Fixing His Broken Ballerina: Volume 1

by Sheila Holmes

  “Now I understand all the negative comments about hospital food,” she responded with a hint of a smile. However, since she didn’t know him, she assumed he either thought she was someone else, or thought there was a known roommate behind the long curtain next to her bed. “This is a single occupancy room, if you were looking for someone else.” His good looks notwithstanding, she hoped he would leave and do it soon.

  Taking a few more steps into the room, Conyer edged to the foot of Giselle’s bed. He had sat directly beside her several days, even holding her hand, but she’d never been awake. It might frighten her if he showed a familiarity that was strictly one-sided, so he kept the length of the bed between them.

  Looking at the charts hanging from the end of her bed, Conyer looked down at them. Lifting his head back up, acting as though he had just now read her name from her charts, he said, “Hello, Giselle. My name is Conyer.”

  A quick wave of nausea caught her. She suspected it was from the pudding. It made it difficult to converse. “Hi… What was your name?”

  “Conyer.”

  “Hi, Conyer.” No sooner had she spoken, when she said she was going to be sick. Conyer quickly moved himself, although unsteadily, on his crutches to her side. Almost falling, he grabbed the kidney-shaped pan from her bedside table and held it under her chin. Before she could even grab hold of it herself, she heaved into it, bringing up not only her pudding, but other bits of unidentifiable content. Needless to say, she was totally mortified, especially when she could see splatters on Conyer’s expensive nightwear.

  Sensing her discomfort at his presence, Conyer said he was going to leave and get the nurse to come in. Giselle was thrilled when he left. She hoped he wouldn’t return along with the nurse. She’d had enough embarrassment for one day. Conyer, huh?… it was nice of him to come in and check on her. Did she really just throw up on that handsome young man?! So much for any attraction to her on his part. He was no doubt totally grossed out! Maybe with any luck she wouldn’t run into him ever again while here at the hospital! Her embarrassment ran deeper than having just thrown up while he watched. For some reason his presence had caused her to search the extent of her injuries.

  Chapter 3

  It was the first time since being admitted, and right after Conyer’s visit, Giselle had had the bravery to unwrap her blanket, exposing the entirety of her “brokenness.” She only had the courage to do so after the nurse came and cleaned her up after her vomiting had ended, then left, and her door was shut, with no one being party to the self-examination.

  When Giselle saw all the raw damage done to her previously pristine torso and legs, she knew that no man would ever want her in this lifetime. Even to her, it seemed strange that her first consideration was about a future mate. But, the second contemplation was what ramifications there would be to her dancing. She was supposed to have already left on tour. No, no… oh, no!

  As quiet tears ran down her cheeks, Giselle removed the bandaging from every location, groaning loudly in horror at each newly exposed laceration, each precariously held together with black sutures. Against her fair skin, the sutures appeared to be made of the blackest black she’d ever seen.

  “No!” escaped her lips with each new wound discovered, until fourteen leg and torso injuries made themselves known.

  Once Giselle had finished her examination, it occurred to her that she’d never checked her arms, and there was one particularly sore place in her right arm crease. Pulling up the sleeves of her hospital garb, she was horrified to find seven more places between them that were red, raw, and held together by the bold black “thread.” By now she was beside herself, and the tears began to stream in serious torrents.

  Somehow in her distress, she thought subconsciously that she could escape her ravaged body if she ran away… far, far away! And, with that thought in the recesses of her mind, Giselle threw off all her covers, carelessly threw her legs over one side of the bed, and practically jumped out onto the floor to begin her escape. Unfortunately, her new knee screw, while insuring her leg would remain functional, was in no condition to have her body weight balanced on it yet. It was, after all, a serious surgical procedure, which would need plenty of time to heal. Not to mention all the rehabilitation ahead of her.

