Shadowed Soul Page 2

  “It’s nothing to worry about, Mrs. Milton, you’ve got a urinary tract infection,” assured Dr. Matthews. “Quite severe. Antibiotics will clear it up.” Dr. Matthews handed Beth a prescription.

  “That’s all it is?” I asked, my own mind made me suspicious at times and while I had no reason to disbelieve the doctor I found it hard to believe that something so common place could cause so much pain. “My wife’s in agony!”

  “I know, Mr. Milton, but pain is a warning,” said the doctor. “The worst pain can be caused by fairly commonplace illnesses. I promise your wife will be fine. I read her files and double checked the results because she has existing conditions and I’m confident that the antibiotics will clear it up.” Dr. Matthews smiled confidently at me. “Obviously, if you have any other concerns, you know where we are. But the infection will pass and neither your wife nor your baby will suffer any side effects.” Baby? I thought she said baby!

  Beth’s hand tightened against my upper thigh; she rested it on my leg on occasions when she needed reassurance but felt a little self-conscious about holding my hand, it was an odd little quirk that I adored and found amusing.

  “Dr. Matthews, excuse me, did you--?” asked Beth incredulously.

  “Both you and the baby will be fine,” said Dr. Matthews softly. “Even at this early stage the infection is nothing to be concerned about.” She paused.

  “That’s impossible,” said Beth, her quavering voice was laced with hope.

  “You didn’t know?” asked the doctor.

  “I have a condition that means that I can’t get pregnant,” replied Beth. Doctor Matthews looked a little embarrassed and then she glanced at the clipboard, chewing her bottom lip and nodding a little.

  “Right, sorry, I missed that you said you weren’t pregnant on your admission form.”

  Neither Beth nor I wished to cause a fuss. We knew from experience how hard doctors work, particularly city hospital doctors. Under normal circumstances neither of us would have been at all annoyed at the doctor. We had always wanted children. But the idea that Beth could get pregnant was one we had dismissed after many tearful consultations and soul-shattering conversations. Back then my demon had been less consuming for a time and so to find out in such an offhand manner that we were going to be parents blew my mind. I found rage beginning to rise in my heart, burning up my throat and through my mind. Along with my rage came the sweeping darkness that always followed. The Shadowed Soul wanted redemption for the perceived slight.

  “So, you’ve made a mistake, then? She’s not pregnant?” The words purred low and gravelly from my lips, in an effort to disguise the turmoil that flared through me.

  “No, Mr. Matthews, both blood and urine tests prove it. Your wife is in the early stages of pregnancy.” Dr. Matthews paused, a little crease developing between her eyes. “Am I getting the sense from you that this bad news?”

  “You tell us?” I snapped at Dr. Matthews and Beth squeezed my thigh sharply. I had no right to attack the doctor.

  “Well, with Mrs. Milton’s condition her pregnancy will be frequently monitored but there’s no real cause for concern.”

  “We were told I couldn’t get pregnant,” said Beth, beginning to cry. “We were told it was impossible.”

  “Mrs. Milton, the condition you have sometimes makes pregnancy difficult, impossible for some,” said Dr. Matthews. “But there’s a percentage who can conceive and you clearly are one of them.”

  The nurse gripped my arm and handed me a paper cup of water with her other hand as we stepped into the delivery room. Immediately I dropped the cup, spattering water, as I was met by the oppressive atmosphere and cries of pain from Beth. Whether it was the effect of the heat or that my wife was still suffering, I wasn’t sure; as the door shuttered behind me, my resolve evaporated. Misery in Beth’s eyes told me something had gone gravely wrong. While I had been in the corridor wrestling with the stunted coward that devoured my soul, my wife had been suffering terribly. As I looked beyond Beth’s face to the focal point of the medical team, the abundant sight of Beth’s blood shook me to the core. I hated myself.

  “Beth! Are you okay?” I gasped, reaching for her hand, and stroking her hair.

  “Oh, Thomas,” fat tears of agony rolled down Beth’s cheeks.

  “Is the baby okay?” I demanded, addressing the doctor.

