“Do you feel like taking a walk with me?”
“Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure.” He has a point. That was a stupid question.
“Okay. Where to?”
“Let’s go see Deacon,” Kade optimistically suggests.
“You mean we can try to see him.” My response is not confident. The annoyed look on Kade’s face is my cue to stop being difficult and just be helpful. “I’m sorry. Let’s get you up so you can sweet talk our way into seeing my brother.”
“That’s a much better response.”
19
Kade
After four failed attempts to help me out of my bed, Britney finally clicks the nurse call button for assistance. I’m not sure why it’s more challenging to get out of bed than it is to get back in it, but no matter where Britney wraps her arms to help, pain shoots through my chest, taking my breath away.
Britney tries once more, but my hospital gown is too loose, causing her arms to slip up and over the bandage covering my wound. My jaw locks as I grind my teeth, fighting through a stabbing sensation that continues to linger while counting the seconds until it passes. Britney is quick to apologize repeatedly, and I can’t catch my breath long enough to tell her to stop.
Thankfully, Nurse Aaron enters not long after calling for him, and I’m up and out of bed in no time at all. I don’t know if it’s because I’m still in ICU, and there are only two of us being cared for, but the nurse response times are impressive. I know my insurance won’t cover the ICU stay if the doctor’s notes state I’m doing well with my recovery, but I’m fortunate to have my trust fund to cover the difference need be. Besides, being in ICU aids in keeping unwanted visitors from bothering me.
If I’m honest, keeping my approved visitor list strictly to my mom, Britney, and Mrs. Winslow has helped keep my sanity. A staff member checked with me before letting Sydnee in earlier, and I knew she was here for Britney, so I didn’t deny her access.
The guys at the station have been calling because they want to visit me. After all, that’s what we do when shit like this happens to one of our own. But I need this time away from the department to prepare for what lies ahead. I’ve only kept in touch with my sergeant through text messages, but nothing more than recovery updates.
I have never had to go through an internal investigation before, but I know people who have, and they say it is long and arduous. A couple of our K9 units have gone through internal investigations to confirm that releasing the dog was warranted, and the dog’s bites were, for the lack of a better word, good. Sometimes things happen in the field that requires police officers to act quickly, and if it goes south like my and Deacon’s fuck up, then they are put on administrative leave while the IA investigation is in progress.
“Are you sure you’re up to walking to the psych ward?” Britney asks while she ties the back of my gown, making sure my bare ass isn’t on display.
“Would you like a secondary gown to ensure you won’t be flashing anyone?” Aaron asks.
“Yes, he would,” Britney answers for me. Aaron pushes a button on a small Bluetooth device, waits for a response to his call, and proceeds to ask for a hospital gown to be brought to my room.
“I can grab a wheelchair,” Aaron offers.
“I’ll be fine as long as Britney doesn’t plan on speed walking or punching me in the chest.”
“Ha. You’re funny. I’m glad to see your sense of humor has returned,” Britney scoffs.
Before I have a chance to respond with a witty comeback, Aaron suggests that we use the wheelchair, stating it may be easier to persuade whoever is on guard to let Britney in with me.
It didn’t take much convincing for Britney to agree with Aaron’s suggestion. I usually would contest being pushed around in a wheelchair, but I know how important it is to see Deacon and to be able to give their parents some good news. This plan is not a guarantee to get in, but we have to try.
“Hey, Brit. Could you check my bag for my wallet? I should bring my driver’s license and police identification card to be on the safe side. They could ask for proof that I’m a cop.”
She goes to the cabinet and starts digging through my gym bag for my wallet. Meanwhile, a staff member enters the room and hands Aaron the extra gown. Aaron proceeds to unhook me from the monitoring devices and moves my IV from the stand by my bed to the one attached to the wheelchair. Before I sit in the wheelchair, he assists me with the second gown.
“Do you need any pain medication before I disconnect you from your PCA for your short trip upstairs?” The emphasis he uses on the word “short” does not go unnoticed.
“I’m good. I need a clear head if I want to get us in to see my friend.”
“Probably a smart idea. Well, you’re all set. Britney, please be careful with my patient and bring him back in one piece.” Aaron’s unease about my field trip shines through his forced smile. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize when someone is uncomfortable, and he’s unquestionably out of his comfort zone.
Technically, I shouldn’t be leaving the ICU at all. Aaron shouldn’t be assisting us, but we appreciate what he’s doing, and we’re grateful for his kindness. I just hope we don’t get him in trouble. If all goes well, Britney and I will have no issues getting to see Deacon. I will even compromise and stay in the waiting area if it means she gets to have some time with him.
It takes Britney no time to adjust to the wheelchair’s movements. She’s good at maneuvering through the halls when obstacles are in the way. She’s a much better driver than she is at helping in and out of bed. We reach the psych ward faster than I anticipated.
We pass through a set of double doors and stop once we are in the psychiatric ward lobby area, which is surprisingly pleasant. The room is bright and cheery, with plush furniture welcoming folks to sit and stay awhile. Hanging on the walls are replica posters of Thomas Kincaid’s artwork with motivational quotes below each picture. The live plants and fresh-cut flowers add warmth and a sense of serenity to the ample space while a diffuser dispenses a calming scent into the air. Classical music completes the stress-free, therapeutic ambiance they are trying to create.
“This is not what I expected.” I tilt my head up to see if Britney heard me. She looks down at me with a brightness in her emerald eyes, and it’s like I’m witnessing all of her worries washing away.
A young woman wearing light blue scrubs with white polka dots slides open the window separating the reception desk from the lobby area. “Can I help you?” she asks.
Britney turns the wheelchair in the direction of the window but doesn’t move me closer. If she did, it would be hard for me to see the person I need to persuade to let us in.
“Yes. I believe you can. I’m Officer Kade Beaumont, and I believe my partner, Officer Deacon Winslow, is a patient here.”
“He’s a patient of Dr. Harrison’s,” Britney informs the nurse.
The nurse says nothing as she starts clicking on what sounds like a mouse.
“Aw, yes. Mr. Winslow is here, but he’s currently on the no visitor list.”