With time to kill, I call Faith, who knows how to distract me by telling me about her new patient. I’m excited to hear she’ll be coming to Oakside with her patient, and we’ll be working together for a while. Her patient has a damaged voice box and has lost his voice. He's a pilot and was lucky to escape the plane crash alive. We talk some more and catch up on some people we went to school with before hanging up. But the whole time, I was watching Gavin's number on the screen for any updates.
There's no one else to call, and I can't sit still. I get up and pace, and the girl in the waiting room when I got here finally speaks.
"My husband's having work done on his leg. What about you?"
I should be honest and upfront and say Gavin isn't my husband, but something about saying those words feels wrong, so I go with it.
"Mine’s in for eye surgery. We're hoping he regains some of his vision."
We talk for the next hour while we watch the screen for updates. I'm praying for good news not only for us but also for her husband.
Eventually, she lets out a huge sigh when the screen says her husband’s been moved to recovery, which means the nurse will be out soon to talk to her.
After saying our goodbyes, she's taken back to see her husband. Before I can get up and start pacing again, Gavin’s number comes up with the news that he's going to recovery. I let out a cry of relief, glad no one is here to see me.
I text Lexi and Noah and my mom and dad, letting them know he's out of surgery. It’s not long before the nurse comes back and leads me to his bedside in a large, open room with a bunch of beds. There's a curtain between each one for privacy, but it's left open to the nurse's station so they can see each patient. A chair is next to his bed for me to sit and watch him. He's hooked up to all sorts of wires and monitors and a few other things I can't figure out.
Sitting, I take his hand in mine and give him a once over. White gauzy bandages cover his eyes and wrap around his head, but otherwise, he looks pretty good. The bandages will be there for a few days as his eyes heal. The nurse informs me Gavin did well, and a doctor will be available to talk to me later. I may not be Gavin's wife, but he put me down as his point of contact. My heart aches to be his wife. I want to take the next step with him, regardless of the outcome of his surgery.
I want nothing more than to crawl into bed with him and hold him, but I can’t because there are too many cords and wires. I can't wait to have his arms around me again, telling me everything will be okay. I want to hear him tell me he's fine. But he's still out, so all I can do is wait.
Hurry up and wait is the famous line for any military family. It’s never been truer than it is now. Hurry up and wait for Gavin to wake up. Hurry up and wait for them to take off his bandages and see if it worked. Hurry up and wait to know what the rest of his life will look like.
I'm not sure what to do, so I talk about everything Noah and Lexi said and even a bit about what Faith and I talked about on the phone. I tell him about the woman I met in the lobby and relay all the things Graham and my mom had planned. I'm telling him about the aquarium when he moves and lets out a groan.
"He’ll love… the aquarium," Gavin mutters.
Leaning down, I press my lips to his hand as the nurse comes to check on him. He says his head, and even his hair, hurts, but I'm happy he's conscious and doing well. I can't ask for more.
The nurses and doctors come in to carry out an array of checks and tests before saying everything looks good. After staying in the recovery room for a few hours, they shift him to his own room. I call my mom to tell her she can bring Graham up and give her the information she needs to find us.
Once Gavin is in his new room, we have a few minutes to ourselves. We share a few kisses and I love you’s. But when it comes down to it, all we can do is wait.
And waiting is the worst part.