  “Complications, Mr. Milton,” stated the doctor as he barked orders to his staff. “We have to perform a Caesarian Section to remove the baby. Now.”

  The pitocin had caused severe internal bleeding. The team could not identify the source. Beth would bleed to death if we waited for the baby to transition naturally through the birth canal. Slicing through the abdominal wall was the only means to save mother and child.

  What followed was lost to me. All I could think was that either Beth or the baby would die. That was how my life worked. Everything that I touched was destined to wither and die. Nothing was safe from the blight of me, as my shadow infected everything that it touched. The doctor droned on, white noise to my struggling thoughts. I gazed at Beth’s tearful face and wanted to scream at her, berate her for being stupid enough to have chained herself to me. I had already ruined my own life and now I was slowly causing hers to decay, and that of my child. Our child was going to die before even being awarded a chance at a life and it was my stupid fault.

  “Mr. Milton? Are you okay? More water?” The doctor stared at me and I drew myself into the reality of the situation.

  “I’m fine,” I mumbled. “Beth?” I touched her face.

  “The Caesarean’s the only chance…” whispered Beth, barely able to finish her sentence as she heaved in pain from the pitocin’s aggressive effect on her contractions. “…chance…that he has.”

  “He? Who? The doctor?” I frowned, baffled by the maelstrom of activity swirling around me, causing me to lose focus.

  “Our son, Thomas. C-section’s the only chance our son has.” Beth and I entwined our fingers. My bright boy soul sighed contentedly as a spark ignited in me and a curious feeling of completion wrapped me in its arms, cutting through the wraiths and creatures that clouded my mind and body.

  “It’s a boy!” I smiled and nodded as the frenzy of doctors and nurses prepared Beth for surgery. “I won’t leave you, Beth. I promise I won’t leave you.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The floor tilted. I lurched helplessly into a situation in which I had no traction. Terrified that my wife was about to be sliced open and my son, my son, yanked into the world, I reeled. Logically, I knew that this had to happen. Emotionally, it felt wrong. How could this be right? My beautiful, brave wife getting pregnant had been a miracle, but now to be opened by a scalpel. I was falling through the floor.

  “Increase the morphine drip!” ordered the doctor, a tall balding man who struck me as too young and too old at the same time.

  “Yes, doctor,” said the nurse, as I keeled over and hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.

  “Get him out of here!” shouted the doctor. Briskly, an orderly scooped me up and deposited me in a chair. Smelling salts and the worried expression in Beth’s eyes propelled me to stand again. “Keep him seated!”

  Blood seemed to be everywhere. The doctor removed a blood drenched hand from Beth. Both my wife and son were in serious danger. If they went then I would be a shadow of a wraith unattached to the physical world, empty, transparent, hovering amongst the living. Already, I loved my child deeply. From the moment of Dr. Matthews’ blunder, a powerful desire had sprung forth inside me to ensure that this child would be welcomed into a safe and caring home. As my powerful feelings grew, so did the monster that clawed viciously at my mind, vying for my attention. I swore to myself, to my wife, to my child that I would keep the voracious creature at bay. So often I feared my mission was not possible while the abyss called to me.

  “Fall, Thomas. Just let go!” squealed the demon Shadowed Soul relentlessly.

  Yet I maintained, wave after damning
wave, and steered a steady course toward fatherhood.

  Amongst the machines, dedicated professionals raced to keeping my wife and son alive. Useless, I sat and observed the well-orchestrated dance. They had delivered thousands of babies this way; of course Beth and our son would survive. They had to. It was odd knowing the gender of my child; we had diligently avoided finding out so we could enjoy the surprise. Panic sparked and flared through my heart as more orderlies arrived.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded.

  “We’re going to usher your family to the operating room now,” said a nurse sweetly. Swirls like oil in water blurred my vision; I fought back tears. I would not have a panic attack, not here, not now. This was not about me any longer. This was about Beth and our son. Sniveling and trembling like a coward had no place here. Somehow I was blessed with an ability to remain calm under a high degree of pressure, and yet the smallest thing could send me spiraling into panic and depression. A few years previously I had witnessed a friend fall from a ladder. He had hit the ground at a bad angle. The one cog within me that allowed me to function calmly said call 911. Following the medic’s instructions over the phone, I had been credited with saving my friend’s back and mobility. If I could do that for a friend then I could let that cool, collected part of me lead my family.

