Saving Sam (The Wounded Warriors Book 1) (11 page)

Major Hansen shook his head. “No, they've already left. And as I explained before, you won't be permitted any visitors until we know you're stable. That being said, I wanted to inform you that I'll be adding two additional medications to your treatment plan.”

“Great,” Sam complained dully.

“I do feel it would benefit you to take a low dose of Risperidone for a while, but I'm also going to give you Hydroxyzine. The hydroxyzine will only be for a few days and you'll only take it at night, as I need you to replenish your faculties by actually sleeping,” Major Hansen explained. “You'll be amazed by the difference it will make.”

“Thanks,” Sam tried to smile, but he just looked uncomfortable.

The major smiled in return. “You'll begin your therapy sessions tomorrow. Your group will meet in the day room down the hall, and I'll have my resident come here, to your room.”

“You won't be my therapist?” Sam seemed alarmed by this news.

“No, but I'll be supervising my resident, as well as coming periodically to see you myself,” the major replied. “I generally try to make my rounds once a day, but that depends on the day's activities. However, if you want or need me before then, just let one of the nurses know so they can contact me and I'll come see you as soon as I can.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have any questions or concerns before I go?”

Sam simply shook his head, too exhausted to put forth more effort than that.

“Airman,” the major addressed Sam with authority. “I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but you will get through this.”

Sam gave the doctor a slight nod before he exited the room. When Major Hansen did leave, Sam turned back towards the window. His entire body felt heavy and his spirit even heavier. His mind raced, but he wasn't able to hold onto any idea or thought for very long, and honestly, he no longer cared. He welcomed the numbness that consumed him, thankful for the lull in the panic he knew lingered on the edge of awareness. He sighed, wondering if the major was right.
Will I ever feel normal again?

Two weeks later…

Janie watched with a sigh as Amy drifted into the kitchen, looked into the oversized refrigerator, and closed it again without eating anything.
She's as bad off as Sam, poor girl. She can't seem to take hold without him.

“Eat something,” Janie insisted in a no-nonsense voice. “A bowl of granola won't hold you forever, Amy. It's three in the afternoon.”

Amy met her eyes in silence, her face a study in muted misery.

“I know it's hard, honey, but this is what Sam needs most. Be patient. He'll be home again soon.”

Amy's composure cracked visibly. Her lip trembled and her eyes welled. “I hate thinking of him in that hospital, all alone.”

“He's not alone,” Janie retorted, wiping her hands on a towel and approaching her friend, wrapping her in a tight hug. Amy rested her forehead on Janie's shoulder.
She seems so much sadder than even makes sense. Of course, it's no good that Sam is struggling, but the doctor reassures us he's responding well to treatment and should make a full recovery. Yet Amy's grieving as though he died. What's going on with this girl?
“He's not alone,” she repeated. “Doctors, nurses and other patients are all around him. He's going to be fine, you know.”

“No, he needs
me
.”

“Amy, I'm sure about one thing. Whether he's said it or not, Sam loves you. I have no doubt about that, but what he
needs
is some space and some time, so he can get well; so he can love you the
right
way.”

Amy turned away, but Janie grabbed her shoulder. “Listen to me,” she insisted, giving her friend a little shake. “Whether you like it or not, you can't save him.”

Amy's lost expression turned angry. “A minute ago you were saying he would be fine. Now you're saying he can't be saved! Which is it, Janie?”

Whoa, where did all that venom come from?
“No, Amy, you misunderstood. Sam
will
be fine, but it won't be you who saves him. You can't; he has to save himself. And the best way for you to help him do that is to give him space.”

“How is that supposed to help?” Amy demanded.

Janie shook her head.
Why is Amy so out of it? She's as messed up as he is.
Wrapping her arm around her friend's waist, she escorted her into the living room, pressing her down onto the couch. She never released her from the firm hand she held on Amy's shoulder, commanding attention as she settled beside her.

