[:::: Lucky, Chapter 11, Part III ::::]

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[:::: Lucky, Chapter 11, Part III ::::]

The following month was pretty turbulent.  The evening after Torri’s visit, Grace and I talked long into the evening.  She got the array of emotions I was feeling.  About twelve months ago, we ran across her ex-husband, Roger, while walking through a shopping mall.  He made a purposeful beeline for us and started hurling abuse before the security that was now always with us, when Grace left the house, had him on his stomach, pulling an arm behind his back.  And that was after Grace had slapped him and kneed him in the groin, before I could do anything.

He was arrested for violating a restraining order and ended up serving a year for that violation. So, yes, Grace got my anger that Torri just turned up.

But she also had compassion for my former daughter. Together, we conducted research on Liver transplants and PSC, including its effects.

I spoke with Torri the following day, Grace and I both sitting down with her. We agreed that I would conduct the tests and discuss the procedure if I were a suitable candidate.

It turned out I was, and there was no evidence of PCS in my system. I spoke with Anton and the rest of the family.  I sorted out the work schedule and ensured my will and personal affairs were in order. Then, Grace, the kids, and I headed for Brisbane.

I only met with Lacey once before the procedure, and that was only when Torri was present. I said in no uncertain terms that if their mother were there, I would be getting on the plane and heading back home to Sydney.

It was likely her condition, but she was even more emotional than her sister. However, at the time, she was dying, so while I was fighting conflicting emotions myself, I tried not to dig up the past too much.  However, I was almost as blunt with her as I was with her sister, and she knew by the time I walked out that it was more because I believed I was a good person than I once thought of her as my daughter that I was doing this.

Being the man he is, Anton had ensured that both Lacey and I would get top-flight treatment.  The surgeon had to spend almost an hour on the phone with Anton before the procedure.  When he came to my room later, he was all smiles, but I could tell that my wife’s grandfather had put the fear of God into him.

I was in pre-op with Grace, Thomas and Ashleigh, were sitting with me when Torri came into the room. She hesitated when she saw us. I was already in a surgical gown, and she saw the stump of my leg for the first time, and I think she almost ran.

“Torri, come in, dear,” Grace said, noticing her skittish nature.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she told us. “I just thought I would come and wish Dad good luck.”

“Dad?” Thomas asked, catching the reference.  “But he’s my Dad, not yours?”

It wasn’t a dig, but rather an innocent remark from a young child to a grown woman. In his mind, he could not imagine that I could be her ‘Dad’. As far as he knew, he was the oldest.

But it was enough. With an anguished cry, Torri bolted, and I could hear the diminishing sobs as she walked away.

Grace looked at me, and I waved her to chase after Torri. She handed me Ashleigh as Thomas went back to his colouring, unaware of the problem he had caused.

I’m told that the procedure went about as well as it could have. They removed the left lobe of my liver and transplanted it into Lacey successfully.  Both of us would be closely monitored for around a month.  For me, it was ensuring my liver regrew as it was supposed to.  For Lacey, it was for both growth and ensuring her body accepted the new organ.

When I awoke, it was late in the evening.  I vaguely remember the post-op ward where all patients go as they initially wake up.  They checked a number of things before they moved me into a recovery ward once they were happy I wasn’t in any immediate danger.

I think I slept for a few hours before I woke once more.  There was a presence in the room that I assumed was either Grace or perhaps Torri. 

“Water, please,” I said as I began to open my eyes, sticky from the anaesthetist's drugs.

“Here,” a voice said as a cup was thrust into my left hand.  As the voice registered, several blips appeared on the machines monitoring my health, none strong enough to trigger an alarm, but both of us knew that it wouldn’t take much to bring the hospital staff or the private security guarding me.

“You know,” she explained. “It's quite the gauntlet I had to run to be in here.  I mean two private rooms sectioned off from the rest of the hospital with security only letting approved people through.”

I took a small drink, the effort almost feeling monumental, then smacked my lips a few times. I looked over at the intruder, my eyes opening further to look at the woman I once loved.

“You’re in the wrong room, Daphene,” I told my ex-wife with a deep rasp to my voice. “Lacey’s bed is next door.”

“She is not out of Recovery yet,” she said, shaking her head. “Besides, I figure this is a good chance for us to talk.”

“Talk,” I barked, feeling the incisions despite the drugs. “We have nothing to talk about.”

“Of course we do, Bruce,” she replied immediately. “I mean, now you’re back in the girls' lives.  We need to ensure you look after them.”

My ECG started beeping constantly. “Back… Look After…”

She nodded. “Yes, I mean, you have all that money now. Your daughters need to be looked after since Brendon can’t do it anymore.”