  As was inevitable, Giselle splatted on the floor. Splatted? Well, actually more like a thrrr…ump. It was loud, and although the floor didn’t shake to alert the staff, the sound of unknown origin reached down the hall to the nurses’ station. If the sound of her fall hadn’t, the scream that emitted from her mouth simultaneously would have brought help from any of the staff on the floor. Before one could count to three, Giselle was surrounded by three nurses, one orderly, a maintenance worker, and Dr. Timeron. The doctor had actually been walking down the hall to her room when the fall occurred, so he was the first to arrive at the scene.

  “Pick her up carefully,” Dr. Timeron instructed the three nurses, when they’d entered the room. Her body being limp, however, nothing more than dead weight, they couldn’t seem to get a sturdy hold on her. When it became apparent they weren’t going to be able to lift her, the doctor turned to the husky maintenance man and asked if he thought he could lift her up onto the bed. Nodding his head, he stepped forward and the nurses parted. As though she were practically weightless, he swooped her up and placed her on the bed, gently laying her head back on the pillow. Dr. Timeron thanked him, and although he didn’t tell him, or any of the others to get out, he might as well have, because they all knew instinctively that he no longer wanted any of them in the room.

  As they exited, all five of them kept their eyes locked on the willowy young woman, who was conscious and unabashedly wailing. Her deep sobs grabbed the hearts of all of them, and as they walked out the door, each one was already trying to mentally come up with some way they could return with some little gift or prize that might lighten her physical and emotional load, if only for a moment.

  While Dr. Timeron felt no less compassionate, he felt the need to keep a modicum of professionalism, so he stood erect at the foot of her bed, referring continually to her charts so that he wouldn’t have to look at her in the face, and began.

  “Giselle, what were you doing out of bed? I gave express instructions to the nursing staff that you are to remain in bed for at least two more days. You shouldn’t be putting weight on that leg yet. It’s far too fragile at this point.”

  When she didn’t acknowledge anything he said, he didn’t know what to do other than continue.

  “I’m assuming, since several of your bandages are on the floor, you’ve seen the extent of the work we’ve accomplished thus far.” The extent of the work we’ve accomplished??? Even to him it sounded stilted… and lame.

  “Obviously your knee is weak. We’ve placed a screw in it to assure that you’ll have a measure of functionality in the future. In addition…”

  “‘Level of functionality?’” Giselle asked, in a cross between a whisper and a sob.

  “Well, yes. After rehabilitation is completed, you’ll be able to return to daily activities with hopefully no pain, and few limitations.”

  “Doctor…” Giselle began, with actual fear in her voice. “I’m a dancer. I need both my legs fully functional! Will they both be ok after rehabilitation?” Giselle thought her question perfectly reasonable. She knew her legs would bare some ugly and permanent scars, but when she danced, she always wore tights, so their damage would be hidden.

  At this point, before beginning to speak, Dr. Timeron decided he needed to sit and speak with her at eye level. It wouldn’t change what he had to say, but it seemed less cold and detached.

  “Giselle. You have extensive muscle damage in your leg,” he said, pointing to the same leg that now housed a metal screw in its knee joint. “These two lacerations”, he continued, pointing to the two largest ones beneath the knee, “tore into the muscle. And, while you’ll be able to walk…” He didn’t know how to end this sentence.

  “God! Oh, God, no!�
�� Giselle was a believer, but no matter how one tried to excuse it, there was no communication between she and the Lord at that moment. It was what it was, the reflexive cry of general pleading for help from anyone or anything “out there” that had power over what was happening.

  “You’re saying I won’t be able to dance again?! Is that what you’re saying?!” Her voice was loud and urgent. At the very moment her questions were out, she belted out a frightening yelp, which was followed by echoing cries of helplessness. When a nurse immediately showed at the door of Giselle’s room in response to her cries, the doctor mouthed to her to close the door, everything was ok.

  “Where is your family, Giselle?” When she didn’t respond, he asked again, “Your family, Miss Danvers, where are they?”

  “My mother and father are missionaries. They’re in Zimbabwe. They’re ‘church planters.’ I won’t bother them with this. There’s nothing they can do. I don’t want them to see me like this anyway. I’ll let them know after I’m up and dancing again. I will dance again! I have to dance again!!”