  A nurse handed me a mask, gown and hat and returned to her tasks. I fumbled ineptly.

  “Let me help you?” offered another nurse. I nodded, unable speak, as she suited me up. With each step toward to the operating room my adrenalin escalated. The weird thing was that I knew my fear was an appropriate reaction; even a man without my omnipresent demon would be feeling powerless. Such relief I had felt when I finally learned that negative emotions were not by themselves wrong, but a natural part of life. My ability to differentiate between what was normal and what was caused by my condition had often eluded me. Not now though, my wife and child relied on my strength.

  “Get the hell up and be there for them!” I murmured to myself, as I drew my shoulders back and down, and straightened my spine.

  In the operating room, my wife’s insides glistened under blinding lights. Although Beth was now more vulnerable than ever I found myself curiously detached. Just three months earlier I had been thrown into a downward spiral of panic and self-loathing by a simple nose bleed Beth had had.

  The surgery had to be done to save them both, it was a logical act and as such, I merely saw the clinical reasoning behind the gaping incision. Beth’s comfort was tantamount. I allowed myself to be guided past the operating curtain to a chair next to Beth’s head. I held Beth’s hand in my own and massaged it gently.

  “Hey you,” I smiled reassuringly and she turned her head slightly to give me a fading smile. The morphine had kicked in. I wanted to get in beside her and hold her. “It’s going to be fine. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I love you, Thomas.” Beth’s opiate giggle faded as she closed her eyes.

  “Let’s face it,” I said. “If I’m saying it, then it must be true? I’m the guy who can’t cope if we run out of milk remember?’

  “You’re the guy, who loves his Captain Crunch, baby,” slurred Beth. “Got milk!” I smiled at how she always saw my short-comings as amusements. She gave me strength to believe in myself.

  “I love you, Beth. It’s going to be okay! I promise!”

  It had to be okay. Beth’s love defined the only escape hatch from my shadowed captor whose sport it was to stew me in the dankest moods. If Beth left this world, I would never function again. An eternity of misery awaited me if surgery failed.

  Although I had dreamed of a wife like Beth, I had never truly believed I would meet a woman who could fill my life with hope. Beth fulfilled me beyond my dreams. We had met under fateful circumstances. I had never been comfortable around women nor people in general. I lacked confidence. My childhood was largely isolated, probably compounding my depressive condition. I had a few friends, even friends who were reasonably close who had steered me in the right direction, but I had never dared to venture a close romantic relationship. Yet, I refused to accept that my life would be a pointless journey alone. And so, I had done what so many other lonely souls do in the modern world: Online dating.

  Euphoria initially propelled me through my workdays until I could get back to check my dating account. This had to be the place I would meet my soul mate, a partner to navigate the darker waters of life and share the rare, smooth voyage. Disenchantment, however, soon engulfed me. The process felt hollow as many of the women I contacted did not care to try to understand me. The service, I reasoned, was an unnecessary expense and emotionally bruising. I could not find someone to complete me on a site that was specifically designed for lonely people then it would continue to elude me. As yet, I was unaware I had to complete myself first before I could experience true intimacy. But that was a revelation that would find me later in my life.

  So, the day I logged on with the sole intention of closing my profile, a saucy message from a woman was balm to my hobbled ego. She wanted me.

  “Hot photo, Mister,” read her message. “Call me!” From that moment, hope sprang eternal. Maybe she would be the one? Perhaps this time it was meant to be?

  I renewed my membership for a month and wrote back to her.