I have to say I was thankful for the drugs in my system at that moment; I think I would have choked the life out of her.  Even then, if my wife hadn’t made her presence known at that point, I may have tried.

“So this is her?” Grace asked, a sense of menace in her voice that I had only ever heard one time before.

“I am who?” Daphene replied, standing and turning to face my wife.

I had loved two women in my life, and right now I was struggling to keep it together as the woman who betrayed me and the woman who saved me faced off.  I did catch Grace’s eye for a moment, and I was actually concerned for Daphane’s safety.

“The woman who has managed to cause the man I love more pain than anyone should endure.” Grace spat, her threat implicit.    “You deliberately, and I do mean deliberately, took everything you could from him after he loved you, loved your daughters and gave you everything he could.”

“It was a divorce, shit happens.”

Grace took a couple of steps forward and glanced at me, and could see I was still largely out of it.

“What are you doing here?” my wife asked my ex-wife.

“What, is it not okay for me to check in on my ex, who has just donated a major part of an organ to save our daughter's life?”

“No.”

The word was spoken with such finality that it brokered no argument.

I watched through half-closed, hazy eyes as my ex-wife walked around my bed and approached my wife.

Daphne looked her up and down, judging her and snorted.

“Plain, overweight, nothing to look at,” she told my wife.  Grace could see me struggle and held a hand out as she knew I would be tearing stitches in a moment in order to tear Daphane's head off her shoulders for the insult. 

She then did the same to Daphane, the woman who approached us.  Grace looked her over and smirked.

“The hair implants are slightly better than the breast implants,” Grace said, striking a thinking pose.  The Botox on your forehead is obviously causing issues, as I can see you struggling to frown.  Your lips, though, the Botox in them could likely help as a flotation device if someone were drowning.  Your skin is thin and your hips have a curve, but you need to stop having them add more junk in your trunk if you want anything other than a gangster hit on you.”

Daphnee was speechless, but Grace kept going.

“I know I am not the supermodel that most people want.  My ass is big, and I have a huge amount of cellulite.  My tits droop a lot more than I want.  My stomach bulges in ways that I hate, and I’ve found more than a few grey hairs this year than I did last year.”

But then Grace turned to me and smiled.

“But Bruce doesn’t see that; he shows me every day how much he loves me.  He touches my love handles and tells me how cute they make me.  He kisses my stomach and compliments me on having such an amazing body after giving birth to his children.  He brushes my hair and never talks about the greys that I know he sees, but when I bring it up, he laughs, points to his own and says how lucky he feels that we are maturing together.”

Daphane stood there, mouth slightly agape.

“From a distance, I am sure that you still turn more than your share of heads, both young and old.  I know frumpy old me does, so being the plastic Barbie doll you are, you would doubly so,” Grace explained.  “But up close and personal, while I am what you see. Each step closer to you shows that nothing about you is natural.  You’re fighting against age and losing badly.”

Daphne couldn’t stand it any longer and, all of a sudden, regained some of her bluster. 

“Why you…” and took a step to throw a punch at my wife. But Grace side-stepped and a moment later had my wife on the floor in a similar move to the one I saw with Roger.   Mark was already striding into the room by the time Grace had Daphnee’s face pushed into the floor, and I watched my wife lean in and whisper something that moments later had Daphnee struggling and swearing at her.

Mark summoned security, and Grace came and sat on my bed, and Daphane was being picked up off the ground, a rather red mark on her cheek where Grace had slammed her head into the ground.

“I’m sorry, hun,” she said as we watched Daphane being escorted out.  “I got caught up at home, and when I called earlier, the nurse said you had someone sitting with you, so I didn’t hurry.  I didn’t realise it was Daphnee.”

“Tis okay,” I told her, my head swooning again.

“Do you need anything?” she asked me.

“Water,” I replied, and a moment later she was holding the straw of the cup to my lips.

The following morning, Torri came bursting into my room.

“Dad, I am so sorry,” she told me. “I never thought that Mum would try to see you.”

I looked at her.  She looked angry, upset and a little embarrassed.

“How is Lacey?” I asked her.

That took a little of the bluster out of her sales.

“She is out of recovery, but it will be a while before she wakes up.  She was in surgery for another three hours longer than you, and they want to take it slow.”

I nodded. I was feeling a lot better this morning, and I was looking forward to getting a coffee soon.

She sat down on the seat beside my bed and put her head in her hands.

“We fucked everything up, didn’t we?” She said it was a statement, not a question.

“Pretty much,” I replied.

“So that’s it, you’re done.  You head back to Sydney, and we never see you again?”

I thought for a moment.  “Well, see...”

[:::: End of Chapter 11 ::::]

[:::: Read: Chapter 12, Part III ::::]

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