Amin came flying through the door, followed by a young woman in a nurse’s uniform. He took Saul’s arm and wiped it with a napkin. Then Amin examined it and used the napkin as a tourniquet. He told the nurse that Saul had missed the artery but said they should move him down to the infirmary on deck three to get him stitched up.
Thank God the rest of the trip was normal—well, as normal as could be expected under the circumstances. But, you know, all in all—for Saul’s sake—I’m glad we went. And to be fair, there were some good moments—really good ones. Like when we were at the captain’s cocktail party and the band was playing a song Saul knew. He harmonized in a very quiet voice, forgetting most of the words, but with a glint in his eyes and just a slight hint of a wink and a smile as he turned to look at me. Or when we were watching a few couples dance to the band after dinner one night. He was in his wheelchair, but he looked over at me and in a clear voice asked me to dance. Before I could even figure out how to respond, his gaze slipped back to the floor, and he retreated into his own world. But just for that moment, a brief one at that, it was like it used to be when we cruised together. And moments like that made it all worth it.
Monique
No Choice
T he first few days after the trip were without incident—more or less. But that changed suddenly. In the last week, there was a beating, which resulted in a bruised arm and a cut on my left cheek. If that wasn’t bad enough, he used disgusting language, and I mean really disgusting.
The beating came out of thin air. He just got up and hit me. Thank God I was able to cover my face. After a few attempts to pry my arms away, he seemed satisfied to push me and slap my shoulders a few times before he calmed down. I can’t go through this anymore. Not for another month, another week, or even another day.
Joey, Florence, and Bernie are coming over later this afternoon. I have been packing Saul’s things all day. The administrator at Manoir Laurier told me to bring a few pairs of pajamas in addition to his clothes, and Velcro running shoes, which would be easier to put on and take off. Loose-fitting clothes, she said, would be more comfortable, especially when he has to be confined to a wheelchair. Just hearing her say that set me off crying again.
It is beginning to dawn on me that the man I have lived with for all these years is leaving me for good tonight. Never to step foot in our house again. Never to put his strong arm around my back, or throw his long leg over mine as we fall asleep. Never to fill the kitchen with the aroma of his coffee in the morning. It is as if he is heading to the execution chamber.
Part of me is relieved and part of me is scared, very scared. Why can’t we just go back in time? It’s true it hasn’t been a perfect marriage, but we’ve had a decent life together. And we have two children and two wonderful grandchildren. Maybe I should have been more appreciative of what we did have together. Sometimes I ask myself what gave me the right to judge him? Did I do what I could in this marriage? So many questions and so few answers. But I guess I will have lots of time to think about them. Lots of time to reminisce. Lots of loneliness.
Dr. Tremblay
Inevitable
Y ou were doubtless thinking that I was referring to Mr. Reimer. And you probably said to yourself, I know there is no cure, and death is inevitable. And Mr. Reimer will be no exception.
No, I was referring to whether his son, Joey, may follow in his father’s footsteps. He came to my office last Wednesday, armed with a manila envelope that contained the results of a blood test he had done down in Vermont. The test is frowned upon in Quebec, and when it is performed for research purposes, the results are usually confidential and kept from the patient.
The lab had sealed the envelope, and as far as I could tell, Joey had not opened it. He asked me to take a look at it
Thank God the rest of the trip was normal—well, as normal as could be expected under the circumstances. But, you know, all in all—for Saul’s sake—I’m glad we went. And to be fair, there were some good moments—really good ones. Like when we were at the captain’s cocktail party and the band was playing a song Saul knew. He harmonized in a very quiet voice, forgetting most of the words, but with a glint in his eyes and just a slight hint of a wink and a smile as he turned to look at me. Or when we were watching a few couples dance to the band after dinner one night. He was in his wheelchair, but he looked over at me and in a clear voice asked me to dance. Before I could even figure out how to respond, his gaze slipped back to the floor, and he retreated into his own world. But just for that moment, a brief one at that, it was like it used to be when we cruised together. And moments like that made it all worth it.
Monique
No Choice
T he first few days after the trip were without incident—more or less. But that changed suddenly. In the last week, there was a beating, which resulted in a bruised arm and a cut on my left cheek. If that wasn’t bad enough, he used disgusting language, and I mean really disgusting.
The beating came out of thin air. He just got up and hit me. Thank God I was able to cover my face. After a few attempts to pry my arms away, he seemed satisfied to push me and slap my shoulders a few times before he calmed down. I can’t go through this anymore. Not for another month, another week, or even another day.
Joey, Florence, and Bernie are coming over later this afternoon. I have been packing Saul’s things all day. The administrator at Manoir Laurier told me to bring a few pairs of pajamas in addition to his clothes, and Velcro running shoes, which would be easier to put on and take off. Loose-fitting clothes, she said, would be more comfortable, especially when he has to be confined to a wheelchair. Just hearing her say that set me off crying again.
It is beginning to dawn on me that the man I have lived with for all these years is leaving me for good tonight. Never to step foot in our house again. Never to put his strong arm around my back, or throw his long leg over mine as we fall asleep. Never to fill the kitchen with the aroma of his coffee in the morning. It is as if he is heading to the execution chamber.
Part of me is relieved and part of me is scared, very scared. Why can’t we just go back in time? It’s true it hasn’t been a perfect marriage, but we’ve had a decent life together. And we have two children and two wonderful grandchildren. Maybe I should have been more appreciative of what we did have together. Sometimes I ask myself what gave me the right to judge him? Did I do what I could in this marriage? So many questions and so few answers. But I guess I will have lots of time to think about them. Lots of time to reminisce. Lots of loneliness.
Dr. Tremblay
Inevitable
Y ou were doubtless thinking that I was referring to Mr. Reimer. And you probably said to yourself, I know there is no cure, and death is inevitable. And Mr. Reimer will be no exception.
No, I was referring to whether his son, Joey, may follow in his father’s footsteps. He came to my office last Wednesday, armed with a manila envelope that contained the results of a blood test he had done down in Vermont. The test is frowned upon in Quebec, and when it is performed for research purposes, the results are usually confidential and kept from the patient.
The lab had sealed the envelope, and as far as I could tell, Joey had not opened it. He asked me to take a look at it
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