I’m Jessica. I’ll be Ronan’s night nurse. Let me know if you need anything at all,” she says warmly, and the tension in everyone’s shoulders eases just a little.

Doctor Roberts slides the glass door open and enters the room, followed by Frank and the rest of us. I’m so anxious to see Ronan, but when I finally lay eyes on him, my heart stops. I cover my mouth with both hands, suffocating the cry of shock and pain forming in the back of my throat.

Ronan looks nothing less than broken. His bare chest is beaten and battered; hues of scarlet red and the darkest blue spread across his ribs, punctuated by various-sized cuts and abrasions all over his arms, shoulders, and torso. A large bandage covers the fresh incision on his left ribs, while a smaller bandage covers a surgical incision by his abdominal muscles. He’s hooked up to a number of machines that monitor his heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen levels, and other vitals. His face is unrecognizably swollen and bruised, and there’s a large cut on both his upper and lower lips. The entire left eye, brow, and cheekbone of Ronan’s handsome face are concealed by a white bandage. His cheek and forehead are violently bruised. His left hand has been wrapped tightly. A white sheet covers his lower body, but it’s obvious that his right knee and leg are immobilized by some kind of brace. An IV is connected to his right hand, and Ronan’s body is completely still with the exception of his chest rising and falling mechanically, unnaturally, aided by yet another machine that pumps air into his lungs. If I didn’t know it was Ronan lying in that hospital bed, I wouldn’t be able to say for certain that it was him. His handsome, masculine features are so distorted by the dark bruising, the cuts, the swelling, and the bandages.

“God, fuck,” Shane whispers against gritted teeth, his voice cracking, face white as a ghost.

Vada cries as Steve holds her, looking pale and worn out.

I want to move, want to hold Ronan’s hand, but I’m frozen, unable to will my feet forward. The pain in my heart constricts my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Frank moves around the bed to Ronan’s right hand and takes it into his own. “Hey buddy,” he whispers to his youngest son. “I’m here.” Frank addresses Doctor Roberts. “Can he hear us?”

Doctor Roberts smiles. “We’re not sure. Some people strongly believe that individuals in a comatose state can hear and perceive their loved ones; others argue there’s no science to back it up. Personally, I think people heal better and faster when they’re surrounded by people they love. So, talk to him as much as you want.”

It’s going to be a shock every time I see him like this, and I silently beg for him to wake up soon so I can hear his voice again. It doesn’t feel as though we were together only yesterday, that we made love for the first time only twenty-four hours ago. He was perfect, happy, and so full of life.

Frank gently asks us to leave the hospital only a few minutes later, urging us to get rest, to let Ronan rest. Everyone takes their turn taking Ronan’s hand, whispering to him, telling him to be strong, to fight, to wake up.

“I’m so sorry, Ran. I’m so sorry,” I hear Shane whisper to Ronan, choking on his words when it’s my turn.

I take my time, holding Ronan’s hand—which is cool to the touch, but just as soft as it was yesterday when it caressed my body—studying his injured, deformed features.

“Please come back to me,” I plead quietly. “Please. I have to tell you something important,” I say, wishing his eyes would open, eager for me to tell him that I’m in love with him. That I’ve been in the love with him since the moment I met him. But this isn’t a movie, and Ronan’s eyes don’t open. His body remains still, almost lifeless, with the exception of the rise and fall of his chest. I gently kiss the palm of his hand before resting it on the bed.

Vada takes my hand in hers. “Come on, Kitty Cat. Let’s try to get some rest.”

Frank settles on the small loveseat across from Ronan’s bed and we agree that Steve and I will be back at the hospital first thing in the morning.

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