  “Give me the number they can be reached at. I’ll call and talk to them myself, so I can answer any of their questions. And, maybe I can put their minds to rest about everything.”

  Shaking her head with an unequivocal no, she re-iterated that she would not be telling them right now, and vehemently refused to tell him their contact information. When his jaw began to set firmly, as though he would demand the information, she reminded him that she was of age, and this was her decision to make, not his.

  Seeing that she wasn’t going to give on this, he tried another approach.

  “Ok. What is your current address? And, who is around that can help you when you leave the hospital?”

  This she decided to respond to, but it didn’t help the doctor any.

  “I’ve just returned from being away at school. I was selected as part of the company to go on tour. I only came back here because it seemed familiar. This is where I grew up and where my home church is. I’m staying in a motel. I was supposed to be leaving to meet the rest of the company as soon as I came here long enough to do a few things to close out here.” Even as she spoke, she was thinking, What things do I have to close out? Mom and Dad put all my belongings in storage, and even with the key, I don’t need to go there and retrieve anything from the storage unit. I won’t need any of it until after the tour, and maybe not even then!

  In reality, the only thing Giselle needed yet to do before leaving was buy a handful of cosmetics and toiletries, get a new pair of soft dance slippers, and renew and pick up her allergy prescription. She was planning to go to Open Door of Faith, her home church, at least once before leaving, but realized that after being gone for four years to school, she didn’t even know who she would say goodbye to there.

  Out of the blue, Giselle forgot all else momentarily. Her eyes became even larger than they normally were. Dr. Timeron noticed and asked her if she was ok.

  “Doctor, how is all this being paid for? My parents have a little insurance to help out with this, but it will in no way cover all this! And, I don’t have any employment now that I’m not touring with my dance company!

  “What about the other car? They’re going to pay, right? It was their fault, not mine!” Her voice was raising to a pitch unacceptable in the hospital. She was speaking so loud that she could be heard up and down the hall.

  Dr. Timeron jumped in before Giselle’s uncontrolled anger and frustration got anymore out of control.

  “Miss Danvers. Please lower your voice, and I’ll explain.”

  When Giselle quieted down, Dr. Timeron told her simply that he wasn’t able to tell her by what means the bill would be paid, only that it was taken care of in its entirety. Including all present and future rehabilitation.

  “Who’s paying?” she asked.

  “Miss Danvers, I’m not in a position to supply you with that information, but it is true. The entirety is being taken care of.” Dr. Timeron knew this information, because Conyer had given him the ok to send all bills to him at his aunt’s house. He didn’t plan to even defer to any insurance his aunt had. At least not at this juncture. And, he told the doctor that he could put Giselle’s mind to rest on this, should she ask, but he could not tell her he would be making financial restitution. When Dr. Timeron gave indication that he thought maybe Giselle should be told, he in no uncertain terms advised the good doctor that as he said before… he would be paying and she was not to know. Before he would let it go, Conyer had extracted a promise from the doctor that he would abide by Conyer’s decision.

  Once Giselle had calmed down to a semblance of calmness, Dr. Timeron advised her that she would be moving to a regular care floor, and that rehabilitation would begin.

  “You mean… today?” Giselle asked, now breathing more normally.

  “Actually, I’d like you to remain here until tomorrow morning. You’ll be moved then.”

  After trying one last time to get Giselle’s family information -to no avail- Dr. Timeron told her he’d see her tomorrow in her new room and Giselle’s “real work” would start.

  Chapter 4

  Barely on the heels of Dr. Timeron clearing the door frame while exiting her room, Giselle was horrified when Conyer entered her small domain. She hadn’t forgotten the vomiting-ordeal, and she was quite sure he hadn’t either.

  “Good morning!” Conyer said, with his big, bright smile and adorable crinkled eyes. Although he sported a number of face and neck bruises, he was extremely attractive, there was no doubt about it. It was unsettling. It somehow made Giselle feel more vulnerable.

