Chapter 13
The nurse didn't ask if I was ready to go. She knocked once and came in with the discharge packet, and I could hear the hallway again, that bright fluorescent hum I'd heard when he carried me through the glass doors the night before.
She set the tray table in front of me. On it were the papers from downstairs, the envelope unsealed now, and a stapled packet with my name printed on top. My husband stood by the window with his coat folded over his arm. He hadn't put it back on.
"Vitals look good," the nurse said. "Doctor signed off. You can leave once we review this and you have a ride."
She flipped the packet open to the yellow sheet and walked me through it with her pen. No lifting over ten pounds. No driving for twenty-four hours. Low stress, lots of fluids. And a follow-up OB appointment, she underlined it, just for me, in seven to ten days. Not urgent, she said, but important not to skip.
"Just you for that one," she added, glancing at him and then back at me. "They'll want to talk with you alone."
I nodded and kept my eyes on the paper. He didn't say anything. The ink was still dark where she'd circled the phone number.
When she stepped out to print the final wristband cut, he moved closer to the bed. He didn't touch the papers.
"I can drive you home," he said. "We go together. We don't have to sign this right now."
I looked up at him.
"Give it thirty days," he said. "Pause everything. You heal. We live in the same house and we don't touch the lawyers. Thirty days and then you decide. That's the alternative to doing it here on discharge."
His voice was even, the same careful tone he'd used in triage when he kept answering for me. It would have sounded reasonable to anyone listening outside the curtain.
"You'd stay?" I asked.
"I'd stay downstairs if you want. Or I'll stay at my brother's. Whatever you need. Just not this," he said. "Not signing divorce papers in a hospital room."
I folded the discharge instructions in half, then in half again. My hands were steady now.
"The instructions say low stress," I said. "And the follow-up is alone."
"I know. I heard her."
"That's not thirty days together. That's me needing space that isn't you driving me home."
He held the coat tighter. "Paula, you shouldn't be alone tonight."
"I'm not asking to be alone," I said. I reached for my phone on the side table where the nurse had left it charging. "I'm asking for a ride that isn't you."
He watched me unlock it. I didn't look away to do it.
My sister picked up on the second ring. I'd texted her from the hallway earlier, just the hospital name and still here, may need ride. Now she answered like she'd been waiting beside the phone.
"Hey," I said. "I'm getting discharged. Can you come get me? Now, if you can."
"Yes," she said. No hesitation. "I'm twenty minutes out. Same entrance with the glass doors?"
"Yes. I'll meet you downstairs."
"Don't sign anything until I'm there," she said, quiet but clear.
"I won't," I said.
I hung up and set the phone back down. My husband was still standing there. The envelope on the tray between us hadn't moved.
"She's twenty minutes away," I said. "That's my ride."
He stared at the tray, then at the hallway door where the nurse would come back. "So you want me to wait in the hall while she drives you away?"
"I want you to let me leave with my sister," I said. "Your offer is declined."
He didn't argue the words. He nodded once, short, and looked down at his hands. For a second I thought he would reach for the papers and put them away himself, finish it for me.
The nurse came back with scissors and a smile that didn't try too hard. She cut the plastic band from my wrist and dropped it in the small trash. She handed me a plastic bag with my socks and the hair tie I'd come in with.
"Escort required to the exit," she said. "Hospital policy. He can walk you down, or I can, whichever you prefer."
I looked at him, then at her.
"She'll walk me," I said. "He can meet us at the doors."
May you like
The nurse nodded like that was normal. She helped me stand. My legs held. She held the discharge packet and I held the plastic bag and the envelope stayed on the tray. My husband stepped aside to let us pass first.
In the hallway the lights were too bright and the floor squeaked under our shoes. We walked slow toward the bank of automatic glass doors at the end, the same ones with the overhead sensor he'd carried me through the night before. The wet street beyond them was still dark, still reflecting the city lights. The doors waited closed. I could see my sister wasn't there yet, and the papers were still upstairs on the tray for the final decision before I left the building.
