by Dale Mayer
“Obviously this isn’t your first rodeo,” Shane said with a chuckle.
“I didn’t sleep at the last place either,” he said, as he rubbed his arms gently back and forth.
“Are you cold?”
“I’m always a little chilled,” he said. “I don’t know why though.”
“Interesting,” he said. “Well, let’s get you to work, and that’ll warm you up fast enough.”
Half an hour later Lance wished he was cool again because he was sweating like a pig, and he’d barely done anything. His legs were awkward and stiff. They wouldn’t cooperate when it came to bending at the knee, but then, when he tried to push and straighten them out, they just basically rested against Shane’s legs.
“I don’t want you getting frustrated by this,” Shane said. “We have to start with where you’re at,” he said. “You can’t progress if you don’t acknowledge step one.”
“Says you,” Lance said. “I’m sweating like a pig, and I can’t get anything accomplished.”
“So, we’ll change what you need to accomplish then,” Shane said cheerfully. He had him back up in the wheelchair, and they gently did leg raises with his knee bent.
Slowly, with time, he straightened out that leg and did straight-leg bends, but trying to point his foot? Well, that was an impossibility. “It’s like the ankle doesn’t work at all,” he said. “Too many plates and screws.”
“The plates and screws,” Shane said, “have nothing to do with the joints. They’re all up in this shin bone area and up in your femur.”
“So why is the ankle so stiff then?”
“We’ve got to get some blood flow into it,” he said, and then he nodded. “And that might be something we need to do at nighttime too.”
“What?” Lance said, missing a beat in the conversation and feeling foolish about it.
“A massage,” he said. “But unfortunately it won’t be a nice-feeling massage.”
At that, Lance winced. “So, something that’ll hurt again.”
“Again?”
“I think everything has hurt for the last eight months,” he said. “Not a day goes by where it doesn’t seem like something is crying out in pain.”
“Understood,” Shane said. “Well, we’ll start with this ankle and see if we can get it to move a bit.” He walked over, grabbed some oil in his hand, and started working the ankle. But it wasn’t a relaxing moment. It was painful, and, as soon as he worked some of the joint, he had Lance pushing against his hand, trying to force that foot to move and then straighten it a little bit more and a little bit more. At the end of the hour, he was sweating freely, but he could see that his foot had gained mobility. “I didn’t think a massage could do that,” he said.
“Often these muscles stiffen from disuse,” he said. “You really have to work them all the time.”
“I thought I was,” he said.
“Nope. You’re not walking very well,” he said, “so these joints aren’t moving very well. But we’ve loosened this one up a little bit,” he said, “so I’ll work on the next one, and that’ll be enough for the day.”
“How can you tell when the ankle has had enough?” he asked.
“The skin at the joint itself sweats,” Shane said, “which means it’s done. So let’s work the other one, and then we’ll keep this up over the next few days to see if we can get a better range of motion.”
“You started on the ankles. Why is that?”
“Well, I’d like to start on the hips,” he said, “but the ankles appeared to bother you and are slowing your progress for walking,” he said. “So, we’ll do it this way and then move up to the knees and then the hip joint.”
“I would have thought the neck would have been one of the major ones,” he said.
“All of them are major,” Shane said. And he had Lance once again do a few exercises, pushing against his hand, trying to straighten that ankle back out a bit. Lance swore and cursed, but he pushed, and he pressed, and he worked it. And when Shane finally called it quits, Lance was surprised to see his ankle rotating slightly.
“So it really does make a difference,” he said. “I’m surprised.”
“All kinds of things make a difference,” Shane said, laughing. “Don’t be surprised. Just adjust your thinking at the beginning of the journey. There’s a long road to go yet.”
Chapter 5
Two days later Jessica walked into Lance’s room to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, twisting and rotating his upper body. “You look a little better this morning,” she said, pulling out her blood pressure cuff.
He held out his arm immediately. “I’m feeling a little bit better,” he said. “Look.” And he slowly rotated his ankles.
She smiled. “Is that a new motion for you?”
He nodded. “Feels like the kid in me has woken up a little bit,” he said with a smile. “To be happy about such a simple thing, you know?”
“It is what it is,” she said. “And it’s new and different for you, so enjoy it and rejoice in the success.”
“I think that’s why Shane focused on it,” he said, “so I could see a success. Even a small one.”
“Lots of little ones pile up into a big one, and any success is progress, right?”
He looked up at her smile and asked, “What about you? What are your successes?”
“Getting through the day sometimes,” she admitted. “I try to get away from Hathaway House every once in a while, just to remind myself there’s a world outside. I went to a movie a few nights ago,” she said, “so it’s all about finding a life that works for me.”
“What do you do in your spare time?”
She shrugged. “I like to write poetry,” she admitted with a sheepish look. “Not fancy or anything but it makes me happy.”
“I think that’s nice,” he said in surprise. “I don’t know too many people who write poetry.”
