“I know. Remember where the upper arm pressure point is?” She swallowed the bitter taste at the back of her throat. “We’re going to put our first-aid class to work.” She spoke each word slowly, separately, as if hearing herself from a distance.
“Remember? Right above the elbow.” She ground her teeth against the pain when David touched her arm. “Careful!”
“I can’t, Trish!”
“Yes, you can. Just pinch it hard.” She felt her knees begin to sag. She clutched the post with her left arm. “Can you feel the pulse?”
“Yes.” David clamped his fingers around her upper arm. He wrapped his other arm around her so she could lean against him. “Would you be better off sitting down?”
Trish shook her head. “Is Rhonda taking care of the horses?”
“Yes.”
Trish leaned her head on David’s chest. Between his arms and the fence she felt secure.
“Maybe we could just go in ourselves. Do you think we could make it?”
“Tri-ish. How would I get you into the pickup?”
“Just toss me in.” The fog seemed to be rolling in—everything looked hazy. “You know, like a bale of hay or a sack of feed.”
The truck plowed to a stop in front of them and Brad leaped out. “Here, I grabbed some blankets and a sleeping bag. If she goes into shock, we’re in real trouble.”
“We’re in…real…trouble…now,” Trish murmured.
“Lay that sleeping bag out and then help me get her down,” David instructed. “I can’t let go of her arm.”
Trish could hear David talking ever so faintly. The fog rolled in and out. “No-o-o!” She moaned as Brad lifted her as carefully as possible and, with David bracing her arm, laid her on the sleeping bag and covered her with the other blankets.
The siren wailed in the distance.
“Rhonda’ll show ’em where we are,” she heard Brad say.
“Mom’s…really…gonna be mad.” The pain wasn’t so bad if she didn’t move.
David knelt beside his sister, his fingers locked on the pressure point. “Don’t worry about that.”
“Mm-mmm.”
They cut the siren and the ambulance pulled up beside the threesome. Trish could hear doors slamming and then a woman’s smiling face was close to hers.
“Decided to take a tumble, eh?” The voice matched the smile.
“Okay, son.” A man’s voice carried the same degree of comfort. “You can let go of her arm now.”
“My ribs too—I think.” Trish barely lifted her head to see what they were doing.
“Just take it easy, Trish. I’m going to cut this sleeve off so we can look at that arm.” The pain changed from pulsing to piercing. “Compound fracture of the right radial,” he spoke to the woman jotting down the diagnosis. “Bleeding is slowing, we’ll splint and bandage.”
“Here.” The woman slipped a length of tubing around Trish’s head and adjusted the prongs in her nose. “A little oxygen is going to make this next part a bit easier for you.”
Trish gritted her teeth so hard she thought her jaw would break. She wasn’t sure whether it was tears or perspiration running into her ear.
When the arm was stabilized the medic said to her, “Now, you mentioned your ribs. Right side?”
Trish nodded. The lightest touch made her clench up again.
“Okay, let’s get you on a board and brace your neck.”
“Why? That doesn’t hurt.” Trish was puzzled.
“You’ve had what is called an ejection trauma. There could be spinal damage. We’ve got to take precautions. You don’t mind, do you?”
Trish nodded.
With efficiency and precision the two picked up the corners of the sleeping bag and hoisted her onto a wheeled gurney.
“I’ll follow you in the truck,” David told her.
“Sorry we can’t go skating,” Trish said when Rhonda leaned over the gurney.
Rhonda bit her lip. “Just take it easy, buddy. We’ll go skating another time.” She patted Trish’s good hand. “See you there.”
“Rhonda,” Trish called just above a whisper. “How’s Gatesby?”
“Ornery as ever, and my shoulder will be fine after a week or two.”
Trish smiled at her. “Thanks.”
“Ready?” the woman asked.
Trish nodded and they slid the whole contraption into the ambulance.