“Do you believe Sam is a good man?” Janie demanded to know.

“Yes, he's the best kind of man; a hero.”

Janie shook her head. “He's not. He's a man on the brink of losing himself completely, and what sets him off, Amy, is you. Do you think Sam
wants
to be the kind of man who hits his girlfriend, who abuses her sexually and
tears up her vagina
? Do you think he wants that, Amy?”

Amy had both hands pressed to her mouth. Her eyes were bright, a little wild even, glazed with the shimmering tears that threatened to fall. She shook her head once.

“Then since you know he can't control himself around you, why would you put
him
in danger of becoming what he doesn't want to be? Why would you jeopardize his recovery? Think, Amy. Is it just possible your desire to save him has more to do with you than it does with him?”

Amy began to cry in earnest. Janie had been expecting it and wrapped her arms around the girl.

“You're so lucky, Janie,” Amy shriveled into her shirt.

“How so?”

“Your boyfriend isn't… sick.”

Janie crooked one knuckle under Amy's chin and lifted her face. “He's sick with worry about his son. And, well, he's not exactly boasting to all the world that he's sleeping with the chef.”

Amy snorted on a watery laugh. “What a pair we are, you and I.”

Janie nodded wryly. “Sometimes I feel like his dirty secret. But no matter. Right now, it's about you and Sam, and how to get the two of you into a healthy place again.”

“I'm healthy,” Amy insisted weakly, not wanting to face her own failings, trying to be strong.

“Really, Amy, you think you're acting in an unhealthy manner?” Janie pursued. “Then please tell me, why it is you have so little faith in yourself that you would accept abusive behavior from the person you love?”

Amy shook her head again.

“Well, let's see if we can reorder your thinking a bit. I know you don't want to make him worse, so that means you have to make
you
better. Setting limits on Sam doesn't mean you don't love him. It means you love yourself enough to be good for him. Do you understand? Does that help at all?”

Amy shrugged. “I don't know how to think that way.”

“I'll do some research,” Janie replied. “See if I can find some mental exercises you can do to improve your self-esteem or something. In the meanwhile, try to remind yourself that there's nothing wrong with you, except your unconditional acceptance of Sam's behavior. You're like your mom that way, but unlike Tara, you're a smart, kind, lovable woman. You deserve Sam – the healthy Sam – as much as any other woman. Repeat it in your mind until you believe it, okay?”

Amy nodded. “I'll try.”

* * *

Amy meandered into the office. Her desire for a snack had vanished in the wake of her heavy conversation.
Now I understand why Sam wouldn't eat. Nothing sounds good when I'm this down.
Feeling weak and exhausted, she sank into her swiveling chair and regarded a stack of invoices that needed filing.
They can wait,
she decided, not able to move right then. Laying her head down on her forearm, which she'd placed on the desk, she closed her eyes, trying to understand what was happening.

Am I really so bad for Sam?
She wondered to herself. Sadly, she knew the answer even before she asked the question. She knew full well that she needed to change or Sam never would. They were stuck in a dysfunctional pattern where he would do, say, and ultimate get whatever he wanted, while she'd inevitably be forgotten. Still, it had never mattered what Sam did, just as it wouldn't matter what he did in the future. She'd forgive him without a second thought. She couldn't quit on him.

Isn't that what love is?
She thought to herself.
Isn't love the unconditional acceptance of someone; good, bad, and indifferent?

Amy knew exactly what Janie would say about that. She knew Janie would tell her true love was a two-way street; that she'd deserve that same unconditional acceptance, and since Sam wasn't giving it to her in return, she needed to change the dynamics of their relationship. After all, how many times had Janie told her she needed to love herself as much as she loved Sam? How many arguments had they had over Amy's right to be as selfish as he was?

She'd tell me to learn from my mother's mistakes. It's just… I'm happy to have whatever he'll give me
, she mentally asserted.
He doesn't owe me anything.

And there was Janie's voice in her head again, “And you don't owe him anything either.”