“Seemed like a whole generation wrote it all the time,” she said, “then it died away. I’ve often thought about writing stories, but that seems like work, whereas poetry just flows off my fingertips.”
“And that is probably the best way to have it,” he said warmly. “Something that you enjoy doing but isn’t too stressful.”
She nodded and smiled. “That’s what I was thinking. What about you?” she asked. “What do you have for hobbies?”
“I don’t really have any right now,” he said. “I used to play music, but I stopped when I went into the navy. I’ve been known to sit down at a set of drums every once in a while,” he said, “but now my feet and hands don’t work the same way anymore.”
“You like musical instruments, huh?”
“I like music in general,” he said. “I haven’t found too many instruments that I can’t pick up and play.”
“Wow,” she said. “I wish I could say the same. That makes my poetry feel pretty childish.”
He looked at her with a frown and then shook his head. “These days, I couldn’t sling two words together if I tried,” he said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ll tell you. I’m not exactly communicative.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, I noticed.”
But they shared a gentle look of understanding.
“I, on the other hand, can’t possibly play any instrument,” she said with a smile. “I tried to play the recorder in Introductory Music class when I was in elementary school, and that was just painful.”
He burst out laughing at that. “Not sure I ever took that class,” he said. “I probably would have enjoyed it, just relaxing, listening to the other musicians.”
“And that just makes you weird,” she said, chuckling.
“That’s me,” he said.
“Did you ever really get a chance to play?”
“When I went on leave,” he said, “I had a favorite pub where I used to play the trumpet in the evenings sometimes. The trumpet is probably my favorite, but the guitar was always a good instrument to just sling around and have fun wit
h in the evenings. Of course the piano is a favorite too.” He looked at his fingers and murmured, “Or was?”
“Did you have other friends who played?”
“Long ago,” he said. “I’m not so good anymore at making friends.” He sank back onto the edge of the bed.
“Well, the music may change all that.” She shook her head. “No lying down again. It’s breakfast time.”
He groaned and forced himself back up again. “I know I should eat,” he said, “but honestly, my stomach isn’t terribly impressed with the idea.”
“Is that because Shane’s appointment comes next?”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “Some of those sessions are a little rough.”
“But you can also tell him that they’re too rough,” she said.
“Maybe, but I don’t want to seem like I can’t do the job,” he said slowly.
“Well, maybe asking him for smaller successes is a better way to go.”
At the reminder of his earlier words, he looked up thoughtfully. “It’s funny. Some things I don’t really consider a success, like playing music,” he said. “Because it came to me naturally so I didn’t have to really work at it. But this? I really have to work at.”
“Which is also why you need to ensure every success counts,” she said.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
“That’s all any of us can do here,” she said, “and what’s important is to go at the speed that you can do.”
“Got it,” he said.
She took her leave, making the rest of her rounds, wondering how anyone could just pick up any old instrument and play it. When she thought about all the gifts she wished she had been born with in this world, that was always a sore subject for her. And playing the guitar, playing any kind of musical instrument, was one of them. Singing was another one. She didn’t have that ability either. Her voice sounded like frogs with a cold; yet she found, with poetry, that words flowed off her fingers.
So, just like he said he didn’t have to work for the music, she didn’t have to work for the poetry. She did work at her nursing job, and she worked hard, trying not to get too attached to people and failing miserably. She could never be a foster parent for animals because she knew she would fail completely at that too. She’d want to keep them all.
Her shift kept her busy today, barely having time to eat a protein bar at her desk, but she wanted to eat in the dining room tonight. She had reached the buffet line right at a lull in the dinner crowd, grabbed a tray, and looked at all she had to choose from. She loaded up her plate, snagged a bottle of water, and found an empty table outside on the deck.
Just as she neared her table, she looked up to see Stan with this little white bundle of something in his arms. She immediately put her tray down on the nearest table and walked over to see what it was. And then exclaimed when she realized it was a puppy. “Oh, my gosh, what is it?”
“A Great Pyrenees,” he said. “It was brought in after the mother was hit by a vehicle and didn’t make it. We’ve got three of these guys,” he said, holding it out.
It was the calmest little laid-back bundle of love that she’d seen in a long time, and she immediately wrapped it up and cuddled it close. It leaned into her embrace. “He’s so beautiful,” she whispered.
Immediately Stan handed her a bottle and said, “He’s hungry too.”
She laughed and offered the bottle to the little one, and he suckled quite contentedly. “Oh, jeez, how old is the little guy?”
“The best we can figure is about three weeks,” he said.
“And why did you bring him up here?”
“Searching for volunteers,” he said. “I’ve got two more guys to feed.” He looked around to see if anybody else was close by.
“I can come down later too, when he needs another feeding,” she said.
“They all need feeding,” he said, “so, when you come, bring somebody with you,” he said with a grin.
The bottle was soon empty; then she handed the puppy back to Stan and said with a smile, “You could have done that yourself.”
“I could,” he said, “but it’s a rare experience to see a puppy like this.”
