More Than Ever: The Home Series, Book One Read online

  More Than Ever

  The Home Series, Book One

  By Gretchen Tubbs

  Text copyright ©2015 Gretchen Tubbs

  All Rights Reserved

  To my three beautiful daughters,

  may you never feel broken.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Standing in the bathroom, I wipe the moisture from the mirror, drop my towel, and look over my body. I do this quite often, even though it kills me to do so. My muscles that I worked so hard for all those years are slowly getting softer and softer. The light exercise I can manage to do these days just isn’t enough to keep them. I slowly trace the scar from my surgery and bite my lip to keep the tears from falling. It’s not as raised and angry as it once was, but there is no way you can miss it. It’s massive on my small frame. Starting near my pelvis, it wraps up and around my rib cage, disappearing behind me. I turn to the side, twisting my head around to look at my back, where I see the end. Each individual staple mark along the winding trail is visible. My body is becoming more and more broken. I am turning into a mere shell of who I once was, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to stop it. That all too familiar feeling of panic is starting in the pit of my stomach, trying to claw its way up my throat, looking for release. I quickly grab my towel off the floor and cover my body. If I don’t have to see it, I don’t have to think about what is happening inside of it.

  I open the medicine cabinet and take out my pills. Lining them up, I start swallowing. There’s no need for anything to drink at this point; I’m an old pro at taking them. Blood pressure medicines, iron supplements, renal vitamins, and pain meds for the chronic flank and back pain go down like it’s nothing. I add in my anxiety pills for good measure. With that chore done, I dress quickly, avoiding looking back in the mirror. I can’t stand to look at my broken body anymore tonight.

  Chapter One

  I try to keep calm, counting down the seconds until I can get out of the car. Mom picked me and Maggie up at the crack this morning, but we’re finally back at the apartment the two of us share with Miller. I immediately decide to fake a headache so I can hide in my room under the guise of a nap. I can’t handle being around them right now, but I can still hear voices from the kitchen… the walls in the apartment are thin. Mom and Maggie aren’t doing a good job hiding their concern, but, then again, they think I’m asleep. It’s obvious they’re talking to Daddy on the phone. He met us at the hospital earlier and left when my procedure was finished. Miller had class this afternoon, but was there this morning, too. I’m sure if he were here, he would be throwing in his two cents, as usual.

  I walk over to my favorite piece of furniture, my antique vanity, and slowly unzip the loose fitting grey hoodie that I wore to the hospital. I make a mental note to get them in every color. Not very practical for the humid Louisiana heat, but, this will be my new normal. After the first layer of clothing comes off, I pause for a moment. I’m terrified to peel off my shirt. I know what to expect under the bandage covering my arm, but knowing what it looks like because I saw it on Google Images and seeing it on my body are two totally different things. I’ll be a walking billboard that something is wrong with me. If you see my arm, see my fistula, then the pity, the stares, and the questions will start. That is just something that I can’t deal with. That, and the fact that now I have a physical reminder of my disease.

  I suck in a huge breath and pull my shirt over my head, then sit and stare in the mirror. My pale blue eyes are staring back at me and look weak; exhausted. Huge, dark half circles are resting comfortably under my eyes. They don’t seem to be moving away anytime soon. Sleep has not come easy lately. Since that appointment with Dr. Amador last week I swear I haven’t slept. Shitty appointments with him are nothing new. We have had bad appointments for years now. That’s kind of our thing. However, this last one was the worst. That appointment a few weeks ago marked a downhill slide that I don’t know if I can recover from. But, this option was the lesser of two evils, so, here we are.

  I move my gaze back down to the glaring white bandage wrapped around my entire left forearm and take a huge breath.

  Here goes nothing.

  Bracing my arm against the top of my vanity, I wince at the pain shooting up my forearm. The medicine I had at the hospital is starting to wear off and that movement hurts like a bitch. I slowly unwrap the strips of tape holding the gauze in place. I let the gauze fall away, squeeze my eyes shut, and bite my lower lip until I can taste the metallic tang of blood.

  Opening one eye, I can see the fistula, the point of access for my dialysis. My arm is a swollen, red, angry, lumpy mess. It’s like a snake has crawled under my skin and taken up residence. I move my arm up and off the table and can feel the thumping of my blood through the fistula, letting me know that it’s doing its job. This is the first time I’ve actually put any real thought about what was going on in my arm, what the ramifications of my decision are, and it’s too much to handle.

  Hell, having blood drawn sometimes is too much to handle.

  All these lovely thoughts immediately make me feel a heavy, hot burning sensation in my stomach. The burning is slowly, painfully, making its way up my throat, growing hands in the process, which are squeezing and clawing my airway, trying to exit my body. I start sweating, panting, and I feel like I’m about to explode.

