By Joshua Vise – March 17, 2024

Published in Soulmate Syndrome: Box Full of Darkness by Wicked Shadow Press. Lulu: Paperback or EPUB

I really hate the statement “Every human activity involves risks”. While the fact that it is incredibly cliche plays into my distaste for it, the true reason behind my contempt for that utterance is its complete meaninglessness. It is true in the same way that a statement like “Everyone dies” is factually accurate, nevermind the fact that most people fear the manner of death more than being dead. There may be no quantitative difference in outcome between being ripped apart by a lion and dying of old age, but that doesn’t mean that they are experientially equal.

So every time I encountered the statement “Every human activity involves risks” in bold font across the top of my SCUBA diving registration form, I dismissed it as just another factoid the company could use to justify their safety record. Yes, people have died while diving, but the number of deaths pales in comparison to the number who die daily in car accidents. The odds of you getting killed by a coconut falling from a tree are actually much higher than dying while SCUBA diving. Ergo, diving is statistically safe.

However, the universe is filled with improbabilities. Buying a lottery ticket may indeed be a tax on stupidity, but you can’t say that to the person who just won the jackpot. Sometimes, the statistics just don’t give a damn, and the arrow of randomness points to a person to punish or reward for no other reason than that it had to point somewhere.

That seemed to be the case when I ended up unconscious on my very first dive of the day. Our group had just flopped over the side of our boat, a procedure I was familiar with as a highly trained and experienced SCUBA diver. We hit the cool water with a splash and descended rapidly to the sandy bottom twenty meters under our boat before disaster struck.

The last sensation I remember was a distinct, crinkling ‘pop’ sound, coming from somewhere between my shoulders and below the base of my skull. It reminded me of the sound the safety band makes on a plastic bottle cap when you first twist it open. I think it would have been very concerning to me had I stayed awake long enough to consider it, but I blacked out immediately. I was really lucky that my fiancé Phillip noticed right away, and was able to alert our SCUBA instructor.

I have no memory of the emergency ascent our dive group made, nor do I remember the frantic boat ride to the shore, being loaded into the ambulance, or the ride to the hospital. All I know is that I awoke into a situation so horrifyingly unlucky that it was hard to believe it to be the product of pure chance.

*****

My eyes opened slowly. It was hard to focus on any one thing, as the bright lights above my bed forced me to squint, making everything blurry. Through the hazy confusion, I could sense a male presence. He stood near the head of my bed, lightly caressing my forehead. The warmth of his hand traveled from one temple to another. I closed my eyes, as trying to bring my blurry surroundings into greater focus seemed only to increase the throbbing pain between my ears.

“Hello there, sleepyhead,” came a soft, familiar voice from just above me.

My body was heavy, and didn’t respond. I squeezed my eyelids shut tightly in the hopes that it would somehow alleviate the grogginess.

“What happened?”

The soft voice above me replied.

“You had a buildup of nitrogen gas near the base of your spine.”

At the mention of ‘spine’, a wave of panic surged through me. My eyes snapped open, struggling against the bright hospital lights to find anything to focus on, a single point of stability in a situation that rocked me internally.

“I can’t move my arms.”  My words were tinged with a deep dread.

“It’s only temporary. The blockage will dissolve, and you will regain full mobility.”

This reassurance combined with the hand on my head allayed some of the anxiety, though the sensation of being completely numb was unnerving. I gave up trying to focus, and pinched my eyes closed again, still trying to rid myself of this terrible headache.

“Until then, you can rest. I’ll be right here for you.”

“Thank you, Phil.”

The warm hand paused tensely, the palm resting in the center of my forehead.

“Who’s Phil?”

At first, I thought I had misheard. The question must have been some drowsy misinterpretation of something else he said, and I was too tired to ask for clarification.

The tense hand lightly but insistently rocked my head back and forth.

“Hey. Who’s Phil?”

This time, I knew exactly what I heard.

My eyes snapped open a third time, and for once, everything fell into focus immediately.

Gazing down at me, his hand still on my forehead, was Ethan Hopkins, R.N. He wore a standard set of blue nursing scrubs, with no additional accoutrement other than a brown nametag.

“Ethan?” I exclaimed hoarsely.

Even as I stared up at him, mouth open, he gave me another small shake.

“Yeah. Who’s Phil?”

I could sense a mild undercurrent of aggravation in his voice.

