"Lydia!" I yell as I walk in the door, tossing my briefcase on the
table. She never comes running to greet me, but she always responds by
yelling 'Terry' louder than me.
It's one of the funny things about her. She always has to be louder, tougher, smarter, better in everyway.
I don't get the answer, but instead the phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Mr. McGinnis?" I wish that just once I could pick up the phone and hear a friendly voice say 'Terry'. But it's like I've lost my first name ever since I entered this house.
"This is he."
"Your wife, Lydia, was checked into Gotham General Hospital a few hours ago. We need you to come down here right away." Normal people would panic and rush. I take my time.
There's nothing wrong with Lyd. Nothing ever happens to Lyd.
She probably scraped her arm and didn't feel like putting a bandage on it. She probably ran around with that open wound until someone insisted she do something about it.
It's exactly the kind of reason Lydia would be in a hospital, because there's no other reason. She doesn't get sick, and she doesn't get into accidents. It's just something Lydia doesn't do.
I wander down the white, immaculate halls of the ER, remembering the last time I was here it was for something good, for the birth of my daughters.
It's a better memory than all the times I was here with Mr. Wayne.
I reach Lydia's room, although I wonder why they bother giving her a room at all. You'd have to hog-tie Lydia to get her to stay in a room. A nurse stands outside of it. She catches sight of me and looks incredibly nervous.
"Mr. McGinnis?" She murmurs.
"That's me. Is Lydia in there?" The nurse hesitates a minute. It's either this girl's first day, or I've become too much like Mr. Wayne- intimidating everyone I meet.
"Yes, your wife's in there, but she's asleep. I need to tell you a few things first though." I crack a smile. Lyd probably did something incredibly foolish again. She broke a leg on a dig once because she wanted to test the booby traps in some ancient pyramid. Later on she explained to me that if anything serious had happened to her leg, she still had another one. Lydia's always doing incredibly foolish things.
"Your wife collapsed on her way to work this morning. Some of her colleagues had her sent here." Even Lydia has to get old sometime. She's probably gotten some normal physical weakness that eventually gets everyone. Of course, in true Lydia-fashion she'll pretend it doesn't exist.
"What was wrong with her?" The nurse takes a deep sigh.
"At first, sir, it was thought to be normal arthritis, or something else of that nature. However, we did some tests-"She stops and sighs again. This nurse does a hell of a lot of sighing.
I feel slight waves of panic creeping into my body.
"What is it? Is she going to be all right?" I manage to stay calm, despite the fact that I'm trying desperately to convince myself that there's nothing wrong with her, that there's got to be a mistake. There's never anything wrong with Lydia. It's just not part of the order of the world.
"It's very serious sir." Serious? What the hell could possibly happen to Lydia? She wouldn't allow anything serious to happen to her.
But I recognize that feeling of tightness I get when I know something is truly wrong. And I hate that feeling because it always means something bad is about to happen.
The nurse opens her mouth. If she sighs one more time, I swear I'll break her neck.
"Maybe we should go somewhere else and talk sir." I stare straight at her. I never understand why people say 'let's go somewhere else and talk about it'. Like the news is going to be any less severe if we go to another room.
"What's wrong with my wife?" I growl. She jumps at the sound of my voice, but I'm through being patient.
"Your wife has contracted a disease known as Sense Dehabilitation Disorder, or SDS. The various senses of the body, from sight and hearing to smell, taste, and physical feeling, begin to break down and fail until the entire central nervous system collapses." That's insane. Lydia cannot go blind or deaf or lose the ability to feel her hand in mine. Lydia would not allow such a thing to happen to her. It's a setback, that's all, and it'll disappear.
"At this time sir," The nurse sighs one last time.
It'll get better. She'll be cured.
Right?
"We have no cure."
This can't be happening. Lydia cannot be dying. It's as ridiculous as saying that the earth is the center of the universe.
Lydia is the calm and fearless center of her own universe.
She's also the calm and fearless center of MY universe. And I've just been told that she's going to slowly and painfully die.
I feel an arm clench onto mine, and I open my eyes to see the nurse supporting me. I realize that I just fainted into a chair.
"Are you all right, sir?" Yeah. Lydia, the one unflinching, constantly steady rock in my life is going to die and I'm all right.
