Hope for Tomorrow
Page 22
“We’re going to lift you up and place you on the bed,” James said. “This may hurt, son, but we’ll make it quick.” He slid his hands under Ted’s arms; Becker had the patient’s hips.
Ted visibly gritted his teeth.
James gave Becker a one, two, three count. Together they hefted the boy. Ted sucked in a quick breath and then was safely on the bed.
Becker adjusted the IV pole and pulled the gurney away. “He’s all yours, James. I promised you’d take real good care of him.”
Becker left, and James went to work adjusting the boy’s position in the bed and checking the dressing on his wound. The kid had lost his right leg just above the knee, leaving him with nothing but a stump.
“How’s your pain level?” The doctor’s orders included pain medication as needed.
“I can handle it.” He squared his jaw tough-guy style.
“How’d you mess up your leg?” James asked.
“I hit a patch of gravel. The bike slid and took me with it.” Ted turned his head away. “It would’ve been better if it had killed me instead of turning me into a stupid cripple.”
James’s breath caught in his lungs and he felt a stab of sympathy. Depression and grief for a physical loss weren’t unusual, and Ted was experiencing both.
“They’re doing a lot of good things with prosthetics these days, Ted. You’ll be surprised how quickly you’ll be up and walking under your own steam again.”
The boy’s head whipped back, and he glared up at James with a combination of anger and regret. “I’m a soccer player, man. Soccer players don’t walk. They run!”
James had vaguely recognized the Townsend name, and now he realized he’d read about Ted in the local paper—a star high school athlete with a great future ahead of him.
A future that a single moment of carelessness had suddenly reshaped.
“Maybe you’ll be the first soccer player at your school with a prosthesis,” James said in an effort to provide encouragement.
The boy hissed out an expletive. “Get outta here, man. You don’t know anything about me or soccer or anything else.” Awkwardly, he rolled onto his side, presenting James with his back.
Knowing further conversation was useless, James left and went to the small lounge where the Townsends were waiting. Sitting together on a love seat holding hands, they looked as forlorn as their son, but less angry.
Mrs. Townsend hopped to her feet. “Can we go back to his room now?”
“In just a minute,” James said. “He’s grieving for his lost leg and he’ll go through all the stages of grief just as he would if he’d lost a loved one. He’ll be angry at everyone—probably including you, himself and even God.”
“Oh, dear.” Cynthia covered her mouth with her hand and more tears welled in her eyes.
Mr. Townsend looped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “I wish I’d never given him permission to ride that bike. It’s all my fault.”
“Blaming yourselves won’t be productive,” James said gently.
“Hard not to,” Mr. Townsend said.
James nodded that he understood.
“Rest assured, I’m not going to let my boy out of my sight ever again,” Cynthia announced.
A smile tugged at James’s lips. Typical mom reaction. But it was still going to be a rocky road for the entire family over the next several months, long after Ted was discharged from Hope Haven.
He didn’t envy them the ride.
Before James could take a break for lunch, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Because of his wife’s illness and the fear that she might need him, he always carried the phone with him.
He checked the number. Fern. His chest tightened with anxiety as he brought the phone to his ear. “Hi, sweetheart. Are you all right?”
“I’m just leaving Dr. Chopra’s office. She’s calling in a new prescription for me.” Fern audibly took a breath—simply talking had become an effort for her. He was glad her mother went with her to appointments. “Could you pick it up on your way home?”
“Of course. Sure you don’t need it sooner? I can run out on my lunch break.”
“No, she gave me a couple of samples. I’ll be fine ’til evening.”
“Okay, but get some rest this afternoon. Don’t overdo it.”
After telling Fern good-bye, James slipped the cell back into his pocket and closed his eyes. What were they going to do when the pay cut kicked in? How was he going to tell Fern? Then he remembered what he had told his friends that morning about leaving things in God’s hands.
Please, God, help my wife.
A Note from the Editors
Guideposts, a nonprofit organization, touches millions of lives every day through products and services that inspire, encourage, and uplift. Our magazines, books, prayer network, and outreach programs help people connect their faith-filled values to their daily lives.
Your purchase of Stories from Hope Haven does make a difference! To comfort hospitalized children, Guideposts Outreach has created Comfort Kits for free distribution. A hospital can be a very scary place for sick children. With all the hustle and bustle going on around them, the strange surroundings, and the pain they’re experiencing, is it any wonder kids need a little relief?
Inside each easy-to-carry Comfort Kit is a prayer card, a journal, a pack of crayons, an “I’m Special” wristband to wear alongside the hospital-issued one, and a plush golden star pillow to cuddle. It’s a welcome gift and has a powerful effect in helping to soothe a child’s fears.
To learn more about our many nonprofit outreach programs, please visit GuidepostsFoundation.org.