“Phil’s my fiancé.”

“Oh, so you have a fiancé now?”

He pulled his hand from my forehead and crossed his arms. His expression was one of a person demanding an answer, and I was too stunned to think of any other suitable response.

“Yes.”

He huffed.

“And were you ever going to tell me?”

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Laying on my back, with no ability to move, they pooled in the corners, obscuring my vision, giving me the sensation that I was back underwater.

“Why would I tell you?”

He huffed again, louder this time, and took two heavy footsteps towards the foot of my bed.

“Why?” he spat indignantly, restraining a shout not out of consideration for me, but for his workplace. “We were together. That’s why. Don’t I deserve to know?”

“Ethan, don’t!”  I pleaded in the loudest tone I could muster. “I can’t move!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said flatly. “I’m here. I’m gonna take care of you.”

“No,” I answered. I shook my head, trying to free myself from this waking nightmare, but the numb, dead weight of my body anchored me in place.

“No, what?”

“I want another nurse.”

Even in the periphery of my vision, I could see him point a sharp finger in my direction.

“Figures. All I ever did was try to take care of you, and this is how you treat me.”

“I want another nurse!” I repeated, straining myself to my absolute limit.

“Fine!”

He marched to the exit, and the sound of the door opening and closing was all the evidence I had that he had left. I rocked my head from side to side the little bit that I could, and squeezed my eyes shut tightly, hoping the tears would roll down my cheeks, hoping to will myself into a different situation, hoping to feel something below my neck before Ethan came back.

*****

I must have fallen into a restless sleep, because the next time I tried to open my eyes, they were sticky and encrusted. Though my body was still completely numb, I had the strange sensation of movement, as if something was pulling me downward. I forced my eyelids apart and gazed down as much as I could.

Even from my awkward angle, I could see that my shirt had been pulled up to my navel, while my pants waistband was stretched around my knees. There I lay, splayed open, while Ethan leaned over to wipe me.

I gasped reflexively, as much in horror and disgust as in surprise.

The gasp caught Ethan’s attention, and he looked up.

“Relax. I’m doing front to back,” he said casually, as if our previous confrontation had never occurred.

“You’re disgusting.”  I felt the words hiss through my dried lips.

“Well that’s how you’re supposed to do it!” he said, as if the entire situation was a joke to him. “Anyway, it’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before.”

He tossed the tissues into a basket at the foot of the bed. Leaning down heavily, he pulled my pants up to my waist, shimmying them up a bit at a time.

“I want…” I began, my tone as stern, measured, and clear as I could make it. “..a new nurse, now.”

He sighed, having finished pulling up my pants, and sat at the edge of the bed.

“Anna, what happened to us?”

I let the question hang in silence in the room. He continued, undeterred by the pause.

“You know, you never even gave me a reason for why we broke up.”

I didn’t look at him. I wouldn’t look at him.

“Because as far as I could tell, things were great, and…”

“I want…a new…nurse, NOW!”

My tone and volume startled him, and he jumped up from the bed, covering my mouth with a latex-gloved hand, pushing the back of my head deeper into the pillow.

“Shhh. All they’re going to do is increase your sedatives if you keep shouting like that.”

He looked sternly at me, his gloved hand still over my nose and mouth. I could feel the burn of salt in the corners of my eyes as the lids grew wet with tears.

“We’re just talking, understand?”

He posed the question in such a way that I understood exactly. He was going to talk, and I was going to listen. Slowly, he relaxed, his hand sliding away from my mouth, his fingers brushing away the tears as they trickled down the sides of my face.

“You need to think about what’s best for you. What are you going to do if this doesn’t blow over?  It happens, you know?  Sometimes these things just don’t get better.”

He paused not so much for a response as to let his words sink in for effect.

“And where is Phil?  Is he here when you need him?”

He stopped again for dramatic effect.

“And yet here I am, taking care of you. Doing the dirty work,” he continued, gesturing to my crotch. “Getting no thanks as usual…”

He stood from the bedside and paced as he continued his diatribe, but I tuned him out. We had dated for a little over a year during college, and even then, he would occasionally lose himself in these rambling, whiny, self-serving complaints. Over our time together, I got pretty good at learning when to tune him out, but it was an unhealthy solution to an increasingly unhealthy relationship. We broke up, a messy affair that nevertheless left me feeling much more at ease. It was as if I had tuned him out permanently, once and for all. Now, stuck in a bed with no way to leave him, and no way to get him to leave, tuning him out was absolutely necessary to maintaining my sanity. It was my only defense.