"No." I reply.
"There's something we can do. There has to be something we can do!" I yell. People walking through the halls glare at me like I'm interrupting the serenity of the hospital.
"Sir." The nurse says, frightened but firm.
"There's nothing we can do. I'm sorry." She turns and walks away.
This can't be happening.
I immediately charge into Lydia's room. She lies in the bed, eyes closed, the hand on her stomach moving gently up and down as she breathes.
See? There's nothing wrong with her. She looks fine.
I try to convince myself of that, but I know that ignoring what you don't want to hear won't make it go away.
Lydia opens her eyes.
"Terry." She says, giving me her small smirk.
I've always had this. Even through Wayne-Powers, Batman, and everything else in my life, I've always had her and I've always had the little things she does, the little childish competitions we have with each other. I've always had her arguing with me and simultaneously supporting me in everything I do.
I feel a lump forming in my throat because I realize that I'm not going to always have her.
Does she know? Does she have any idea that she's been taken over by this horrible disease, something that even she can't stop?
If she doesn't, I can't bear to tell her. But while I sit there, wondering how to tell Lydia that she's going to die, she does what she's done her entire life- beaten me to it.
"It's bad, isn't it?" She murmurs. I nod.
"I'm not going to die, am I?" Lydia says, laughing. I almost cry. I've cried more than any man I know.
Then again, I have more to cry about than any man I know.
I say nothing, and Lydia's face goes pale. She stares down at her slightly wrinkled hands for a moment.
"They told me what it was, but they didn't bother to tell me that it was going to be the end of me." Lydia's voice hardens. She fights things with anger because that's how she always wins. But when you know the outcome, what's the point of fighting it?
I take Lydia's hand, watching her face go through several emotions as she frantically tries to find one that's not going to make her seem weak.
"I'm sorry, Terry." She finally whispers. She's apologizing to me for having to die.
This can't be happening.
I force the tears back into my eyes, refusing to let them fall.
I can't be weak either. Have to be strong, have to be mature. Have to be like Wayne and like Dad, who were able to face their greatest fears and never flinch.
But the difference is that theirs were never realized. Mine take place before my very eyes.
It's one of the funny things about her. She always has to be louder, tougher, smarter, better in everyway.
I don't get the answer, but instead the phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Mr. McGinnis?" I wish that just once I could pick up the phone and hear a friendly voice say 'Terry'. But it's like I've lost my first name ever since I entered this house.
"This is he."
"Your wife, Lydia, was checked into Gotham General Hospital a few hours ago. We need you to come down here right away." Normal people would panic and rush. I take my time.
There's nothing wrong with Lyd. Nothing ever happens to Lyd.
She probably scraped her arm and didn't feel like putting a bandage on it. She probably ran around with that open wound until someone insisted she do something about it.
It's exactly the kind of reason Lydia would be in a hospital, because there's no other reason. She doesn't get sick, and she doesn't get into accidents. It's just something Lydia doesn't do.
I wander down the white, immaculate halls of the ER, remembering the last time I was here it was for something good, for the birth of my daughters.
It's a better memory than all the times I was here with Mr. Wayne.
I reach Lydia's room, although I wonder why they bother giving her a room at all. You'd have to hog-tie Lydia to get her to stay in a room. A nurse stands outside of it. She catches sight of me and looks incredibly nervous.
"Mr. McGinnis?" She murmurs.
"That's me. Is Lydia in there?" The nurse hesitates a minute. It's either this girl's first day, or I've become too much like Mr. Wayne- intimidating everyone I meet.
"Yes, your wife's in there, but she's asleep. I need to tell you a few things first though." I crack a smile. Lyd probably did something incredibly foolish again. She broke a leg on a dig once because she wanted to test the booby traps in some ancient pyramid. Later on she explained to me that if anything serious had happened to her leg, she still had another one. Lydia's always doing incredibly foolish things.
"Your wife collapsed on her way to work this morning. Some of her colleagues had her sent here." Even Lydia has to get old sometime. She's probably gotten some normal physical weakness that eventually gets everyone. Of course, in true Lydia-fashion she'll pretend it doesn't exist.
"What was wrong with her?" The nurse takes a deep sigh.
