Page 176 of Edge of Unbroken

“Not right away. I was super foggy, but it eventually clicked for me that I was in the hospital.”

“Are you aware how long you had been at the hospital by the time you woke up?”

Ronan nods. “Yeah. The doctor said I had been out for almost seven days. It was around two in the morning on Friday when I woke up. I had been there since Saturday. It was so weird because there’s this week-long gap in my life. Like, I just lost all this time,” he says in a strained voice.

“How did you feel when you woke up?”

“Out of it; things were really foggy. I didn’t have any stamina at all. I couldn’t stay awake for very long and I was in a lot of pain. All the time.”

“Were you given any medication to help with the pain?”

“Yeah. A lot of it, and it definitely took the edge off, but it didn’t take it away completely. It really just made me incredibly tired. Honestly, the most pain came from my broken ribs. Coughing, deep breathing, all of that hurt. And I was so immobile in the beginning. It was frustrating,” Ronan groans.

“What injuries did you sustain as a result of your mother’s beating on August 28th?”

“My right kneecap was fractured; I broke seventeen ribs in thirty-two places; my spleen had ruptured and had to be removed; I had an orbital fracture under my left eye; my nose was broken, as was my left hand; my left shoulder was separated. My left lung was collapsed, and I had a small tear in the right; I had cuts and deep bruises all over my body,” Ronan lists. “It was pretty excruciating there for a while,” he adds quietly.

“How long did you remain in the hospital after you woke up?”

“I was in the ICU for two more days and then was moved to a step-down unit for pain management and respiratory therapy. I stayed there until September 17thwhen I was transferred to a rehab hospital.”

“How long did you stay at the rehab hospital?”

“Three more weeks. I didn’t get released home until October 8th.”

“How were you doing physically when you got home?”

“A lot better than I was when I got to the hospital originally,” Ronan says sarcastically, and there’s a small chuckle from the jury. A smile tugs at my lips at the fact that even in this emotionally triggering environment, Ronan’s personality manages to shine through. “I was mostly able to get around with crutches. My knee really was the biggest handicap by then. My ribs were still sore but getting a lot better. My stamina was really bad, though. I got really tired, really fast. I needed to rest all the damn time. I wasn’t used to that at all.”

“And how were you doing emotionally?”

Ronan presses his lips together; I can tell he really does not wish to go into this subject, though he obviously has no choice. “Terribly,” he says, almost choking on the word. “I started having nightmares and panic attacks when I got to the rehab hospital.”

“What did you dream when you had nightmares?”

“I would always dream about my mom beating me. I was always back in the living room, on the floor, with my mom hurting me.”

“How often did you have those nightmares?”

“Multiple times, every single night,” Ronan says. “The nightmares got so bad and so frequent, especially when I got home, that I couldn’t sleep, which added to my exhaustion, my brain fog. There was a lot of anxiety—it was constant. I was restless, yet tired. A lot of pain still. I lost a bunch of weight. I stopped seeing my friends, spent less time with my girlfriend, and…”

“Ronan?”

“I started thinking it would be better if I wasn’t around anymore. I really just wanted to sleep without nightmares. I wanted to sleep and not wake up. It’s… god…” He sighs before continuing. “I didn’t want to burden anyone. It’s…. Sorry, this is really hard for me to talk about.”

The attorney nods. “I bet it is,” he says warmly. “Did you make any attempt to end your life?”

“No,” Ronan says, shaking his head. “My dad sent me to live with my grandparents in Montana and that… it helped. A lot. It’s peaceful there.”

“Do you still struggle with thoughts of suicide?”

“No. But I’m still trying to unlearn a lot of the stuff my mom told me. It’s constant work to convince myself that I’m enough, that I’m worthy of good things and love and that, maybe, I didn’t deserve the things she did to me.”

“Do you believe you deserved any of the things that were done to you?” Mr. Cooley asks with an empathetic voice.

“I want to say no, but… yeah. I mean, it’s all I’ve ever been told,” Ronan says with a small shrug. “That I’m a worthless piece of shit who can’t do anything right. It’s been beaten into me my entire life. I can’t just flip a switch and turn that voice off.”

“Are you seeing a therapist to help you with these thoughts and beliefs?”

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