by Cliff Hedley
“Of course.” Chase tried to remember what had happened in the aftermath of the blast but it was still foggy. He had only the flashes of images — like snapshots — of how he had got there.
“You lost a lot of blood out there too,” Renfrew said, “but your team did everything right. They applied field dressings and tourniquets and got you back to base quickly. The one thing about the burns is that they kept everything sterile, so there aren’t any signs of infection. Luckily they also helped stop you from bleeding out by cauterising the wounds as they went.”
Chase nodded. He didn’t feel lucky. That wasn’t the right word for it. In fact, this was downright shitty in his view but that series of events and his fellow soldiers had kept him alive.
“OK, Doc. I get what happened and thank you for doing what you could. I guess my next question is, what next?”
“We’ll keep you in for a while to make sure you are OK to travel. This is a very well-equipped hospital — better than a lot of the options Stateside — but we’re still in a war zone, so we don’t want to risk your life any further than we have to by keeping you here. You’ll be transferred back home to a state-of-the-art care facility while you recover.”
“Recover? Assuming I don’t sprout new hands during that recovery, what then? Prosthetics?”
“In short, yes. That’s the other piece of good news in all this. I appreciate that it’s no consolation to having your own hands intact — the nerves remaining in your arms are in good condition. The men in your unit were quick to stop the spread of the burning and they got you to a medic fast. That means the options you have for prosthetics are good.”
“Better than pirate-hooks good?”
The doctor chuckled. “Yes. Some of the artificial limbs that our combat veterans are getting now are a long way from pirate hooks.”
“Like what?”
“Robotics. You’d be fitted with an arm, or arms, which you can control via your own nerves. They have sensors which pick up the signals your brain sends to your nerves.”
“OK, cool. I’m going to be a cyborg, then?”
Another laugh from the doctor. “It will give you something you can learn to live with. That’s the best I can promise but it is better than nothing. And better than pirate hooks.”
“So how do I get my new cyborg arms?”
The doctor sighed, and looked a little more stern. “It won’t be an easy process. First, you’ll need your swelling to go down and your injuries to fully heal. That will take some time. Frankly, you’re probably going to get impatient with that process. You may be given basic prostheses until you can be fitted with something more permanent but that will let you get used to having artificial extensions — kind of like re-training your brain to work with a new system. All I can say is, hang in there. That might sound a bit trite coming from a guy with hands — obviously I don’t have my own experience — but I’ve seen other people go through this before. Everyone deals with it differently and everyone needs time to adjust.”
Chase stared at the ceiling. He had been around long enough to know that it was going to be tough. He had seen other veterans go through this and the threat had always hovered over him every time he went out. In a way, he had been prepared for this since the first day he put on the EOD suit and yet it still seemed surreal.
He rolled his head back towards the doctor. “Any other advice?”
Renfrew shook his head. “Just rest. Let your body heal. Your war is over but your recovery has just begun, so take your time — you’ve earned it. On a personal note, if I may.” He hesitated, searching Chase’s expression. “Thank you. I heard what you did out there, risking your life to try and rescue that girl.”
“I got her killed.”
“No, you tried to save her. She was dead anyway without you. You got a lot further than anyone else would have. Hell, you didn’t even need to try but you did. You lost her but you’ve saved countless other lives. Not everybody could do what you have done.”
Chase rolled his head away on the pillow and swallowed hard. After a moment, he let out a sigh. “Thanks, Doc.”
“No problem. Like I said, just rest and let us take care of you.”
With that, he gave Chase a half-smile and made his way out of the room.
After Renfrew was gone and the sound of his footsteps on the linoleum floor had padded away to nothing, Chase started laughing. It started as a grin and before long had turned into a full-bellied laugh. To an outsider it would probably seem like he had lost his mind. A lot of people snapped when they were faced with major trauma like this but that wasn’t Chase’s style, not at all. His years of Army and martial arts training had taught him discipline and control over his emotions. There was a whirlpool of sensations running through his head and screaming through every raw nerve in his body, but he would bottle them. They would be unleashed later, when the time was right. As for this moment, he was laughing because he suddenly realised that his nose was itching like crazy and he had no way to deal with it. Maybe the hooks weren’t the worst option after all.
***
After a while, Chase’s world took on a weird hue. It might have taken a few days, or maybe a week but it was as though the colour palette available to him was limited to white, green and grey. They made a change from the various shades of dust that the desert had offered, but now those were the colours around him: green curtains, white walls and bed sheets and if he craned his neck, he could see the grey linoleum flooring for a change of pace. Sometimes he could hear a stifled scream or cough from somewhere else in the ward. Everything smelled sterile, like every hospital does with its industrial-strength cleaners. He could still smell the bed pan though, and the metallic taint of blood underneath his bandages.