"At first, sir, it was thought to be normal arthritis, or something else of that nature. However, we did some tests-"She stops and sighs again. This nurse does a hell of a lot of sighing.
I feel slight waves of panic creeping into my body.
"What is it? Is she going to be all right?" I manage to stay calm, despite the fact that I'm trying desperately to convince myself that there's nothing wrong with her, that there's got to be a mistake. There's never anything wrong with Lydia. It's just not part of the order of the world.
"It's very serious sir." Serious? What the hell could possibly happen to Lydia? She wouldn't allow anything serious to happen to her.
But I recognize that feeling of tightness I get when I know something is truly wrong. And I hate that feeling because it always means something bad is about to happen.
The nurse opens her mouth. If she sighs one more time, I swear I'll break her neck.
"Maybe we should go somewhere else and talk sir." I stare straight at her. I never understand why people say 'let's go somewhere else and talk about it'. Like the news is going to be any less severe if we go to another room.
"What's wrong with my wife?" I growl. She jumps at the sound of my voice, but I'm through being patient.
"Your wife has contracted a disease known as Sense Dehabilitation Disorder, or SDS. The various senses of the body, from sight and hearing to smell, taste, and physical feeling, begin to break down and fail until the entire central nervous system collapses." That's insane. Lydia cannot go blind or deaf or lose the ability to feel her hand in mine. Lydia would not allow such a thing to happen to her. It's a setback, that's all, and it'll disappear.
"At this time sir," The nurse sighs one last time.
It'll get better. She'll be cured.
Right?
"We have no cure."
This can't be happening. Lydia cannot be dying. It's as ridiculous as saying that the earth is the center of the universe.
Lydia is the calm and fearless center of her own universe.
She's also the calm and fearless center of MY universe. And I've just been told that she's going to slowly and painfully die.
I feel an arm clench onto mine, and I open my eyes to see the nurse supporting me. I realize that I just fainted into a chair.
"Are you all right, sir?" Yeah. Lydia, the one unflinching, constantly steady rock in my life is going to die and I'm all right.
"No." I reply.
"There's something we can do. There has to be something we can do!" I yell. People walking through the halls glare at me like I'm interrupting the serenity of the hospital.
"Sir." The nurse says, frightened but firm.
"There's nothing we can do. I'm sorry." She turns and walks away.
This can't be happening.
I immediately charge into Lydia's room. She lies in the bed, eyes closed, the hand on her stomach moving gently up and down as she breathes.
See? There's nothing wrong with her. She looks fine.
I try to convince myself of that, but I know that ignoring what you don't want to hear won't make it go away.
Lydia opens her eyes.
"Terry." She says, giving me her small smirk.
I've always had this. Even through Wayne-Powers, Batman, and everything else in my life, I've always had her and I've always had the little things she does, the little childish competitions we have with each other. I've always had her arguing with me and simultaneously supporting me in everything I do.
I feel a lump forming in my throat because I realize that I'm not going to always have her.
Does she know? Does she have any idea that she's been taken over by this horrible disease, something that even she can't stop?
If she doesn't, I can't bear to tell her. But while I sit there, wondering how to tell Lydia that she's going to die, she does what she's done her entire life- beaten me to it.
"It's bad, isn't it?" She murmurs. I nod.
"I'm not going to die, am I?" Lydia says, laughing. I almost cry. I've cried more than any man I know.
Then again, I have more to cry about than any man I know.
I say nothing, and Lydia's face goes pale. She stares down at her slightly wrinkled hands for a moment.
"They told me what it was, but they didn't bother to tell me that it was going to be the end of me." Lydia's voice hardens. She fights things with anger because that's how she always wins. But when you know the outcome, what's the point of fighting it?
I take Lydia's hand, watching her face go through several emotions as she frantically tries to find one that's not going to make her seem weak.
"I'm sorry, Terry." She finally whispers. She's apologizing to me for having to die.
This can't be happening.
I force the tears back into my eyes, refusing to let them fall.
I can't be weak either. Have to be strong, have to be mature. Have to be like Wayne and like Dad, who were able to face their greatest fears and never flinch.
But the difference is that theirs were never realized. Mine take place before my very eyes.