Dark Waves of Discovery

Story by: MiyaK

Chapter 3 – Maria Saito

*

I sat in the middle of my parent’s bedroom and sobbed. Except this time there was nobody to comfort me, and no one to share my grief.

“Be quiet, Maria!” yelled my older brother Hank from across the house. “Can’t you see that I’m trying to do my homework?!”

I stifled a sob and unsuccessfully tried to stop the flow of tears.

It wasn’t working.

“Mommy!” I cried out once more. Stumbling into the kitchen I reached out to the marble countertop where my water glass was sitting. I could barely reach it as I stood on tiptoe, and I knew reaching the water dispenser would also be hard. Of course, when Mommy was here, I never would have to stretch on tiptoe to reach my water glass. I would never have to—

Suddenly, my vision became blurry with tears again as I glanced at the glass I was holding; it was Hank’s. Mommy had never gotten down a water glass for me this morning.

I looked at the high cabinet where the water glasses were stored. It seemed that I had two options. Get help from Hank, or do it myself. I started to walk into our office room where Hank did his homework from his advanced summer class but stopped short. He was mad at me, and I could see plainly that he was hurting and worried too. Usually Mom helped him with Algebra 2 homework. I wished I could help him now, even if he had just yelled at me, but memorizing my addition facts seemed tricky, so I doubted I could handle this type of math. I sighed and made my way back to the kitchen. I could get a step stool… but Mommy had thrown up on the step stool this morning (accidentally, of course). I’ll have to do it myself, I resolved, as I walked bravely towards the cabinet located over the counter near the refrigerator.

Stretching on tiptoe, I came just a few inches short of the nob I must pull to open the cabinet. I jumped up in the air, and tried to grab hold of it, to no avail. Not to be deterred with one faulty attempt, I tried again. This time, the cabinet swung open. I paused to survey the halfway open cabinet door, and the row of smooth glasses sitting on the second shelf. I knew that if I could just manage to climb onto the counter, those beautiful cups would be within reach. With a grunt I planted my arms on the counter and squirmed up so that I was laying on the counter rather awkwardly, then shakily I moved to a standing position, and took a glass that was now easily within reach.

“MARIA!”

With a jolt of surprise, I shrieked, dropping the cup. My foot knocked over Hank’s glass, which was sitting nearby, and I tumbled from the counter. Glass shards flew everywhere; over me, around me, on counters, near Hank, under me…

“OUCH!!” The glass shards I had landed on were cutting into my feet. “Aaaahhh!”

Horror swept across my brother’s face, quickly replacing the annoyance that had been there just seconds ago.

“Help! Help me! It hurts! I’M BLEEDING!” I began to shriek.

“Maria! Oh, oh, why didn’t you ask me for help? What am I going to do!?”

“Hurts…so …bad….,” I gasped.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Let’s wash the cuts or something.” He carried me over to the sink and turned on the cold water. My lacerated feet stung as the water coursed over them, and I continued to shriek.

“Mommy! Mommy! I want Mommy!”

“Maria!” Hank shouted above my screams. “Reach into my sweatshirt pocket and pull out my phone. Do it now!”

I was sobbing uncontrollably with pain but I still managed to do as he had instructed.

“Open the phone Maria. You know my password. Six, eight, one, two, nine. Okay, click on the phone app. Good. Click ‘Dad’.” He continued to rinse my cut feet. I held the phone to my ear and listened to it ring. After what seemed like an eternity (mostly due to my feet), I finally heard my father’s voice over the phone.

“Hank? Hello?” He said, and I could tell he was worried about something.

“It hurts! It hurts!” I screamed in response, then burst into tears.

“Maria? Is that you? What hurts? What’s going on? Give the phone to Hank. Is Hank there? Are you guys okay?”

I pressed the phone to my brother’s ear.

“Dad? Yes. I’m here. But Maria broke a glass and cut her feet on the shards. There are a few minor cuts, but one is really deep and won’t stop bleeding. I don’t know what to do!” His face contorted with pained emotions, and I now felt sorry I hadn’t asked him for help. I sobbed harder.