The one saving grace was the small TV mounted to the wall, which provided a burst of colour in his otherwise boring world. He figured it must have been on a closed circuit, or a satellite feed from back home, because it ran shows he knew and it certainly wasn’t local content. He also wondered about having his own room. As a Sergeant, he figured he’d otherwise be in a shared room, with private quarters likely reserved for officers. He figured that it was the extent of his injuries that got him the spot, and the need to keep them sterile. He would gladly trade to have his arms back.
The days continued to pass, blurring one into another, same routine each time: white, green, grey, TV. Eventually the pain in his arms, or what was left of them, shifted from a screaming agony to a dull ache. He could feel it despite the pain meds the nurses had him on. They would start to wear off occasionally but each time they did, he noticed the pain had subsided slightly from the time before.
After more time had passed, Chase felt confident enough to move his arms. The stitches were holding; healing had begun. It didn’t cause too much pain to raise an arm now, so he could lift up his arm and rub his nose on his bicep by turning his head. Finally there was a way to deal with those itches. It seemed a small victory but it gave him a great deal of satisfaction and strangely enough, a little hope.
Aside from not being able to dress himself, which wasn’t a big deal in his hospital bed, his biggest frustration was having to rely on the nurses for things he had taken for granted most of his life — brushing his teeth, taking a leak and wiping his ass. His least favourite part of the daily routine was the bed pan. After getting over the initial embarrassment of the situation, he felt more for the nurse having to deal with it.
It was weird having someone else brush his teeth for him too — he was grateful for the help but it felt different. He had broken his right wrist as a teenager and despite being right-handed, had no other choice for six weeks than to brush his teeth with his left. It felt awkward and uncoordinated and he had often stabbed himself in the gums with the plastic brush end. That was the closest approximation that he had experienced before. Having someone else do it was even more uncomfortable.
&nb
sp; From time to time, an every-day task would come up that he couldn’t handle without help. He was damned irritated at not being able to fend for himself and still carried a little anger with him, bubbling beneath the surface. Mostly, he kept a lid on it. In part, it served as fuel stoking the single-minded determination behind his recovery. Every now and then though, it would creep out.
As he lay in his bed one night, needing to pee and unable to help himself, he started kicking the rail at the end in frustration. Soon he was kicking it harder. He realised he was screaming and kicking at full force when at last the bed rail sheared off its bolts and clattered onto the floor. It felt good to release the rage and to know that there was some kind of power left in his body. Better yet, he’d just made his bed more comfortable with extra room for his feet.
Simmons arrived, the nurse he had met on his first day in hospital. She saw the damage and gave a knowing look. She helped him with the bed pan, then gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.
“That feel better?”
“Yes thanks, I was busting.”
“The bed, I meant. You’re not the first to do it. Letting it out can help.”
“I think it did. Thanks.”
***
Then, on one day of white, green and grey, with the same uncomfortable routines and the blessing of the TV to keep him entertained, Renfrew came by to check on him.
“Hey, Doc, what’s up?”
“You will be soon, if you check out OK. I’m happy with how you are healing up. We’ll work on getting you up and mobile for the next couple of days — so no more bed pan. You can get up and go. If you move around without any problems and I don’t see any issue with your wounds, we’ll get you on a plane back to the States.”
A sudden rush of anticipation, fear and relief shook Chase. His comfortable little world was about to change. He knew he would need help to move on but he was glad he could get out of the room
“It’s about damn time.”
“Don’t worry, the nurses will still be around to help you. And don’t try to overdo it. I know you’ll be wanting to stretch your legs but take it easy. Your body has gone through a lot, so ease back into it, please.”
“Copy that, Doc. Can I get up now?”
Renfrew laughed. “I’ll send a nurse. She’ll get you hooked up with a mobile IV for your fluids and pain meds that you can wheel around. And I don’t want you running around by yourself and doing more damage. I already had to patch you back together once and I don’t want to do it again, so listen to the nurse.”
With that, Renfrew got up and left Chase’s white, green and grey little room. After what seemed like an eternity but was probably closer to ten minutes, a familiar nurse appeared.
“Hello, Chase.”
“Hi, Simmons.”
She smiled and walked over to the side of his bed. “All right, let’s see if we can get you up.”
“I don’t think you should have any problem,” he grinned back.
She rolled her eyes. Her raven hair and bright blue eyes probably caused frequent infatuation with her recovering patients. What do they call that? Chase tried to recall. Nightingale syndrome?
“And about,” she added. “Though you’re clearly feeling better. I’m going to start by raising your bed up a little further so you’re almost sitting upright. Then I want you to just stay there for a couple of minutes while your body gets used to it. Don’t forget, your heart has gone through some tough times lately, so you can’t just jump up out of bed. Got it? If you do, you’ll most likely pass out and wake up on the floor.”
“Got it.” Chase focused on his breathing. Just as she said, his heart was pounding a little faster in his chest. He inhaled slowly, held it, then exhaled slowly. Meanwhile, she gently strapped a blood-pressure band around his arm. He kept on with his breathing exercise while she monitored his heart rate.