  Maggie is shaking me, yelling words that I just don’t have the mental capabilities to process. This may have been taking place for five seconds, minutes, or hours. I have no idea. This has never happened to me before. When I finally calm down, I take a look at what’s going on around me. Mom and Maggie are crying, Miller is on the floor with me, stroking my back, kissing my forehead, rocking me back and forth, and my room is a complete mess. Everything is off my once-perfectly organized vanity, there is broken glass all over the top of it and on the floor, clothes are thrown out of my dresser, and the duvet is off my bed. This looks like Maggie’s room after getting dressed for a night of partying, minus the glass.

  “Must have been some nap,” Miller chuckles, breaking the silence, his fingers still drawing soothing patterns along my spine.

  “Lucy, what the hell are you doing?” Maggie yells, tears staining her rosy cheeks.

  Mom just sits quietly, not really knowing what to say at this point. I don’t have a response for my best friend or my sister. I’m still staring into nothing and totally void of all thoughts and feelings. We just sit in the mess of my room, until Daddy pokes his head in the door.

  Aaaaand, this is when I totally lose my shit, again. Huge, ugly, shaking sobs leave my body. Tears and snot are coming ninety to nothing at Daddy and he takes it like a pro, like any father of two girls would. This is not something that is new to him. Momma and I are very emotional. He lets me have my cry, and when I am purged of all I have, he lifts me off the fl
oor, uses his shirt to dry my face, takes me to the kitchen, and makes me some hot chocolate, despite the summer heat.

  “So, Lucy Goosey, you wanna share what happened in your room?”

  “Do you see this shit in my arm?” I ask, shoving it under his eyes, without letting myself see it. I can’t go there again.

  “I’m pretty sure you knew what you were goin’ to the hospital for this mornin’, so let’s try again. What happened in there?”

  “I just wasn’t ready to see it. You know I hate people knowing about all of my issues. This is like a flashing, neon sign advertising that my kidney is total shit,” I lash out at my dad, but immediately feel bad. He shouldn’t be getting the brunt of my anger.

  “Luce, it’s kidney disease, not a goddamn STD,” dad bites back, earning my first smile in about a week.

  God, I love my Dad.

  Mom, Maggie, and Miller come out of my room when they hear the deep chuckling coming from Dad. Maggie goes and sits right next to Daddy, and Miller immediately comes to kneel beside me, his eyes full of concern.

  “You good, Goose?” he whispers along my temple.

  “I will be when y’all quit with that stupid nickname that should have been dropped ages ago.”

  The only reply I get is a loud smack of a kiss. He knows I’m better now. He also knows that even though I act like I hate it, I secretly love that they call me “Goose.” Yes, it’s silly, but it reminds me of being a kid. It reminds me of when my body wasn’t broken and useless. It reminds me of being happy and whole.

  My anxiety has decreased since my freak out and a cup of Daddy’s hot chocolate. I’ll be fine, as long as I don’t have to think about what’s coming next month. I just have to focus on other things. First up, shopping for long sleeve shirts to hide my new accessory.

  The family stays most of the night, making sure I don’t freak out again. They talk about anything and everything, except for the giant elephant in the room. Mom is uncharacteristically quiet through the entire ordeal. Out of all of us, she has the hardest time dealing with everything happening with me. Mom found out after she had me and Maggie that she had Polycystic Kidney Disease. It wasn’t until I was eight years old that we discovered that she had passed that pesky little gene down to me. Mom doesn’t have many issues from it, but, if it’s a symptom, I’ve had it. Kidney infections, high blood pressure, headaches, back pain, kidney stones, and the latest, kidney failure. I’ve had nothing but trouble from the start. Mom carries an enormous amount of guilt about the whole thing, and it really puts an emotional strain on her. Every time I have a one of my little tantrums or a medical setback, she takes it as a personal shot to her and her worth as a mother. It’s not rational, but most mothers are not rational when their children are suffering. When I was old enough to realize what I was putting my mother through, I made the decision that I would never have kids….I wouldn’t do this to them. It wasn’t until later that I would learn that the decision wasn’t mine to make. Kids weren’t ever to be a part of my future. My body can’t handle the risks of carrying a child. It’s just not in the cards for me.

  Maggie wants to stay home with me tonight, which means Hell has frozen over. Maggie is a partier. She’s smart as a whip, but I’m pretty sure the reason she’s in college is to socialize. She’s going on two years, has a 4.0, and still has no idea what she wants to do with her life.

  I can’t have my baby sister hovering tonight. My parents probably put her on suicide watch after what I did earlier, but I’m honestly fine. I just had to get it out... it just happened to come out like I was a psychotic person.

  It happens. I’m over it.

  “Maggie, please, just go. Nothing is going to happen. I can’t take the hovering and the crazy looks. I’ll be fine. I’ll probably just go to bed.”

  “Do you really think I’m going drinking after you just flipped the fuck out like that?! That was one for the record books. What if you do it again?” Maggie is eyeing me suspiciously.

  “I’m not. And, Miller is here.”