I tried to take stock of my situation. I was still unable to move, and seemingly not loud enough or powerful enough to make myself heard to people in the hallway. The best I could muster was to rock my head left and right slightly. Each time I did it, I could feel something brushing against my cheek. That’s when I first noticed the nurse’s station call-switch.

Most hospital beds are equipped with a call switch, a simple button on a remote control hung from the railing. Pressing it would summon the nursing staff for assistance. However, patients with limited mobility wouldn’t be able to manipulate a remote control. Instead, they could make use of a pressure pad situated next to their head.

Ethan continued to pace, his back to me, his head squarely up his own ass. He never noticed as I began twisting as hard as I could, so much so that I was able to press down on the pad on my third try.

My momentary elation at having hit the button was almost immediately interrupted when I heard a faint buzz in the room. Ethan stopped mid-sentence and looked down at his waistband. My call button wasn’t just linked to the nurse’s station, but to pagers that each nurse carried with them, and there was no way to alert the other nurses without also alerting Ethan.

“Christ, Anna. What are you doing?”

“I want…a new nurse…now!”

There was nothing left for me to do, no means of escape, other than to scream.

“I want a new nurse!  I want a new nurse!  I want a new nurse!”

Ethan nervously tried to shush me. His eyes, wide with alarm, looked through the window and out into the hallway for signs of any approaching hospital staff.

“Anna, we’re just talking. Please be quiet.”  He spoke with an air of mock normalcy, so that to anyone passing by outside, it would appear as if he was behaving totally professionally. Despite my hoarseness, I continued to scream, thinking that this may be my best chance to get someone, anyone else, to come into the room. I laid there, my head turned to the side, my cheek resting on the call button, hoping to see anyone appear in the window.

“I want a new nurse!  I want a new nurse!  I want a new nurse!” 

Suddenly, Ethan lunged. I gasped, anticipating a smothering latex hand over my mouth again, but it never arrived. Instead, his lunge had taken him into the hall, my bedpan in hand, stopping the doctor before he could make it into my room. I began to scream again, as loudly as I could manage.

“I want a new nurse!  I want a new nurse!  I want a new nurse!” 

Through the glass, I could see Ethan’s conversation with the doctor, whose concerned face turned alternately from Ethan to me, and then back to Ethan. Ethan gestured to the bedpan, then to me, and then shook his head.

My dry throat cracked, and the coughing fit that ensued kept me from crying out for help. The doctor nodded to Ethan, looked once more at me through the window, and then headed away from the room.

“Help!” I resumed, but it was too late.

Ethan reentered, his mood having changed significantly. Rather than resuming his speech, he moved quietly to a cabinet in the corner of the room, and withdrew a hypodermic needle. I continued to roll my head over the call button, each successful click triggering a faint buzz on Ethan’s waistband, but he seemed unconcerned.

“You’re hysterical,” Ethan stated matter-of-factly. “I’m supposed to administer a sedative.”

All of the energy I had directed into pressing the call button poured out from me, and I was left sobbing, staring at the window to the hallway, hoping that the doctor would return before Ethan could stick me.

“Cry all you want,” said Ethan. “You did this to yourself.”

Even if I could feel, I probably wouldn’t have been able to sense the needle entering my vein, as darkness washed over me before he had even fully depressed the plunger.

*****

There was no way for me to really know how long I had been out, but when I awoke, it seemed as if hours had passed. My body was as numb and immovable as it had been before, though the sensation was somehow less distressing, as if I had anticipated waking up into this situation.

I turned my head to the left. The pressure pad for the nurse call button had been moved to the edge of the pillow, and was no longer within reach.

I looked to the window just in time to see Ethan approaching the door. My body prepared to scream as he turned the knob, but nothing came out. Whether some side-effect of the sedatives, or simply from having screamed so much before, my voice had dwindled to little more than a raspy buzz, barely loud enough for a normal conversation, let alone summoning someone from a different room.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”  Ethan’s voice dripped with compassion. Coming from anyone else, I might have taken it for sarcasm, but with him, I truly didn’t know.

“Go away,” I wheezed.

Ethan approached and gently rested his warm hand against my forehead. I could feel the tears begin to well, along with the stinging, familiar burn in the corners of my eyes, the caked salt from all of my previous tears.

