It's Okay (Steve)

Oh, great. I looked down at the puddle on the bed and the soaked sheets. The aroma hit my nose, the sight immersed me, and the sensation of wet clothes on my skin were a nagging reminder of the problem I was ashamed of. My eyes welled up with tears, but I held them back. I didn't need to look any more vulnerable than I really was. My pajamas were cold and clammy. Caitlin slept beside me unaware of the incident.
         "Wake up." I tried to get her to rise. She stirred, yawned, and looked up at me concernedly.
         "What's wrong?" I didn't want to say. "It's okay. You can tell me." Those empathetic eyes went straight to my soul. She caressed my face in her hands as if she already knew.
         "I...I. I...w-wet the b-bed." Having nothing else I could say, I still tried not to cry.
         "It's okay to cry." Easy for her to say. We stripped the bed and she proceeded to wash the sheets. I got the new bedding and proceeded to cover the bed. It took a few tries to get the fitted sheet over the mattress, but I eventually succeeded. We climbed into bed together and slept as if it would be our last night together. I felt Caitlin's soft breaths and the heat radiating off of her body. She shifted underneath my arm and rested her head on my chest. That alone reminded me that she thought I was worth something.

In the morning, I saw Caitlin looking concerned while speaking on the phone.
          "That's horrible. I'm so sorry. No. You don't need to apologize for feeling that way. This must be very heartbreaking for you and your family." She must have been talking to Sylvia. I listened more closely.
          "I...I couldn't stop it." I could hear Sylvia's voice breaking over the phone. "She was shaking and...and...she stopped." She started crying again. "I won't be at rehearsal today. It's so awful for a child to die from epilepsy." she said through stifling sobs. "No offense, Caitlin."
          "You didn't say anything that I could possibly be offended by. The death of a child is so heartbreaking and bewildering. Take all the time you need. I'll be here if you need me." She turned to me without words and then proceeded to gather her music for rehearsal. I did the same and we headed to rehearsal. I could tell her legs were stiff and painful by the way she walked. Halfway up the trail, she had a really bad asthma attack. I ended up needing to carry her along with her music and mine. It was not a big deal, though, considering that I've lifted iron blocks over longer distances. She thanked me and we continued as always. I wondered how Caitlin had a natural radar for that sort of thing.

At rehearsal, we broke into our respective sections. The flutists were fighting each other to the death to perform Partita in A Minor. Mark and I practiced the second trumpet part for our new music. We were atrociously out of tune. I was sharp and he was flat. We adjusted. We broke down some of the more complex runs. I soon felt like I would be sick, so I ran out of the room. Kent wasn't there to harass me.  Good riddance to him! However, the scene I saw when I walked out the door totally changed my mind.
          "This must be very difficult for you." Caitlin was comforting Kent! What? I thought she hated him!
          "You bet it is."
          "Then why are you mean to others?"
          "Because I'm dying." Whoa. I did not expect that! He's been looking more and more sick lately, but I had no idea he was dying. That painted his egotistical face in a whole new light.
          "Shouldn't you try to make the most of your life instead of treating others badly?"
          "That's easy for you to say! You're young, healthy, and have your whole life ahead of you! I have nothing to look forward to!" He rubbed his face and started to cry. Caitlin rubbed his back and let him cry. How could it be that she was so kind to basically anyone? She turned to me and said "Everyone is fighting a hard battle. The least we can do is try to strengthen each other," as if she could see the confusion I tried so well to hide. We sat down to rehearsal where I could just lose myself in the music and channeled all of my rage into a double high C.

A news crew came in assaulting our orchestra with flashing cameras. Caitlin hid her face from the lights. She clammed up and would not speak. She was probably anticipating a seizure. That was salt in the wound. I felt sick myself as we played. The notes swayed sickeningly before me. I ran out and spent the rest of rehearsal with my head in a trash can.

Not only did I purge the contents of my stomach, but also the emotions I had been carrying inside of me like blocks of cobblestone. It felt strangely satisfying and didn't even bother to think something was wrong with me. I would be fine after this. I'd be tired, but fine. I heard footsteps, but I didn't bother to turn my head. I was retching too much to have much energy. I coughed and tasted blood. The red spraying on my elbow confirmed my suspicion.

Before I knew it, I was whisked off to the hospital. I had an IV and the lights were way too bright for me to even attempt to sleep. I saw Caitlin hovering over me looking concerned. I touched her face with my free hand.
          "It's okay." I got the words out trying to comfort her. It was the only thing that could make me feel good. Without a word, she put some headphones in my ear and played a song. The familiar tune carried. If you're with me, then everything's alright. That was hard to believe, but I still did.

I broke down crying at the second verse. Why do\My words\Always lose their meaning? My recent aphasia diagnosis gave those lyrics a meaning that they never had before. What I feel\What I say\There's such a rift between them. Those words were painfully true. I had been bottling everything up and out of sight. I had neither the words to express myself freely nor the guts to bring myself to try. Caitlin wiped the tears from my face and held my hand. I felt her warm, creamy skin against mine. Something was very comforting about the way her hands felt.

A doctor came in and told me I had something called cyclic vomiting syndrome. I read the fact sheet. My problem was nothing like that. Reading triggered my vomiting and I usually only did it once, not in prolonged episodes.However, the doctor (totally passive aggressive, mocking tone here) knew best, so I decided not to argue. I was too tired anyway.