  “Why does Miller get to be here?” She’s yelling at this point. Maggie has no control over her voice when she’s the least bit emotional.

  “Because Miller won’t sit and stare at me with crazy eyes like you will. Miller will stay in his room and check on me from time to time. He won’t hover. Miller knows how to give space. You, my sweet, loud, smothering, sister, don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  Maggie has been attached at my hip since she was old enough to follow me around. I love her more than anything in the world, but I want her gone right now. And, if every weekend of her life is any indication, she will find one of her “friends” to spend the night with and I won’t see her until morning.

  “Fine, but Miller better call me the second you need anything. And, I won’t even drink in case I need to come home.”

  I roll my eyes and shove her off the couch. She walks down the hall, screaming at Miller to come talk to her while she dresses to go out. I’m assuming she will be lecturing him on how to take care of me while she’s gone. She’s wasting her breath--Miller knows me better than he knows himself. And, the truth is, he’s the only person I want home with me tonight.

  When I get out the shower, Maggie is gone, and Miller is sitting on the couch flipping through the DVR. His hair is in need of a cut, his face is in need of a shave, and he looks exhausted.

  God, what am I doing to everyone?

  I get settled right into his lap and he wraps me in his arms. I feel a long, jagged exhale leaving his chest.

  “You scared the shit out of me earlier. You can’t do that again. If you start feeling like that, you get me first. Don’t try to take things on alone.”

  “All I did was take off a bandage. How was I supposed to know I would flip out?”

  “I knew you would flip out. You can’t get a shot without a pep talk. What did you expect, Goose? You did not tell your mom or Maggie that you were doing that. I got home and they said you were takin’ a nap. I wanted help you take it off when you woke up. I wanted to be there for you. You can’t do shit like that alone. You know that, Lucy. Next thing I know, it sounds like you’re fighting off a fucking attacker in there.”

  As Miller is talking, I soak in all of his words. They are settling in my chest, making me feel warmth and love. Emotion takes over, my face and throat gets hot, the tears start to build up. Miller knows I needed him with me for this. He knows me so well. Tears are falling by the time he’s finished talking because I love this man so much. He knew this would happen. And, like always, he wanted to be there for me.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” I hate disappointing Miller.

  “Don’t apologize to me for what you did. And don’t cry. You know it kills me,” he says, gently wiping the tears from my face with the pads of his thumbs. “You have to let that shit out, Goose, before it gets to be too much. Let me know how you feel before it gets quite that….psychotic.”

  “I will. Thank you, and I love you.”

  “Love you more. Now, enough of this chick shit. I can’t handle any more today. The way I figure it, you got the emotional breakdown, I fixed it, so I get to pick what we watch.”

  My shitty day ended with me laid out on the couch in the arms of Miller, watching one of the many storage auction reality shows that he’s obsessed with. I wasn’t all that interested in the show. I was whispering thanks above for the blessings of my family and Miller.

  Chapter Two

  I stick close to the apartment for the next few days, but that’s not anything out of the ordinary. I’m not one to be social. Miller and Maggie are my only real friends, which is pretty pathetic considering I’m in college. About as pathetic as the fact that Maggie is my sister, so it probably doesn’t even count. I mean, she has to be my friend, we’re related. When I was younger I had more friends than I could count. But, since the one thing in my life that meant the most to me has been taken away, I have cut myself off from everyone. That’s not an option wit
h Miller and Maggie. I can’t get rid of those two, even if I want to.

  I lived and breathed gymnastics when I was younger. I started taking classes right after I was diagnosed with PKD, and, right away, my coaches saw my potential and natural talent. After a few months in recreational classes, I was asked to join the competition team. This became my life force. I spent every waking moment at the gym training, practicing, learning routines, and getting ready for meets. The fact that I found something I physically excelled at made me feel normal, whole, and alive. My body, however, didn’t get the memo. I put it through hell. It tried its hardest to keep up with my demands. My lab work was all over the place at each six month checkup because of dehydration, I would pass out during conditioning because of my blood pressure and blood sugar issues, bones would break and take longer than normal to heal, I had tendonitis in any part of my body that it was possible to get it, but I refused to stop. Dr. Amador, my nephrologist, tried to get me to stop each time I sat in his office during my appointments, but I would not budge about this. I would not give up the one thing that meant anything to me. Mom actually sided with me, saying the psychological ramifications of me quitting would be too much for me to deal with.

  I pushed and pushed until my body decided to pay me back in the worst way possible. Early during my junior year in high school, my right kidney had atrophied so bad it was barely functioning. To keep from putting too much stress on the left one, we had to remove it. Thus, the tragic end of my too-short gymnastics career. Out the window went all my plans for a college gym scholarship, which my coaches were pretty confident about. I already had several colleges scouting me.

  My new plan is to get a Kinesiology degree and coach at my old gym. Maybe one day I will even open my own. If I can’t do gymnastics, at least I can still have it in my life in some capacity. I just hope I can handle it.