Why does love have to be so complicated? Why can't it just be easy for once?
The heaviness Amy felt seemed to be drowning her in darkness.

* * *

Forty minutes later, the outer door of the ranch house slammed open. “I'm checking the heifers,” Dusty hollered, jarring Amy awake.

Awake? Was I asleep? I never fall asleep at my desk. What's wrong with me?
While locked in a battle with depression that robbed her of her appetite, unlike Sam, she couldn't seem to sleep enough. Shaking her head vigorously, she scrolled her mouse around to wake up the computer, and saw she had received an email from Janie.

Take a look at this web site. I think you might find it informative,
the terse note read.

The link brought her to a book called
The Empath Path
by Sandra Martinez. A quick glance showed it was for the psychically sensitive. Skeptical, Amy rolled her eyes at what seemed like otherworldly mumbo jumbo, but the article Janie had sent was more allegory than anything.

Used with author's permission

By the time she'd finished reading, fresh tears were swimming in Amy's eyes.
Why can't I stop crying? This is really over the top.
But there was no stopping them.
I hope Dusty stays out with those heifers a good long time.

So this was what Janie had said she was doing, sacrificing herself for Sam's sake, and making herself ill in the process, but her efforts were preventing him from getting well.
There's a horrible truth in this.
The obvious implication was that if she wanted Sam to get well, she needed to stop making herself sick trying to do it for him. She needed to make his wellbeing his own concern.
And after all, if anyone had come to you describing how he's been treating you, you'd have been quick to point it out as sick, and it was. It is. It has to stop. He doesn't want to hurt you, so stop letting him.

* * *

That epiphany became a pivotal moment in her life. From that day forward, Amy dedicated herself to thinking healthy thoughts. She found several mantras to repeat to help with her self-acceptance, and began grounding exercises, as well as a workout routine that would alleviate her stress. Though at first it felt strange to take care of herself, to make her well-being a priority, she had to admit it was refreshing. A bit of worry lingered like a knot in the pit of her stomach, but she did her best to ignore it, reminding herself of the Bible verse that dictated a person had to remove the log from their own eye before they could deal with the splinter in a friend's eye.

About a week after that, Amy entered the kitchen again, stealing an apple from the fridge. She crunched a bite out of it while shamelessly eavesdropping on Janie as she talked to Dusty on the phone.

“Yeah, they said we should go tomorrow,” she was saying. Then there was a pause. “Yes, her too. The doctor said it would be good for all of us to be there.” Another pause. “No, he said he's responding well to the medications.… Ah, he said he added some medicine after interviewing us all and that seemed to end his delusions. … Okay, talk to you later, honey.” She pushed a button and dropped the phone on the counter.

“So, what was that about?” Amy asked, taking another bite of her apple.

“The doctor said we can finally see Sam.”

“Really?” Amy felt excited for the first time in a long time. “Me too? I mean, Dusty doesn't mind?”

“Yes, of course” Janie replied, smiling at her hopeful expression. “You especially.”

That made Amy grin gleefully.

“Are you up to it?” Janie asked, suddenly serious as she crossed the room to examine Amy's face. “You look a bit pale. Are you sick?”

Amy's smile faded. “No, just tired. I don't know why though. I guess, despite my best efforts, I can't stop worrying altogether… But you think I'm doing better, right?”

“Yes, Amy, you are. It's a bit early to say for sure whether it's permanent, but I definitely see improvement. And don't fret too much. We're all worrying. It's terrible when someone you love is sick.”

Amy nodded solemnly. “I can't wait to see him.”

Janie gave her a little hug. “We're leaving tomorrow, early. Be sure you get as much done today in the office as you can.”

“Will do,” Amy replied, returning the hug before leaving the kitchen. The filing had really piled up over the last few weeks, and for some reason she'd had a hard time making herself do it. Feeling encouraged by the coming visit with Sam, she grew invigorated. Now was the moment!