“I’ll keep that in mind when I come down. Let’s see. What about eight o’clock tonight?”
“Eight o’clock would be good,” he said. “No doubt somebody will be ready to be fed by then.” Still laughing, he walked over and poured himself a cup of coffee. Then, with the beautiful little critter curled up in his arms, Stan headed back down to the animal clinic again.
She sat down to her plate of cold food with a smile on her face. Her table wasn’t empty now. Lance had somehow moved in while she’d been busy with the puppy. She looked over and said, “You could have fed that little guy yourself.”
“I wanted to,” he admitted, “but you looked like you were having way too much fun.”
“I absolutely was,” she said, “but you can come down with me at eight tonight, if you want, and we can feed them again.”
He nodded, the slow smile on his face just breathtaking.
And once again she realized it was another boon to her to see his progress, even just this way. He was opening up, unfolding before her eyes, becoming so much more of a person who she could spend time with than the original near stranger who had moved in here not long ago. He was so much more approachable now.
He motioned at her tray and said, “Your food’s gone cold.”
“It has,” she said, “and I didn’t even wash my hands,” she said. “So that’s also a no-no,” she said, “but I’ll have about half of this, and then I will go clean up.” She quickly ate through her plate, then realized that he wasn’t eating. She stopped, looked at him, and asked, “What about your dinner?”
“Dennis is bringing me something,” Lance said.
Following the motion of his head, Jessica looked to see Dennis, walking over and setting a plate of ribs in front of Lance. He studied the ribs heaped high on his plate with joy.
She looked at it, looked at Dennis, and said, “I didn’t see any ribs over there.”
“Leftovers from lunch,” he said. “But then you probably didn’t get lunch, did you?” And his disapproving tone was impossible for either to miss.
“Possibly not,” she said, “as it’s been crazy busy today.”
“Of course,” he said. “Your dinner’s already cold.”
“My dinner is fine,” she said. “I got to pet and to feed a puppy,” she said, “so that’ll always take precedence in my world.”
Dennis nodded. “I heard three of them were down there. That’ll keep everybody going for a few weeks.”
“Stan said the mother didn’t make it,” she said.
“That’s always sad, but we’ve got to get the puppies through six more weeks or so until they can eat on their own,” he said. “Then I’m sure they’ll find homes to be adopted out too.”
“Is that what Stan does down there?” Lance asked.
“Stan is the vet who runs the clinic. They do a lot of volunteer work down there,” she said. “And Dani is up for rescuing any animal.”
“Which is hard to argue with,” Dennis said. “It’s always nice to know that we’re helping the animals. And, if you’re going down to feed the puppies tonight,” he said, “check in with me, and maybe I’ll be free to go along too.”
“I’ll do that,” she said. And, with that, she stood and grabbed her plate. Dennis tried to take it from her hands, and she shook her head. “You don’t have to take my dishes too,” she said. “Sit down and relax a minute.”
He chuckled. “It’s really not a hardship,” he said. “I do it all day long.”
“I know,” she said. “So right now, I’ll do it.” And, with a big smile, she walked over and placed her dirty dishes down, then headed home.
Chapter 6
The next few days, like every day, were full and packed. When she passed the hot tub at one point in time, delivering something downstairs, she
saw Lance sitting in it. But his color was off, and he looked even weaker than normal. She immediately raced to his side. “Are you all right?” she asked, crouching down.
He looked up at her and smiled. “Yeah, I am. I’ve just been so cold all the time,” he said. “Shane suggested I come out here for an hour and warm up.”
“Why the chills though? Have they given you any medical explanation?”
“The doctor says my body is still recovering from the latest bout of surgeries,” he said with a smile. “And my travel and arrival weren’t as easy as I had hoped.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Most of the time patients recover from the trip and adapt faster than this.”
He winced at that, causing her to immediately rush to explain. “Everybody has their own time frames for healing, and each person takes different steps,” she said. “Maybe your arrival here was just a little premature.”
“Maybe so,” he said, “but I wouldn’t have thought so.” Even as she watched, he lifted a shaky hand to brush his hair off his face and to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. “Do you want a hot coffee or something while you’re here?”
He chuckled. “Jessica, you can’t spend all your time looking after me.”
“I’m not.” She smiled. “Besides, I’ve got plenty of other patients whom I look after too.”
He sighed and relaxed deeper into the water. “I’m just trying to go with the flow, to not feel like a failure, and to not sabotage my own progress,” he said.
“I’ve heard you talk about that a few times now,” she murmured, sitting down on the side of the hot tub. “But, at this particular stage, I don’t understand what you could possibly be doing that would be considered sabotaging your own progress. I just don’t see it.”
“I don’t actually think I am,” he said, “but I think it’s the awareness that I could go down that pathway that’s keeping me from doing so.”
She sat back. “Ah, well, that makes sense.” She smiled down at him. “How are the metal plates doing?”
“Aching,” he said. “Shane wants to see more muscle built up around them to provide a little more protection around them.”