Page 2 of Blinded
GT sat back into his wheelchair with a grunt. He had been pushing himself this morning, but he needed to get fit again and back to work. He wasn’t made to sit around idle all day. She’d impressed him with her explanations about holding his breath and not plopping into his chair, but still, she was too young to be an accomplished therapist, let alone have a doctorate. Some friend Buck was! His hide-bound surgeon had insisted he needed a physical therapist. At least she kept her distance and hadn’t tried to push his wheelchair. GT didn’t like to be pushed, not in life and not in this damn chair.
It was ironic that he was tied to the damn thing; he usually did the tying. After he healed, maybe he should allow himself an extended visit to Japan to practice with Takeshi Saito. Then again, the hospital was missing its head of orthopedic surgery, so he should probably return to work as quickly as possible. He could visit Club Indigo more often. GT had discovered the local BDSM Club about two years ago, after running into his college buddy, Jim Cagney, who was a member. GT didn’t go to the club as often as he wanted. Partly because of the demanding schedule he had at the hospital and also because the one rope bunny he’d encountered so far, Julie, played exclusively with the founding member, Mitch. Still, he hadn’t been there in months – maybe new girls had joined? Women at the private BDSM club wouldn’t run away screaming, and he figured it was the best place to look for a jujun'na, a submissive who wanted to be tied in knots by him.
This whole mess had started because he was too damn nice. He’d tried to help a damsel in distress and ended up in the hospital for his troubles. GT had gone out to Cliff Drive to blow off some steam by climbing the thirty-five-foot crag one afternoon after a complicated surgery that hadn’t gone as well as he thought it should. He’d parked at the bottom and hiked up the road to reach the base of the rock. As always, the beautiful surroundings relaxed him, and he felt ready when he got to the cliff. Of course, he’d climbed it before, many times, but that simply gave him confidence. He decided to take the Malaria route today as it offered one of the more challenging climbs. Three-quarters of the way up, he glanced to his right and noticed a young woman who had been close to halfway up when he started and was now about even with him. She was on a less strenuous route and he wondered what her problem was. Probably new. He shifted his focus back to his section of the cliff only to have his gaze go back to her.
“Everything all right?” he called over to her.
She was struggling with one of her lines and didn’t respond until he repeated himself.
“No. Everything is awful. I can’t keep the ropes straight. Can you help me?” She sounded close to tears, so GT started moving in her direction.
“Relax. I’ll be right there.”
The section where he was had a partial ledge a little below and he worked his way down and over. He reached her quickly and started to rearrange things so he could lower her to the ground when she pulled on a rope he was holding that wasn’t secured yet and down they both went. The next thing GT knew he was in the hospital being prepped for surgery to replace his hip due to the fracture of his femur. He tried to ask about the girl, but the anesthesia took effect too quickly.
When he woke up, he was lying in a hospital bed facing Dr. Marjorie Hawkins-Lewis, also known as his mother.
“Mom, what are you doing here?”
“Wondering what possessed you to go climbing alone up that stupid cliff.” She fussed with his blanket. “I don’t like any of your dangerous hobbies, but for some reason your rock and mountain climbing worry me more than your motorcycle riding and hang gliding.”
“There was nothing wrong with my climbing, Mother. I was helping a girl who probably shouldn’t have been up there alone or at all. She tugged on the wrong rope, and we both went down. Do you know what happened to her?”
“From what I heard, she only had a couple of minor scrapes and bruises. So, you get a gold star, a fractured femur and a new hip for rescuing her. According to Owens, you’re going to be out for at least eight weeks. I hope the pain is worth it.”
“I’m glad to hear she’s okay. Did Buck say when I could start moving?”
“I didn’t ask, and I’m surprised you are.” She teased him, “I thought you were the expert on all things orthopedic.”
“Not without at least seeing the scans, Mother. Is Buck around, do you know?”
“I haven’t seen him since just after surgery. And why you call Michael Owens ‘Buck’ is beyond me. That’s a terrible nickname, Gregory.”
“He’s called ‘Buck,’ which Michael likes, because he’s a country music fan. He also plays guitar and when we heard him in med school, one of the professors compared him to Buck Owens from Hee Haw. He’s proud of it.” The door opened silently behind GT’s mother. “Speak of the devil. Hey, Buck. When can I start moving around?”
“Anxious to climb the crag again, GT? That will be a while, but we’ll have you out of bed tomorrow. You did a real number on your bones. You have a trochanteric fracture of your left femur. We replaced the hip joint, so we’ll have you up in no time. The PT will come by soon to get you started with the basics you can do in bed. Where do you want us to book you for your rehab?”
“I don’t need to go to a rehab facility. I’ll be fine at home.”
“It’s your choice. I’ll write you scrips for home health daily for the first couple of weeks and PT and OT at least three times a week. You can let me know if that’s not enough.”
“I don’t need all that, Buck. I know what to do. And Mom will help me, won’t you?”
“Of course, I’ll help you, but I’m not strong enough to lift you, Gregory, and I don’t know anything about physical therapy.”
“Be reasonable, GT. You’re a fall waiting to happen without home health and PT. You can opt out of the occupational therapy if you like, but the rest is non-negotiable. Orthopedists may know everything about bones and muscles, but we’re not very good at treating ourselves.”
“If you say so, Buck. I really think you’re wasting my insurance company’s money and mine.”
“Humor me. I think you’ll have a faster, smoother recovery with supervision. You don’t want to end up back here, now, do you?”
GT scowled. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
The next three days went smoothly, and Physical Therapy cleared him for release. His mother had agreed to stay with him for at least a week, but only if he used the home health aide and cooperated with the physical therapist.
It only took him a day to realize that Buck had been right about the home health aide. Even putting on his underwear was hard. Luckily, he didn’t wear socks except when he absolutely had to. To bathe without help was unthinkable, so he was grateful for the assistance and even happier the agency had found him a male aide.