“Anna, I know this is hard for you,” said Ethan. “It’s hard for me, too.”

“Please go away.”

“Seeing you like this…it just…”

He paused, gathering his thoughts, my tears spilling over onto my pillow all the while.

“It just shows how special what we had truly was, and how short life is. We’ve had our problems, yes, but I know that if we just gave it another shot…”

“Go away,” I said weakly. He either didn’t hear or chose to ignore it.

“…I know we could make it work.”

His hand ran across my forehead and drifted down to my cheek. He brushed away my tears with his thumb.

“I’m going to take care of you, and you will understand…”

His hand slid between my head and the pillow, his palm cupping my skull.

“…that this was really meant to be.”

He lifted my head gently from the pillow as he bent down to kiss me. I gritted my teeth, shaking my head as much as I could against his grip, my sobs eliciting nothing from him as his lips touched my mouth. I felt a sudden, crackling pop from the base of my neck.

An exploding sensation of prickly pain radiated down my body with the speed of a lightning bolt, and my limbs spasmed awkwardly back to life. The heavy numbness still remained to a degree, but at that moment, all I cared about was the fact that I could move again.

Every ounce of my disgust with Ethan revolted against his closeness, and I pushed him away with a force I could hardly have believed myself capable of. He stumbled backward, tumbling over a chair and falling heavily to the floor as I sprang from the bed onto shaky legs. Even though I had regained my ability to move, the entire ordeal left me incredibly weak, as if my lower body had fallen asleep. I only managed three or four steps before I tumbled to the ground, catching myself on the door handle at the last moment. The door swung open, and I tumbled into the hallway.

All of the feelings that had been trapped within me as I had been trapped within myself spilled out as I hit the cold hallway floor. I screamed and cried, my tears a mixture of raw emotions. I felt an intense elation at knowing that I wasn’t permanently paralyzed, and joy that I had been able to escape Ethan. There was also a fear, beating frantically within my chest, that somehow Ethan would be able to take it all away again. There was an overwhelming tiredness as I was surrounded by hospital staff, and a strong need to make myself heard.

“Please,” I said through gritted teeth as I clutched the sleeve of the nurse standing nearest to me. “Don’t put me back in the room with him.”

As the nursing staff scrambled to find a wheelchair to situate me in, a youngish woman with wavy brown hair and blue hospital scrubs propped me up against her and patted my head lightly.

“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice soft and reassuring. “You’re safe now.”

*****

I spent the next week in a different ward of the hospital, with various administrators stopping in at all hours of the day and night. Each asked me the same series of questions about my relationship with Ethan, and wanting to know more about his behavior towards me during my stay. When not being interrogated in this way, the nursing staff that had been assigned to me (all female) were overwhelmingly comforting and supportive. With the permission of her boss, the brown-haired woman who had consoled me in the hallway spent the remainder of her shift in my hospital room holding my hand. At a time when I desperately didn’t want to be left alone, her presence was a deep relief to my shattered nerves. Phil was able to join me the next day, and was allowed to stay overnight despite not technically meeting the requirements to be considered a visiting family member. I think the hospital accommodated him in part to stave off a potential lawsuit.

Teams of doctors also stopped in regularly, each monitoring my progress as the weakness and sensation of pins-and-needles slowly left my limbs over the next few days. Though nobody was ever able to give a definitive answer, the best that doctors could surmise from my situation was that when Ethan had moved my head, he somehow freed the nitrogen gas that had become trapped between the discs of my spine, relieving pressure on my spinal cord. I would still need weeks, if not months, of physical therapy to regain full strength and mobility, but my rapid progress seemed to point to a full recovery.

Ethan, for his part, admitted to the whole affair, which was the only thing that saved him from criminal charges. He was immediately fired, and escorted out of the building, all the while insisting that his kiss had been the thing that “brought me back”. In his mind, it was further proof that we belonged together. Phil and I took out a restraining order against him, barring him from being within 500 feet of me, though this turned out to be unnecessary for anything more than my peace of mind. He ended up leaving the state after having his nursing qualifications revoked.

Phil and I continue to SCUBA dive. Aside from the fact that it is a hobby that I greatly enjoy, diving gave me a sense of personal reclamation. After all, every human activity involves risks, and I’d much rather have random catastrophe strike me while I was doing something I felt deeply passionate about.