“Good,” she nodded. Chase could feel the pulsing in his chest subside. “Now I want you to swing your legs over the side of the bed. I’ll help you but as a tip, remember you can still lean on your elbows if it doesn’t hurt too much.
“Got it,” Chase acknowledged. His core muscles were still strong, so he was able to swing himself up and thankfully they saved him going over too far. It was very weird trying to manoeuvre to an upright position and get his backside in the right spot so he could sit comfortably. He figured out a way to shuffle and got to the right spot. Simmons helped him swing his legs down, so that he was sitting upright.
“OK, same drill again. Let your body adjust. Do that breathing exercise you did just before — that seems to work well.”
Chase nodded and returned to his slow, controlled breathing. Simmons again monitored his vitals.
“All right, everything looks good. Give me a minute while I hook you up to a mobile IV and then you can try to stand up.”
Chase felt like a car being worked on by a mechanic, as Simmons matter-of-factly went about changing over a couple of tubes and plugged him into the tall mobile IV stand she had wheeled in with her earlier.
“All right, you’re good to go.”
Just like a mechanic. She gave him a quizzical look as if trying to read what he was thinking but he said nothing. He wriggled himself further forward, off the side of his bed and she took some of his weight by supporting him under his armpits. His feet touched the floor, bare toes meeting smooth grey linoleum. His weight was still partially on the bed, so he hoisted himself forward with some help from Simmons. Then, at last, he was standing. He couldn’t help but grin. It was a small achievement, but it felt as if he had just climbed Everest after being immobile in his bed for so long.
“You want to take a few steps for me?”
“Gladly.” Chase put one foot in front of the next and was able to pace the length of his bed, towards the door. Simmons followed him with the IV dolly squeaking away behind him. It was essentially a tall metallic pole on a narrow base with a set of four castor wheels but it was a welcome addition if it meant a little freedom.
“Well done. You haven’t passed out.”
“Thanks. Can I go outside?”
“You can sit back on the bed for a minute. This is step one. I’ll check you over again, and if you’re OK to move, I can take you to the lounge down the hall. You might even get to meet a couple of the other inmates.”
Chase appreciated getting a little bit of dry humour out of her. “I’m looking forward to a change of scenery. Present company excluded, of course.”
She sighed and gave him a nod after monitoring his blood pressure and heart rate again. “OK, let’s go for a walk.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
He shuffled his weight forward and rocked himself up to standing position. This time it was a little easier. Simmons held the door to his room open and he padded barefoot in his hospital gown into the hallway.
“To the left,” she said. Her words sounded somehow encouraging to him. He padded along the floor towards a set of doors. She walked alongside him, her right hand under his left arm, pulling the IV rig along with her left. As they reached the double doors she pushed one open for him and held it with her foot, while she continued to support him and drag the IV stand along.
“Left again.” She stepped forward and opened a door for him off the side of the corridor. Inside, the room was cheaply carpeted with the thin nylon stuff that you found in office buildings. It was a slightly darker grey than the linoleum.
The room was filled with an assortment of different chairs, all different heights, none matching in colour. Chase figured the army had put this room together with whatever they could find lying around. There was a mix of orange vinyl couches and brown fabric options, like something from the Seventies. In the corner was a larger TV than had been in his room, playing the same shows.
“OK, that’s enough for now. Let’s get you down.” She directed
him to a brown fabric chair. It was higher than the couch, so he could get up and down more easily.
Once Chase was settled, Simmons rolled his IV dolly up next to him. “I’m going to leave you here for ten minutes while I go check on some other patients. Will you be OK?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Good. Introductions,” she nodded towards the only other occupant of the room, who had looked up as they entered. A clean-cut black man sat in a wheelchair with his left leg bandaged heavily at the knee and nothing below it. Chase figured him to be around the same age as himself, maybe a year or two younger.
“Master Sergeant William Chase, this is Sergeant Andre Freeman.”
“Hey,” Chase offered as he raised an arm.
“Hello,” Freeman responded.
“Right, I’ll leave you two chatty Cathys alone then.” With that, Simmons was out the door and off to see her next patient.
Freeman grinned. “She’s a model of efficiency, that one.”
“Seems like it,” Chase smirked. He was glad of the company. He was quite happy to spend time on his own but he had been isolated for long enough. “What are you in for?”
“I came in for a pedicure, and things got out of control,” Freeman winked. Then his face hardened. “IED versus Humvee. I was driving and obviously I didn’t see it. Luckily, I was the worst off. The others got out OK.”
Chase nodded solemnly. “Sorry to hear that. They can be hard to spot.”
“Yeah. How about you?”
“Similar story. Bad manicure.” He paused. “I’m… I was… an EOD. Some asshole strapped a little girl with an explosive vest and I was trying to get it off her. It didn’t go too well.”
“Shit. Sorry, man.”