“Okay,” the woman spoke again. “I’m going to start an IV before we get rolling, so you’ll feel another prick.” She tied a rubber strap around Trish’s left arm. “How about a fist now? There, you’re an easy one.” She taped the needle and tubing in place and started the drip. “Okay, let’s roll.”
No matter how carefully they drove, every movement vibrated in Trish’s arm. The bumps in the road, slowing at intersections, then rolling the stretcher out at the hospital. Trish nearly fainted when they transferred her to an examining table in the emergency room.
She kept her eyes half closed to fade out the bright lights overhead.
“I’m going to get the rest of your clothes off,” a nurse spoke as she began removing Trish’s jeans before she could respond.
“It’s a bad break, isn’t it?” Trish forced herself to ask.
“Yeah, honey, you did it up royal this time.” The nurse smiled down at her. “But don’t you worry, we’re gonna fix you up just fine.”
Trish smiled back at the friendly dark face.
“Your mom’s here.” The nurse stepped back as Marge entered the room.
“I always knew I’d find you in the emergency ward someday.” Marge kissed Trish on the forehead. She looked at the nurse. “How bad is she?”
A man brusquely entered the room. “Once we take care of that arm, she’ll be fine. I’m Dr. Burnaby, and we’ve called in an orthopedic surgeon. We’ll get some X-rays, then as soon as we get the operating room ready, we’ll be on our way.” He stepped to the head of the gurney and spoke to Trish, “How’s that sound to you, young lady?”
Trish tried to smile around her tears.
With Trish flat on her back, the hospital took on a strange appearance for her. All she could really see were the ceiling tiles as they pushed the gurney through the halls.
When they entered another brightly lit room, they transferred her to another hard surface.
A man dressed in baggy green clothes took her hand. “I’m Dr. Johanson, your anesthesiologist. We’re going to put you to sleep for a while, Trish. And when you wake up, your mother will be right here, okay?”
Trish nodded. Do I have a choice?
“Hi there.”
Trish wished the voice would go away and let her sleep.
“Do you know what your name is?”
Trish forced her eyes open. “Tricia…Evanston.” Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton. It hurt to swallow. “Can I have a drink?”
“Not yet, but here’s an ice chip to suck on.”
The bit of liquid helped. Trish fell back into the chasm she’d been drifting in.
“Welcome back.” Marge smoothed the hair back from Trish’s brow.
“Hi, Mom.” Trish blinked her eyes open. This time the weights weren’t so heavy. And the light didn’t blind her.
Marge held a straw to Trish’s mouth. “I think a drink will make you feel lots better.”
Trish nodded as she sucked on the straw. “How come my throat is so dry?”
“From the anesthetic and the tube they put down your throat during surgery.”
“How’s my arm?”
“They had to pin and plate the bones back together. You have stitches where the broken bone pierced your arm and where they put the pin in.”
Trish thought a moment. “That’s why I was bleeding, huh?”
“Yes. You cracked a couple of ribs too, so you probably won’t want to laugh much for a while. Oh, and they put two stitches in that cut on your chin.”
“How come I’m so cold?”
“Could be that i
ce pack around the cast on your arm. Here, let me put another pillow under it so you won’t feel the cold so much. And I’ll get another blanket.”
Trish felt her eyes drooping again. “Won’t be riding for a while, right?”
“Right.” Marge patted her daughter’s cheek. “You sleep and I’ll go tell your dad how you’re doing. I love you, Trish.”
Trish smiled. “Me too. Tell Dad I’m okay.” She didn’t even hear her mother close the door.
The next twenty-four hours passed in a blur of pain, sleep, ice, faces coming and going—and thirst.
“Trish, you have company,” she heard her mother’s voice as if in the distance.
She blinked till she could see Rhonda, Brad, and David surrounding her bed. “Hi, guys.”
Marge placed the straw in Trish’s mouth again and she drank deeply.
“Boy, you sure scared us.” Rhonda shook her head.
“Me too.”