  After ping-ponging emails and a brief lunch meeting, I realized I felt no chemistry between us. She was good looking, so I suspended judgment, hoping a feeling might emerge. She must have sensed my indifference, as her flirtatious messages soon became taciturn replies. Her initial hotness, as she called it herself, seemed like an act she had learned watching the numerous sitcoms she liked to talk about. There was no point. Annoyed by her disrespectful texts, in turn, the dating site irritated me, as well. I was about to delete my account when Beth’s photograph seemed to pop from the screen. In that moment, in my mind, I thanked the churlish woman for having stalled me long enough to encounter a true angel. A golden energy flickered, illuminating my brain and heart at the same time. This woman, this gorgeous woman on the website might actually be the one. I tried to calm my emotions. It was, after all, one photograph on a website. I knew nothing about her at all. Insecurities flooded in.

  If I wrote to her then she wouldn’t write back, or if she did then it would be disappointingly dull. That’s how these things seemed to work for me. Studying Beth’s profile for a long time, I clicked on contact and began to type.

  In surgery, I gazed at my wife, sweat-soaked and drawn, and I could not imagine anyone so beautiful anywhere in the world. I don’t know how long the surgery had been underway, it could have been moments or it could have been years. It was a bubble in time. Nothing mattered apart from my wife and my son. As I sat next to her I knew that whatever happened next my life would never be the same. Beth’s eyes fluttered awake as the morphine drip decreased.

  “Thomas?” whispered Beth, her voice dry.

  “Right here,” I assured her, a cup of water at the ready. Her head turned weakly toward my voice.

  That moment between us, that shared glance was given punctuation by a sound that forever changed the world: The sound of a crying baby, a boy that would be called Jonathan, a boy that would be loved and cherished beyond all others by Beth and me. It was 9:46 p.m. when my son became one with the world and with us.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Without Beth, our small apartment felt enormous. Exhausted, I closed the door behind me. Much as I was ashamed to admit it, I was relieved to be away from the hospital.

  “Go home and rest,” the doctor had urged me. Initially, I resisted; I needed to be present to protect my family.

  “Your wife and child need to rest, too,” coaxed a nurse. “The hospital is the best place for them right now. We’ve got it covered.”

  “Yes, you seem to have done this before,” I relented good-humoredly. Despite my fatigue, my paranoid Shadowed Soul kept taunting me with fears of their demise. What if the baby gets stolen? What if Beth still bleeds to death?


  As I closed the door to our apartment, rapid thumping drew me further inside and a clatter of excitement followed. Forgetting the Shadowed Soul, my focus shifted happily to our black Labrador who ran to greet me in the hall. Bailey’s ebullience soothed me, and I knelt to ruffle his glossy, black fur as he licked at my face.

  “Hey, Bailey!” I hollered. He regarded me lovingly, his proud face seeming to grin back at me. “Have you been a good dog? You must be hungry.” I headed for the dog food bowl but it was full; a voice stopped me in my tracks.

  “Bailey’s been an absolute gentleman!” Smiling broadly, my energetic mother-in-law approached from where she had been napping on the couch.

  “Dorothy! Hello!” I exclaimed. Dorothy opened her arms to embrace me. “Congratulations, Dorothy, you’re a grandmother!”

  “I’m so happy, Thomas, and so proud of all three of you!” In Dorothy’s motherly embrace, my fears slid away. She drew away, gently gripping my shoulders. “So, tell me all about him! Is he handsome or he takes after you?” I laughed.

  “Both,” I replied proudly. “Jonathan’s a beautiful baby and he looks like me. I don’t know how that works. Magic?” I could never be offended by this woman as she had been more of a mother to me than my own. Her esteem of me was built from pure affection.

  “I’m so looking forward to meeting him, Thomas,” said Dorothy, her eyes welling. “Me? A grandmother?”

  “He’s a lucky, lucky boy,” I confirmed, squeezing her shoulder. She smiled, wiping away her jubilant tears.

  “Want breakfast?” she asked, her voice regaining its firmness as she reached for the fridge handle. “Scramblers on toast?”

  “I’m fine, Dorothy. Listen, why don’t I call you a cab and you can go home and get some rest? They say we can’t visit until late this afternoon.” It was barely 6:00 a.m.

  “I won’t argue, Thomas,” said Dorothy appreciatively.

  As we waited for the cab, Bailey assumed his customary position against my leg, leaning into it so much that I had to brace myself against his heft.