“The emergency room? Dad! I can’t take her there alone! Okay…I guess so,” I listened to my brother’s side of the conversation. Hank let go of my hand to turn off the water. I grasped the ledge of the counter to steady myself, but all the sudden movement caused me to lose my balance.

“AHHHH!” I screamed as I hit the floor, and immediately felt my leg twist unnaturally. My lower leg, my ankle, and my foot seemed to explode with pain.

“What’s happening!?” I heard Dad shout over the phone. Hank was looking horrified, and I couldn’t exactly hear his response to Dad. He snatched a clean towel from a drawer and wrapped it around my foot.

“Maria,” he said, looking directly into my eyes, “I am going to take you to the doctor. We are going to get help. You’ll be okay.” He was shaking. I nodded. I watched as he spread clean towels over the back seat of our father’s truck. He then carefully lifted me in, and made sure I was comfortable with the seatbelt. Sprinting back into the house, he soon emerged with my favorite blanket, some ice cubes, and both of our water bottles.

“Okay,” he said, as we turned out of the driveway. “Here is the plan. I’m driving you to the doctor -the emergency room, actually- and Dad will meet us there. I hope we can get you treated.”

“What about Mom? Is she okay?” I couldn’t help asking the question. My mother was pregnant, and everything had seemed fine until this morning, when she had fallen down the stairs and broken her hip. Now, the baby was threatening to come early, and Mom would need a serious surgery. I had been terrified — I still was.

Hank took a deep breath and clutched the steering wheel harder.

“You don’t want to hear this,” he warned me.

“She’s going to die?!” I burst out, my whole being silently pleading ‘No! No! No! She can’t die!’

“No, nothing like that,” he paused. “Okay. You’re obviously very worried, and I don’t want you making up theories that can worry you even more. We certainly don’t need that.”

He glanced back at my foot. I resisted the urge to cry even though the pain was almost unbearable, and instead nodded for him to continue.

“Mommy’s left hip is broken, from when she fell down the stairs. You saw that.”

I did remember my mother falling, screaming and being carried up the stairs. I ran after my father as he placed her in bed. Not long after the event of Mom throwing up, my parents had left for the hospital and I, who only half understood, was left with Hank.

“This is a painful and serious injury, but not a deadly one,” he continued. “Mom will have to have surgery to get it fixed. But with our sibling coming in a few months, Dad said the doctor advises that surgery will be dangerous. There’s too big of a risk of infection, I guess.”

I knew he was trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal, and that everything would be fine, but I still sensed that his calm attitude was forced by the way he gripped the steering wheel. He had only started driving a year ago. Now we were headed down one of the busiest highways in Oahu, more than a few miles over the speed limit.

Ring—Ring—Ring!!! I heard my brother’s phone and saw the caller as Dad.

“Everything will be okay,” he said, most likely to reassure himself more than me. He picked up the phone, and put it on speaker. “Hello? Dad?”

“I’m on my way.” I heard Dad’s voice over the phone. “How far are you guys?”

“We’re about 5 miles away,” Hank responded. “Maria’s foot is still bleeding, and she may have twisted her ankle, but we are okay.”

Okay? Hardly, I thought as I grimaced in pain yet again, and stifled a sob. More like Hank is the okay one, and I’m scarcely able to bear my pain. 

“I’ll see you there then,” Dad said, and I could hear how stressed he was.

“Should I go ahead and take her inside if you aren’t there when we arrive?” asked my brother.

“Yes. Go inside, explain the situation to them, and start to check her in. By the way it sounds, she needs care immediately.”

“Okay,” Hank said shakily, ending the call and conversation.

We were nearing the hospital complex just inland from the coast of the island, and had exited the highway, pulling onto a side street. Hank speed towards a yellow light and hoping to make it before we would have to wait. As the truck lurched forward, the light turned red a fraction of a second before we passed it, and a swerving car sped towards us faster than Hank could get out of the way.