“We brought you something.” Brad set a ceramic horse planter on her bedside table. Three helium balloons were tethered to the horse’s neck with bright ribbons. Red carnations dominated the variety of plants in the planter.
“That’s really cool. Thanks.” Trish turned her head to look. “Mom, how do I make this bed go up, so I can see better?”
Marge pushed the button clipped to the sheet beside Trish’s head. “Let’s dangle this thing over the rail so you can see where it is.”
Trish winced as the rising bed shifted her arm and ribs. “Guess I won’t be running any races for a few days.”
“Yeah, you were kinda hard on the fence too.” David tapped her toe.
“How’s Gatesby?”
“Sore, but he’ll live to bite again.”
“He already has.” Brad rubbed his arm.
Trish started to laugh at the pained look on his face, but immediately decided a smile would do. “Please don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
“Can I bring you anything else?” Rhonda asked when they got ready to leave a few minutes later.
“I’ll call you if I think of anything. Thanks for coming.” Trish pushed the button to lower her bed again. “Mom, when can I go see Dad?”
“I don’t know. We’ll ask the doctor when he comes in.”
“They oughta put Dad and me in the same room. It would be easier for you.” Trish felt her eyelids drooping again.
“Good idea. I’ll be sure to ask. If I’m not here when you wake up, you know where I’ll be.”
Trish and her father went home together on January second.
“At last,” Marge sighed as she leaned back in her rocker after everyone was settled. Trish lay back in the recliner. Hal was sound asleep in his bed. “What a way to start the New Year.”
“Mm-mmm.” Trish scratched her scalp. Her arm itched too, under the cast that extended from her upper arm to the palm of her hand. “Mom, how am I gonna manage at school?”
“It won’t be easy. How are you at writing with your left hand?”
“Lousy. You saw how I did at eating.” Trish wriggled her toes in her slippers. “And I haven’t even tried to put real clothes on yet.”
“We’ll just have to take one day at a time. The doctor said it would be at least a week at home. Maybe I should go buy you a couple of sets of sweats. They’d be comfortable and you could use the bathroom by yourself.”
Trish groaned. “I hadn’t even thought about that.”
“What color would you like? I’ll get extra large tops so you can get them on easily and have plenty of room for the cast and sling.”
“And I’ll look like a dork.”
“Mmm. Whatever that is. Why don’t we go to the hairdresser tomorrow and get your hair washed. It would be a lot easier than the kitchen sink.”
“Do people really live for six weeks without showers?”
“I’m sure they do.”
One week later Trish stared into the dancing flames lapping at the logs in the fireplace. This had to go down as the worst Christmas vacation in history.
Two mornings later Trish stared in the mirror. Good thing I don’t wear a lot of makeup. I can’t see myself putting mascara on with my left hand. Her new forest green sweats made her look like a jock. Maybe I’ll start a new fad—the one-arm look. The sling held the cast close to her body, and Marge had tucked the right sleeve into the armhole so it wouldn’t get in her way.
“Come on, Trish, you’re going to be late.” David had just come up from the barn. “I’ll take you.”
“You going to be okay?” Rhonda asked when they met in front of their lockers.
“I’ve got to be.” Trish leaned her forehead against her locker. “Rhonda, I never dreamed anything could be so hard. Having only one good arm is the pits.”
At noon Trish called for her mother to come and get her. “I hurt so bad.” She bit back the sobs; they only made her ribs hurt worse.
Chapter
11
You’re late again.”
Trish slammed her hair brush into the sink. It bounced out, knocking a glass bottle of hand lotion into the sink. It sounded like the entire medicine cabinet had come crashing down.
“What on earth? Trish, are you all right?” Marge tried to open the door. It was locked. “Trish?”
Trish propped her weight on her good arm and stared at the sink. “I—I’m fine, Mom.” At least the bottle hadn’t broken, but it had chipped a piece out of the sink enamel. She turned to unlock the door. Tears puddled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Everything is so unfair!
When Trish opened the door, she was looking straight at her mother. Trish sniffed.
