Page 4 of Room 1017

He settled into Amy’s chair, and I was tempted to snub him like a belligerent child, but I forced myself to turn my head in his direction. Didn’t mean I had to look him in the eye, though.

“Everything went really well, best-case scenario. We are going to keep you here for a few days to keep an eye on things for the first little while, but you’ll be home in no time. Do you remember everything we talked about before your surgery?”

I sighed in reply. He was talking about all the potential risks to a surgery like this. Leaks and sepsis. Blood clots. Infections. And in the future, hernias or blockages. This “best-case scenario” he talked about would still involve discomfort and bloating at the very least.

“What about something for the pain,” I asked.

Dr. Kwan paused for a second, watching me. “Any pain you feel from this surgery will be pretty mild. You should be able to manage with regular Tylenol.”

“But it’s not just this surgery, is it,” I forced out through clenched teeth. In fact, I’d been in pain well before today, and there was no end in sight. I’d been living with it for so long that I’d almost forgotten what it felt like not to have the constant dull throbbing through my back, with the occasional jag of lightning tearing through me if I moved too fast. Nerve damage was unpredictable at best.

The surgeon went still for a second, then nodded, and a look passed over his face—pity. I hated it immediately, because it wasn’t the first time I’d seen it. I saw it every time I left the house, I saw it last night at the hotel when the elevator was broken. They were all so damnsorry. Before this happened, nobody had ever pitied me for anything. I was strong, independent, brave. Now I was…this. A patient. A burden.

Dr. Kwan nodded and finally said, “Let me consult with your other doctors, and we’ll come up with the right pain-management plan for you. But please remember, Peter, it all gets better from here. Take things one day at a time. We’ll get you settled with some physical therapy, help you get your strength and mobility back. Okay?” He sighed. “Peter, your accident was tragic but—”

“Oh, it wasn’t anaccident, Doctor. I assure you, he fully intended to stab me,” I said before he could get any further into his “brighter days ahead” speech. “It wasn’t like he tripped and fell into me four times. The only accident was that I didn’t die.” It was so much easier to be angry, to find someone to blame, than it was to admit that bad things happened sometimes.

Dr. Kwan nodded. “You get some rest, okay? I’ll stop by to see you tomorrow.”

I nodded jerkily and moved to stare up at the ceiling again. I counted the dots in the foam tile as I waited for him to get the hint that it was time to leave.

A few minutes later, Amy returned. “I got cherry and lime,” she said, brandishing two popsicles, one in each hand. “Which one do you want first?” I picked cherry obviously, but I made sure I wasn’t happy about it.

We sat in silence together, watching an old Judge Judy rerun. The cherry popsicle managed to ease the pain in my dry throat and banished the old-shoe taste. I ate it too slowly, though, so Amy ate the lime one before it could melt.

Eventually, sleep began to claim me, and my eyes drifted closed. Amy quietly took the popsicle stick from my hand and dimmed the lights on her way out the door.

I would do it all again, I told myself.To save someone’s life, I would do it all again in a heartbeat. I always knew what it meant signing up for the bureau, and I’d done my job. We saved the witness, we put the bad guy behind bars. But if I had a redo… maybe I wouldn’t have tried so hard to stay alive.

2

Casey

“Comeon,Bonnie.Let’ssee one more set. I know you’re got it in you,” I coaxed the woman with a voice I’d worked hard to master. It was firm, leaving no room for argument, but it was also tender in a way that told my patients I cared for them and would never do anything to harm them.

Bonnie had a little sweat along her hairline, but she was also smiling. “Okay, but just one.”

“Just 30 seconds,” I said, pressing start on the oversized digital timer so she could watch her progress. “Go!”

Blowing out a quick breath, she raised her toes off the ground and heel-walked the length of the room, always keeping within reach of the grab bar mounted on the wall in case she lost her balance.

The exercise might’ve seemed easy for most people, but it wasn’t uncommon for a lot of my patients to struggle with so-called “basic” movements. People came to see me after surgeries or injuries, or in Bonnie’s case, due to a chronic illness. She wasn’t even a senior, like a lot of the people who came to see me for physical therapy. Bonnie had multiple sclerosis, and it was causing something called foot drop, a fairly standard mobility issue related to the illness. It was my job to show her how to stretch and strengthen the muscles safely in a way that could hopefully help with her trouble walking.

I kept one eye on the timer, and when it got down to those final seconds, I counted them down out loud for her, encouraging her to push. “Five, four, three, two, one! Great job, Bonnie. I knew you had it in you.”

She dropped her toes with a groan and held the bar while she stretched out her calves. “What am I going to do without you pushing me, Casey?”

I laughed. “You’re just going to have to learn to push yourself, I guess.” I gave her a wink.

Today was officially her last day. She’d been coming to see me once a week for the past two months. We’d been working on stretching the calf muscles, as well as her lower back, and some simple toe raises and balance exercises, and already I’d seen a marked difference. Now it was up to her to continue the exercises I’d shown her at home. If she slacked off, she could very easily relapse. A chronic illness wasn’t about to just go away, and in fact, being degenerative, it would likely get worse. I couldn’t take it away for her, as much as I might like to. But there was a fire to Bonnie that I loved. She was determined to be as healthy as possible in her position. I had a good feeling that she would keep it up.

“Alright, let’s wrap it up with some stretching. How’s that sound?”

She was tired but nodded anyway. “Sounds good, Casey. Let’s do it.”

Bonnie never complained, never whined or groaned about the pain I put her through, which made saying goodbye even harder. I was so damn proud of her—and myself for being in a position to be able to help—but I had to remind myself not to get too attached. Patients were only here for a few weeks, maybe months, but inevitably, they always left. As friendly as we got, we weren’t friends; they were my patients.

Bonnie would go back to her life, and in a city this size, I likely would never see her again. It was almost easier when my patients got grumpy with me, when they bitched and cursed and told me how mean I was. I never took their words seriously because I knew it came from their frustration, not because they were genuinely mad at me. They didn’t have to be here, they voluntarily put themselves through the torture, but in most cases, as the pain eased, so did their temper. The ones who were born with a shitty attitude, though, I was more than glad to sign off on their case when we were done.

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