Page 7 of Nineteen Letters
“Hi. My wife, Jemma Spencer, was brought in earlier. She was in a car accident. Is there any news on her condition? I’d be grateful if you could help me, we’ve been waiting for almost half an hour. Anything, please.”
She gives me a sympathetic look before typing something into the keyboard. “She’s being looked at by the trauma team at the moment. I’ll see if someone can come and talk to you.”
Trauma team.
Those words are like a knife plunging straight into my heart. “Is there any way I can see her?” She’s probably frightened, and I know she would want me there, and I need to be with her.
“Not at the moment, Mr Spencer. I’m sorry. I’ll have someone come and give you an update ASAP.”
The desperate part of me wants to scream at the nurse and demand she take me to Jemma. Thankfully, the logical side of me wins out. She’s only doing her job.
“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”
Turning, I pinch the bridge of my nose as I walk back towards that cramped room of torture; the thought of going back in there has me feeling stifled.
Stopping, I take a moment and roll my shoulders a few times. I feel lost, and completely alone. Jemma has always been my rock; we have always faced everything together. I’m craving her comfort, which is ironic—I’m not the one who was in a car accident, the one who is somewhere in this godforsaken hospital being worked on by the trauma team.
I feel even more helpless when I meet the hopeful eyes of Jemma’s parents. “No news yet, I’m afraid.”
Christine just buries her face in her hands and continues to cry.
“What’s taking so long?” her father asks.
I wish I knew. In my heart, I know her injuries are serious, but I refuse to let my mind go there. I’m not sure how much more I can take, or how long I can hold it together.
Fifteen excruciating minutes pass before the doctor finally enters the room.Please let this be good news. I know I’m grasping at straws; if things weren’t serious, we wouldn’t be in the hospital.
“Hi. I’m Doctor Bolton. I’m in charge of the trauma team looking after Jemma,” he says as he looks at each of us.
“I’m Braxton Spencer, Jemma’s husband.” I reach for his extended hand. “How is she?”
“Her injuries are serious.” His words have my heart dropping into the pit of my stomach, but at least that means she’s still alive. I have to grab onto anything positive; it’s the only way I’m going to get through this. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
“I’m Stephen, Jemma’s father,” he says, stepping forward. After shaking the doctor’s hand, he gestures towards Christine. “And this is my wife, Christine … Jemma’s mother.”
“Ex-wife,” Christine snaps.
My eyes briefly meet hers and I don’t hide my anger as I shake my head and retake my seat. “I’m sorry, Braxton,” she says, placing her hand on my leg. “I’m sorry, okay.”
I tune her out as I focus my attention on the doctor. “We’ve stabilised her,” he says.
I run my hands nervously down the front of my trousers. That doesn’t sound good, but in this moment, I honestly don’t care what condition I get her back in. I just need her back.
“What do you mean by ‘stabilise her’?” Stephen asks. “How bad are her injuries?”
“They are extensive,” he replies. “She’s been in and out of consciousness since she arrived. There appears to be some swelling on her brain, some internal bleeding, lesions and multiple broken bones. She’s been sedated and we’re taking her down for some scans now.”
“Christ.” The glimmer of hope I’ve been clinging to since the officer arrived at my house is dwindling at a rapid pace. “She’s going to pull through, right?”
He gives me a sympathetic look. “It’s touch and go. The next forty-eight hours are going to be critical, but I assure you we’re doing everything possible to save your wife.”
I cannot bring myself to reply as the doctor’s words sink in. Forty-eight hours? I can’t wait that long. The last forty minutesnearly killed me. Sheer panic consumes me. I can’t lose her, I just can’t. I rub my hand over the tightness that has now settled in my chest. I can’t breathe without her. She’s my air.
She’s got to pull through this.She has to.
An hour passes and we’re still waiting for another update. How long does a scan take? I can’t seem to settle and haven’t stopped pacing since the doctor left. I’m going to wear a path in the linoleum floor pretty soon.
I’m pulled from my internal turmoil when my phone rings in my pocket. Glancing down at the screen I see Andrew’s name. Presumably, he’s wondering why Jemma hasn’t arrived at work. It’s unlike him to call me—the last time he did, it wasn’t pretty. Jemma had left for the day, and when he couldn’t find something in the office, he called her; when she didn’t answer her phone, he contacted me. He dared to tell me if she wasn’t back there within the hour to find it, he would fire her. He was just being unreasonable as usual, and I took great satisfaction in finally speaking my mind.