  She was understandably feeling emotionally down after her talk with Dr. Timeron and it could be seen in her countenance.

  “Hello, Connor.” It was stated crisply and matter-of-fact. There was no warmth at all in Giselle’s greeting. And, if that weren’t unwelcoming enough to Conyer, she was looking down at her hands when she spoke.

  “It’s Conyer, but my friends and family call me…” He hadn’t been given even the required second to say his nickname. So, she didn’t know that he was going to disclose that his nickname was Connie.

  “I’m sorry,… Conyer.”

  “I’ve been moved down two floors,” he said, “and have been involved with the rehabilitation, so that’s why it’s been a while since I’ve been here to see how you’re doing,”

  “Oh.” It was all she could summon up.

  “Uh… I can see that maybe this is a bad time to come visit, but I actually came for two reasons.”

  When Giselle raised her eyes to him, he figured he’d better quickly take advantage of it, before she closed down again.

  “Um… I brought you this,” Conyer said, as he offered Giselle a Bible. “I thought you might enjoy having something to read while you’re in the hospital. And, you can take it home with you when you leave.”

  Giselle was still in a fitful mood, angry at the doctor, angry at her circumstances, and angry with whoever caused this mayhem in her life. She couldn’t even conjure up a pretend gratefulness. Instead she almost barked at him.

  “I’m a Christian. I have my own Bible!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I just didn’t see one anywhere in the room when I was here to see you last time, so I thought maybe you’d like having it.”

  When Giselle still didn’t take the Bible from his hand, he walked on his crutches, with the Bible under his arm, over to Giselle’s bedside table and laid it gently on its surface.

  Giselle didn’t respond in any way. No spoken thank you. No instructions to remove it. Nothing.

  “You said there were two reasons you came to see me. What’s the other?” Giselle had not spoken these words in any semblance of graciousness or invitation to a cordial visit between them. More of a hurry-up-and-get-your-business-done-and-leave directive.

  “Oh, yes… well… I needed to tell you something. And, it’s pretty important…”

  “Well, tell me and then. I really need to get some rest.�
�

  “Oh, yes… you do need plenty of rest before starting rehabilitation.”

  “How’d you know I’d be doing rehabilitation here?” Giselle demanded. “Who told you?!”

  “Well, I guess I just assumed. You’ve been in ICU for days. They wouldn’t have brought you up here if your injuries didn’t need further attending.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Well, anyway… what did you need to tell me?”

  Conyer had a choice between two chairs. One was at the wall at the foot of Giselle’s bed, and the other was directly next to her bed. Somehow in her present mood, he felt like he’d be pushing his luck sitting anywhere close to her, so he maneuvered his way to the chair that was further away. It seemed too far, though, so he pulled it a couple of feet closer to her proximity.

  “Well… I’m not sure what you remember about your accident… I mean, do you remember anything from your accident?”

  “No, I only remember a big black fancy car coming towards me…” Giselle started, but stopped and instead ended it with, “Why?”

  “Well, Giselle,… um, I was in that car that hit you. And… well, I’m just so sorry…”

  “You did this?!” With a huge movement that actually caused renewed pain in the sutured elbow bend, Giselle swept away the blanket and revealed all the bandages covering her legs.

  Before even giving Conyer a moment to explain he wasn’t the one driving, she raged on.

  “Take a good look! And, these don’t count all the stitches in my stomach and arms! And, here… here, look at this knee! When you ran me down, did it ever occur to you that the person you hit was a dancer, someone who might need their legs for more than just standing on! I’m supposed to be leaving on a European tour, but not now! Not now! According to Dr. Timeron,” she said, in biting and accusatory terms, “because of your carelessness, I not only won’t be going on this tour, I won’t ever dance again!” By now, Giselle was crying so hard, she couldn’t speak momentarily, which was probably good, since her now-uncontrolled tongue would have spewed forth such ugliness that the venom of the words would have rendered Conyer poisoned beyond anything he’d ever experienced in his life.