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As Abby climbed the stairs to the second floor of the building, the pain pulsed in her head and ears with each step. Her legs felt like lead jello. She could barely get her feet from one step to the next. Her knees were weak. She felt like she was going to fall, but she kept going, holding tight to the wooden rail. She was almost home.

When she reached the first landing, Abby stopped and leaned against the cool wood paneling of the hallway. She felt the pressure subside a little and started to continue up the steps. Agony flooded anew as she began the last leg of her journey. Her head swam, and she felt her foot strike the front of the step as it missed its mark. Immediately she lost her balance and pitched backward down the stairs. She didn't even have the strength to try to break her fall let alone stop herself from plummeting down to the bottom. She felt everything as if in slow motion. It seemed forever before she landed by the door at the foot of the stairs. As Abby drifted out of consciousness, she heard footsteps running down the stairs and Clay's voice calling her name.

When she awoke, Abby knew instantly where she was or at least the type of place she was in. The antiseptic scent was a dead giveaway. Looking around, her eyes took in the spare surroundings. Aside from the bed she was lying in, the only furniture in the room were a traytable, a small television up in the corner of the ceiling and a small, uncomfortable-looking chair with a blanket folded in the seat. She grimaced, picturing her six-foot, two-hundred pound husband trying to get any kind of rest in that chair. She was pulled from her reverie by the entrance of the nurse towing a combination blood pressure and thermometer machine.

“You're awake,” she observed.

Abby nodded--Ouch! That hurts. She reached up and felt a gauze bandage covering the left side of her head as she felt for the control so she could raise the head of the bed to face the nurse.

“Do you know where you are?” the nurse asked.

“At the hospital,” she replied. Why do they always ask such dumb questions?

The nurse continued her query with “What's the date today?” To which Abby replied, “I don't know. How long have I been asleep?”

Movement at the door distracted them from the nurse's annoyance at her answer, and she turned to see the tall, broad, slightly round form of her husband entering the room carrying a cup of coffee. His sleep-heavy eyes met hers and lit up briefly. He kissed the top of her head and dropped into the chair with a soft sigh as the nurse exited the room. she reached over and took his hand, bringing it to her lips. Pulling his hand back gently to stroke her hair, he whispered “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. Tired. What happened?”

“Don't you remember?”

“I only remember leaving the store.”

“You don't remember driving home?”

“No. I only remember having a really bad headache and telling Jane that I had to go home.”

He took a shuddering breath and said, “You called and said you were on your way home. I had just gotten home from work and was getting ready to shower. So I thought, ' I'll just take a quick shower then get supper started '. I wanted to have everything ready so I could make you a drink and you could just relax. So I showered and changed. I got the meatloaf in the oven and was picking up the living room while I waited for you to get home. I heard the door downstairs and started to mix your drink. Then I heard this loud thud and a sound like somebody falling down the stairs. I ran to the door and went out into the hallway. When I looked down the stairs--”.

He ran a hand over his face as if to erase the vision from his mind. She reached out and stroked his cheek and softly kissed his face. He put his hand on the back of her head and gently pulled her lips to his. She tried not to wince from the pain of her wound. He kissed her passionately and then, sliding on to the bed with his arm tightly around her continued. “The pressure on your brain must have been so great that you lost your balance and fell. When I think what might have happened...”

“Shh...It's okay. I'm fine now. I love you.”

“I love you. Very much.”

Looking at the clock she asked, “Has the doctor been here this morning? I know they usually come in at such an ungodly hour that I wouldn't remember seeing them.”

“Yes. He tried to wake you up, but you wouldn't budge. He asked me if you had been awake yet, and said he'd be back tomorrow.”

“So what all did they do to me? I don't feel any stitches down here”--indicating the lower half of her body-- “so they must have just had to replace the valve, right?”

Due to injuries she had suffered at birth, she'd had a shunt--a tube to drain fluid from her brain to her abdomen--her whole life. Over the course of twenty-seven years she'd had at least twenty surgeries to repair her shunt.

“Dr. Hasan said that he replaced the valve and the catheter. The valve was leaking which caused the catheter to become blocked.”

The nurse entered the room again. This time she was carrying a tray. When she set it down, Abby recognized the standard post-operative meal--lime jello and tea. Before she left, the nurse offered “Let me know if I can get you anything else.” Abby murmured a noncommittal response as the nurse left the room. She wrinkled her nose at the unappetizing repast before her.