I closed my eyes and screamed.

Hank pressed the gas to the floor.

The truck’s crash avoidance warnings beeped wildly.

“MOMMY!!! DADDY!!! HANK!!!” I wailed. “HELP ME!!! AAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!”

“Maria, pray!!” Hank shouted. “And I love you. I hope you know that!”

The world seemed blurry.

I couldn’t think.

No! No! No! My brain repeated, blocking out all other modes of communication.

And the car slammed straight into us.

*

I don’t remember if I lost consciousness, but I remember opening my eyes to silence, and stillness. I don’t remember the glass flying towards me, but I remember opening my eyes and feeling the tiny pinpoints stabbing my face with every movement. I don’t remember Hank passing out before that day, but when I opened my eyes, he was unconscious. I don’t remember ever feeling so helpless, but I remembered what Hank had yelled.

Pray.

“Jesus,” I whispered. “Dad, Mommy and Hank can’t help. Please help me. Amen.”

I’d prayed for many things in my life, but usually they weren’t as serious.  I was more familiar with asking God if he could give me a pet pony, take the rain away, or heal my scraped knee. I touched Hank’s hand.

“Hank? Hank!” I said.

No response.

And then I heard the sirens.

A kind policewoman opened my car door and asked me if I was okay. Other police officers and medical workers tended to my brother, and the passenger of the other car. Officer Smith, as she instructed me to call her, was incredibly nice. While she inquired about my foot, the crash and our destination, I shakily poured out the events of the day. They placed me in the ambulance transporting Hank and we continued to the hospital. Although I was encouraged by the medical personnel who were taking care of Hank that everything was okay, I sensed a certain uneasiness.

Dear Jesus, please heal my brother. I need him.

As we pulled into the parking lot, I saw a bright red sign reading “EMERGENCY ENTRANCE” which spanned the space above a set of double doors off to the side of the hospital.

I was lifted out of the ambulance.

“Ouch!” I exclaimed as my bleeding ankle was moved from its relatively comfortable position in the towel. Of course, it had still been throbbing, but movement seemed to hurt more.

“Oof,” the nurse grimaced at the sight of my foot. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I promise though, that everything will be okay.” She carried me up the walkway leading to the entrance, while I tried to stop crying. The pathway was lined with luscious green ground cover and among this were some beautiful ferns and hibiscus plants. Maybe it’s to distract the patients from all their pain, I thought as I pondered why they would make a mere hospital entrance this decorated. Inside the sliding glass double doors though, the beauty of the entrance seemed forgotten. A baby cried from a faded and ripped chair, while a frazzled mother tried to interest it in a bottle. Nurses rushed here and there and I saw a patient lying on a stretcher being carried down a hallway leading away from the lobby before the set of doors leading to this hall snapped shut. Sadness, injury, and death seemed to fill the very air. I sucked in a breath and tried to burrow deeper into the nurse’s protective arms.

“Her father is on the way here as we speak. Her mom is in the other hospital, since she broke her hip and is threatening to lose the baby she is carrying. Her brother brought Maria over here when she cut her foot on the shards of a glass that she broke, but they were in a terrible car accident,” the nurse explained to another woman who had began to take notes as we continued down the hallway.

*

I don’t remember much of what happened next, but one painful doctor examination later left me with twenty-six stitches in my right foot. My right ankle was fractured— badly. My facial injuries had fortunately not been fatal, but I had been thoroughly checked for other injuries from the crash, and it seemed that my right leg was dislocated slightly from the jolt, and other trauma. As the doctor finished up the visit, Dad inquired about treatment for my leg and ankle.

“Where do you recommend that we go to treat it? I know you had mentioned that you wouldn’t do this in the emergency room, which is understandable, but is there a children’s hospital around here that you would recommend to us?”