“Can we talk about it?”
“No, I’m late. I’m always late because everything takes twice as long. Getting dressed, combing my hair, brushing my teeth. I couldn’t even get the cap back on the toothpaste because I was dressed, and my arm was under my sweat shirt.” Trish paused to blow her nose. “I can’t even blow my nose right.”
Marge followed Trish to her bedroom.
“And when I get to school, I can’t open the door if I have books in my arm. I’m sick and tired of asking people to help me!” She dropped to the edge of her bed.
“Anything else?”
“Yes! It’s been three weeks since I’ve ridden and the doctor said it’ll be another three.”
“Actually, I think you’ve done pretty well.”
Trish glared up at her mother. “Right!”
“Trish, I know it’s hard, but let’s not fight about it.” She handed her a tissue. “Here, I’ll go write an excuse.”
“Can’t I just stay home?” Trish knew her question would be ignored.
You don’t really want to stay home, her little voice whispered. Remember how bored you got the week before you could go back to school?
Trish stuffed her books into her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and grabbed her jacket with one finger. Marge helped her put it on. Trish slumped in the passenger’s seat. I wish I could at least drive!
It had been a miserable three weeks. At first all she wanted to do was sleep because of the pain—then the boredom. She felt terrible, she looked terrible, and everything seemed too difficult—too hard to bother doing. At least if she stayed in her room she didn’t have to impress anyone.
She tried to put on a good front at school, even managed to laugh sometimes. But it felt as if heavy plaster casts were stacked on her shoulders—like the one on her arm. Her arm still ached at times, especially by the end of the day. All she wanted to do when she got home was go to sleep.
“You comin’ down to the stables to watch us work the horses?” Brad asked on the way home.
“No.”
“But, Trish, it’s about time—”
“I said no.”
Rhonda leaned forward on the back of the car seat. “Maybe watching training would cheer you up, make you feel better.”
“Thank you, Dr. Shrink.” Trish gritted her teeth. “Just don’t get on my case, okay?”
&nbs
p; The remainder of the drive was silent.
Saturday Firefly was scheduled to run in the fourth race and Final Command in the seventh. Genie Stokes had worked both of them and would ride in the races.
“Aren’t you ready yet?” Hal asked after lunch. This would be his first time back at the track since Christmas. “I’m really looking forward to the races. See, the sun even came out just for us.”
“That’s nice. But I’ve got homework to do,” Trish managed. “It takes me forever to write a paper, you know.”
“Trish, go get ready,” her father said sternly.
“No thanks.” She left the table and headed for her bedroom.
Hal found her lying on her bed, staring at the wall. “I’m asking you to get ready and go with me.”
“Please.” Trish covered her eyes with the back of her hand. “I really don’t feel up to going.”
“All right. But this has gone on long enough, Tee. You and I are going to have to talk tonight.”
Hal was worn out when he came home and went straight to bed.
I didn’t think he was strong enough to spend all that time at the track, Trish thought indignantly.
At least he tried. Her nagger was becoming a permanent resident in her ear. You’ve been—
“Just be quiet!” Trish ordered. She flexed the fingers of her left hand to ease a cramp before picking up her pen again to finish her paper. It took real effort to form some of the letters. Well, at least I can use Wite-Out. It’s better than throwing a page away and starting over. She blocked out the words that looked too bad and blew on the white liquid until it was dry. One thing she’d found handy was to fasten her paper to a clipboard. That way it didn’t scoot all over when she tried to write.
Trish went to church the next morning under much duress. From the looks on her parents’ faces when she asked to stay home, she didn’t dare ask again. But I don’t have to listen, she promised herself. I don’t think God cares anymore, so why should I?
Everyone was happy to see Hal back. They reminded him of their prayers for him as well as for Trish. Gritting her teeth was getting to be a necessary habit. She got so weary of saying “I’m fine” when people asked “How are you?” that she went to sit in the car. I should tell them how I really feel. Her thoughts continued in a negative vein.
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