The One Who Holds Me (Sovereign Love #4)

20. Alex

20

ALEX

THEN

S leep. Water. Pain relief. That’s how I spent my entire night. The doctors made a last-minute decision to keep me overnight to monitor my blood pressure, which kept dipping, so Mom and Dad went home late last night after I was moved to the post-surgical ward.

Waking up from surgery with an oxygen mask on my face while feeling dizzy and sluggish was the scariest moment I’ve ever had to live through. Even though the doctors said the surgery was successful, Mom couldn’t stop herself from worrying. She asked if I was okay every ten minutes and although I appreciated her care, it became annoying because all I wanted to do was rest.

Dad, as usual, didn’t say much, but he made his presence known by squeezing my shoulder from time to time. I drifted in and out of sleep and every time I opened my eyes, my gaze landed on Dad reading his Bible. They said they’ll be coming back at noon and hopefully it’ll be time to go home then.

“Knock-knock.” A red-haired nurse pokes her head into my room as I return from my toilet break. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

I nod and take slow steps to the bed, making sure not to strain the lower half of my body. “Yeah, it could have been worse.”

“Do you need any more pain relief this morning?”

“Erm…maybe some Tylenol for later, if that’s okay.” I’m so glad I’m stable enough to no longer need the regular pain relief.

“Here you go.” She places a small cup with two pills on the table before scrolling through the mobile computer she brought in with her. “Your vital signs have been stable all night, which is reassuring. Hopefully, the doctors will let you go home today. I’ll be back later with a breakfast sandwich.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

She types something quickly and then smiles at me before wheeling the computer out of the room and closing the door behind her. After slowly getting myself freshened up and changing out of the hospital gown into some new clothes, my body starts feeling much better.

A soft knock comes from the door again and this time, Mom and Dad walk in. They look well rested with a change of clothes. “Son, how are you doing?” Mom rushes to my side and snuggles me like a five-year-old.

“I’m much better.”

“Oh, aseda nka onyame .” She sits next to me on the bed while Dad hovers on his feet. “Have you eaten anything?” Mom asks, and I shake my head.

“Do you want us to get you some food?”

“No, the nurse said she’ll get me a sandwich. I’ll just eat that and if I don’t like it, I’ll eat the food at home.” I smile at Mom, who presses her hand against my cheek.

“I made you some jollof rice, just the way you like it.”

Thinking about Mom’s delicious spicy jollof makes me feel much better. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Has the doctor been around this morning?” Dad asks and shoves his hand into his jacket pocket.

“No, not yet. The nurse said they’ll be making their rounds soon.”

“Okay, I’ll see if I can find them.” He nods and then leaves the room while Mom lingers behind.

She turns my face, so I’m looking at her. “Are you sure you’re okay, honey?” she asks, her eyes searching mine. She might be the first one to get worried, but one thing Mom has always been is intuitive.

I want to tell her everything—about Olanna, about my jumbled thoughts, and about the fact that I can’t stop thinking about the comment Kwame made yesterday. But like all the other times, the words catch in my throat and instead of speaking up, I nod. “Yes, Mom. I’m okay.”

“Alright then. I will join your father so we can find out what the plan is.” She plants a kiss on my cheek and then heads out the door.

That’s when I take out my phone and start Googling about blood group types. A part of me cautions me not to, but my curiosity gets the better of me. Page after page, my eyes scan through the paragraphs of texts and the more I read, the more unsettled I become.

Apparently, sometimes AB parents can have an O child, but it is extremely rare according to studies. I should find that information comforting, but instead, my brain focuses on the extremely rare.

Scrolling through my contact list, I put through a video call to Kwame and he picks up on the third ring.

“Yo, bro, are you okay? You look kinda pale.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. The pain is controlled,” I respond. “I can’t stop thinking about the comment you made yesterday.”

“About the blood groups? I knew it.” Kwame groans and rubs his temples slowly. “Listen, bro. I’m only a pre-med student. I know nothing at this point. You shouldn’t listen to me.”

“I figured you were going to say that.” I tilt my head. “So I did some Googling.”

Kwame rolls his eyes. “I thought we agreed not to Google symptoms. The internet always tries to convince you it’s the worst-case scenario.”

“Or it could just tell you facts.” The tone in my voice is serious as I glance at Mom and Dad speaking to the doctor out on the ward. Kwame pauses and looks me in the eye. I know he’s thinking the same thing, too.

“Hang on, bro. I think it’s very dangerous to make assumptions like this.” He shakes his head. “You should speak to your parents directly. I’m sure they’ll clear any doubts you have.”

“Or I could just check my medical chart or something. Shouldn’t I have a file at the foot of my bed?” I shuffle to the edge before looking around the room for my medical notes when Kwame starts laughing at me.

“What’s funny?”

“I don’t think you’ll find any paper charts in your room. Most hospitals have advanced to electronic notes now. ”

“Aww, man. I knew I should’ve looked when the nurse came by earlier.”

“Dude, stop it, please. Instead of sneaking around and doing all this digging, don’t you think it’ll be better to ask your parents directly?”

I swallow to wet my dry mouth. This day is just getting weirder and weirder. I’m probably overthinking this, but if there’s something they’re hiding from me, then I believe I deserve to know the truth. “Yeah, you’re right, man. I’ll ask them when we’re back at home because I don’t think this is something we should talk about in the hospital.”

“Bet,” Kwame says. “Aigh’t, man. I’m out. Talk to you later, man.”

We end the call and a few minutes later; the nurse comes back in with some food, which she places on the table. I push the tray away, not because the sandwich and ice cream don’t look appealing, but there’s so much going through my mind right now and the last thing I want to do is eat.