“Well,” Dr. Grimes pushed back her glasses, “There are several good hospitals around here for sure, but with the tsunami and all…” her voice trailed off. “I know some will be closing. I think if you are planning to evacuate, I know Scottish Rite Children’s Hospital in Dallas, Texas, is a good option for orthopedic treatment and therapy, which she will obviously be needing. I have also personally worked with staff at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, which earned a number one rating this year in the US News best hospital rankings. They are a great option also. If you would like, I can quickly fill out a spreadsheet of which hospitals I would best recommend,” she offered kindly, But I only heard the first part that she had said…About a tsunami? A tsunami? Coming here? 

“What do you mean? There’s a tsunami?! We have to evacuate?!” I exclaimed.

“Maria, we can talk about this later, okay? I promise everything will be fine, but let me figure some things out,” Dad told me. He obviously knew something. Tsunami? Tsunami? What will happen to Mommy!? I’m so scared.  I’m terrified. I’m scared. I’m —

“…spending a few weeks with Grandma?”

“What?” I said in response to Dad’s question that I had only half heard.

“I said, ‘What about spending some time with Grandma?’” he repeated.

I looked at him in confusion. Grandma? All the way in Texas?

“You said that the Scottish Rite Hospital was in Dallas?” he asked the doctor.

“Yes sir,” she responded. “They have an amazing team and care facility. You will need to get a professional referral to become a patient, however. Of course, I could easily provide one.”

Dad nodded. “Okay. Yes, I am hoping to leave before the tsunami. Maria and I will fly out to Texas and we can stay at her grandmother’s house. I’m still waiting on the report on the eldest son’s injuries, but he may also come to the mainland for medical care. Maria can get treated at Scottish Rite while we assess if it is okay to return to Hawaii. I think this has to be the best plan,” he said, looking at me.

“Daddy! That’s fine about getting treated at the hospital and spending time in Grandma’s house, but I don’t want to leave Mommy! I don’t want to have a sprained ankle! I don’t want to have a Tsunami!” I burst out.

“Maria,” he knelt in front of me. “Mommy is going to be okay. Hank,” he paused, and cleared his throat, wiping his eyes. “Hank will be okay. I promise. You’ll be okay too. God willing, this will work out. You’ll see.”

I closed my eyes and moaned from pain but also the emotions running loose inside of me. We were in the waiting room, waiting for news about my brother. The tiny voice in my head told me to trust my father, and also, to trust God, but for the first time in my life, I found it hard. God willing. That’s the problem. How could God have planned all the disasters of the past hours? How could that be his will? 

“Sometimes, what God knows is best for us isn’t what we want. Sometimes, it is something we think we can’t even bear. And that’s where the rubber meets the road in our Christian walk. Do we chose to  let the hand of our maker shape us, through it is painful sometimes, or do we shy away and refuse to let him live in us, resenting the hardship he is using to help us grow?” I recalled what Pastor Jerry had said a few weeks ago in his sermon. The words used in sermons weren’t always chrystal clear to me, but I had grasped this idea, and it had stuck in my brain.

The rubber certainly meets the road now, I thought. Mommy and Dad sometimes used that expression, and to me it meant aligning actions to ideas, putting faith to the test of real life.

It’s nice to pray for a pony, but harder to cry to God for the safety of my brother. And it’s certainly hard to imagine that God is trying to shape me with the very things that almost destroyed me. But today I’ve seen that God isn’t a spiritual Santa Claus. He is hope. And I need it.

I pictured my God above the waves of my worry, but eventually, I couldn’t help looking down.

I can’t leave Mommy! I can’t leave Hank! I can’t leave my home, and not know if I’m coming back. But it looked like I would have to.

To be continued from Opal’s perspective!

(Please note: Maria is around 6 years old in this chapter, so significantly younger than Opal and Elizabeth.)

A short note from the author: After reading this chapter you’ll have seen all the perspectives Dark Waves of Discovery will be told with. I have cycled through Opal’s, Elizabeth’s, and Maria’s voices to tell this story. I hope everyone is enjoying it so far! Please let me know which perspective you liked hearing from the most so far in the comments if you wish. 😉

As always, thank you for reading!