Anniversary Party

Featured in the Romance/Love Newsletter - May 7, 2009
Featured in the Romance/Love Newsletter - June 10, 2009


Gerry Lewis lay in her bed while dreams played against her closed eyelids.  There was so much to be done and she felt the pressure of time passing too quickly.  She had to call the florist to make sure the flowers were ready, double-check the menu with the caterer and confirm that the cake would be delivered on schedule.  It was her and John's Golden Wedding Anniversary.  She smiled in her sleep, and then frowned.  She couldn't just lie around like this; she must get busy! 

She startled awake, sat up and started to swing her legs over the edge of the bed.  An excruciating pain shot through her leg, its agony knotting her stomach with nausea. 

"Oh, dear God, help me," she groaned, as she retched and her mouth filled with hot foam.  She heard her granddaughter's voice as if through a thick fog.

"No, Nana!  No!"

Restraining arms closed around her body.  She saw a blob of pink plastic appear before her face.  She recognized the color as the vomit pan from John's last hospitalization.  Then she felt the gentle strokes of a tissue upon her parched lips.

"Oh, Sherry," she cried.  "I hurt so bad!  Why do I hurt so bad?"

"You fell, Nana.  Don't you remember?  You fell and shattered your knee."

"Did I fall at the party?  Was I dancing with John?"

"No, Nana.  It was before the party."

"Ooh!" she wailed as the awful memory came flooding back, and tears streamed down her cheeks. 

She and Sherry had spent the last several months planning the party.  She had combed through her address book and made out an invitation list.  They would invite all of her and John's old friends, many of whom they had known as teenagers; then, there were all of their new friends.  It would have been a wonderful party.  They would have had dinner and dancing; there had to have been champagne for a toast to their survival as a couple.  There must be yellow roses and bridal wreath in each of the champagne buckets.  It would have been wonderful - all of their friends together.  Everyone would have had a great time.

Everything had gone according to plan, the florist and the caterer had delivered their wares as promised and everything awaited the arrival of the first guests.  Then Gerry noticed that the cake was not in its place of honor. 

"Come on, Sherry," she said to her granddaughter.  "We need to go make sure the bakery is delivering the cake." 

They drove to the bakery and confirmed that the cake was already on its way.  Happily, Gerry headed for the door.  Then it happened.

One second she was approaching the exit door; the next she was falling.  As if in slow motion, she saw the heavy glass door with its metal bar coming ever closer to her face.  She threw up her arms to protect her head and face, as her body twisted in endless space.  What had happened next was a blur of flashing lights, sirens and white-coated doctors -- and pain.

Her fingers tentatively explored the canvas splint encasing her entire leg. How long ago had it been?  How many days had she already lived with this agony?  How many days must she continue to endure it? 

Gentle fingers touched her hand.  "Here, Nana, take one of your pills.  The doctor said he didn't want you in pain."

Gerry looked up, and blinking her eyes, finally brought Sherry's face into focus.  "I don't want to be in pain," she mumbled, taking the pill and a long drink of water.  She gagged and swallowed hard. Got to keep it down,  she thought. Got to stop the pain.

Strong arms lowered her body until her head rested on the pillows.  She closed her eyes and waited for the pain to disappear.  How could she go on like this?  She was totally helpless - a burden on all of her family.  Sherry certainly had better things to be doing than sitting here at her bedside.  But even she couldn't stay forever.  She had a job at home, halfway across the country.  Then what would happen?  John couldn't take care of her; he could hardly take care of himself.  Tears gathered behind her closed eyelids and flowed out of the corners of her eyes.  Finally the darkness of a drugged sleep settled over her.


Day melded into night and night became day as she drifted in and out of an endless stupor.  With each period of wakefulness, she felt ever more depressed.  How could she live like this?  She couldn't spend her life flat on her back in bed.  But even the slightest movement brought the pain and nausea.  Why?  Why had this happened to her? 

Through the blur of her tears, she gazed at the brown bottle of Vicodin on her bedside table. That would stop the pain,  she thought. How many would she need?

Sherry had been giving her one.  What if she were to take five?  Or ten?  Would that be enough to let her slip off into oblivion?

The physical therapist came into the room and insisted that she get up in the wheelchair.  The continuous waves of pain as she struggled to move her uncooperative body made her angry.  Why couldn't this woman just leave her alone?  Her anger grew as the therapist brought cans of food from the pantry and insisted that she use them as weights to exercise her arms.

Gerry thought of all the money she had paid in insurance premiums. How stupid,  she thought. I spent all of that good money just to have this woman come in here and torture me!  Finally, she was returned to her bed and happily watched the sadistic therapist leave the room.  She listened until John had closed the door behind her, then she gazed longingly at the little brown bottle.  She could end it all right now, but did she have the courage?  Still wondering, she drifted into an exhausted sleep.

When she awoke, John was at her bedside.  He looked at her with a concerned smile.  Poor John, with all of his multiple heart attacks and surgeries, she had always been the one taking care of him.  Now she couldn't even take care of herself.  He picked up the cans from her bedside table.

"You ready to try your exercises?"

"No!" she snapped.

"But, the therapist said . . . "

"I don't care what that fool woman said, I'm not going to do any stupid exercises!"

John sighed deeply and left the room and Gerry immediately felt guilty.  John was trying so hard and she was such a burden on him.  Her gaze shifted to the bottle.  Wouldn't he be better off without her? 

It had been nearly forty years since that first massive heart attack had left John nearly helpless.  How could he now be expected to take care of her?  But John wasn't totally helpless - at least he was mobile.  That was more than she could say for herself.  She couldn't even get herself a drink of water.  She was totally useless.  He would kill himself trying to help her; she couldn't let that happen.  With a groan, she stretched out her hand toward the nightstand and the pain tore through her body.  Grabbing the bottle, she fell back against the pillow, panting from the strain.  Her stomach churned and heaved.  As soon as her stomach settled down, she'd do it.  She had to - for John's sake.  Grasping the bottle firmly in her hand, she waited for the nausea to pass.


She started awake to find John trying to pry her fingers from around the bottle.  She stared pleadingly at him.

"What's the matter, Honey?" he asked gently, his eyes showing his deep concern.  "Do you need a pill?  Are you in pain?"

He seemed so childlike.  What would have happened to him if she had taken those pills?  Tears rose in her eyes.  He depended on her strength; she couldn't let him down.  Not after all these years and all they had survived together.  It would take time, but she would beat this injury.  They'd have other parties and they would dance together again.  She smiled wryly. Better be a very slow dance, she thought.

"No, darlin', I'm okay."  Wincing, she struggled to drag her uncooperative body upright in the bed.  "Hand me those cans, will you?"

Word Count:  1403