The events of that night were vague, at best.
She remembered the early evening drive from River Heights into Chicago with her cousin, Bess Marvin, and meeting with her friend, Nancy Drew. She also remembered arriving at the restaurant and the unanimous decision to dine on the outdoor patio since the Fall night was unseasonably warm.
She thought she remembered the three of them talking about one of Nancy's current cases, but she couldn't be certain...something about a serial killer preying on young women in and around the Chicago area. But after that, things were mostly a blank slate. Her mind refused to unlock those final moments that preceded the devastatingly life-altering shooting. Of course, she had no actual memory of the shooting, either.
When she awoke a week later, she knew something was wrong; horribly wrong. She felt disoriented, immobile and stiff. Her brain was clouded in a fog and strange beeps and hisses assailed her ears.
What's happened to me? She almost couldn't even remember her own name. No, that was silly; of course she could remember her own name!
I must be in a hospital bed, or something. My name is George Fayne. I'm 28 years old. I live in River Heights, Illinois. I teach Phys. Ed. at River Heights High School. My mother's name is Louise Fayne. My father's name is... Oh, God! I can't feel my legs!!
Sudden panic seized her, and a feeling of dread hit the pit of her stomach; eyes blazing wide open. She struggled to sit up and found that singular effort to be thoroughly exhausting. The attempted action was also unsuccessful as she remained flat on her back. She could see her feet, yes, but they refused to obey when she willed them to move. She tried to wiggle her toes, and found that action to be fruitless, as well.
A new, frightening thought occurred to her, but was quickly put to rest when she realized she had normal sensation in her arms and fingers - even if those digits did feel somewhat lacking in dexterity. Her right shoulder was also extremely painful and unyielding.
She now redoubled her efforts to get her legs and feet to move. No amount of straining, flexing, or willpower brought the results she was desperately hoping to see and feel. Tears of frustration and cold, consuming fear coursed down her cheeks.
Ok, Fayne, get a grip! She told herself sternly. Deep breaths, now. Obviously something major has happened, or you wouldn't be in a hospital. Try to figure it out. Was it a car accident, maybe? I don't remember anything like that...And maybe this thing with my legs is just temporary. O, God, I hope it's temporary! She prayed silently. Please...I just can't be...
Just then, a nurse appeared in the doorway. Her eyes widened, and a smile lit up her face.
The next few minutes were a confusing flurry of activity and jumble of animated voices from nurses and a doctor who seemed to be in charge on the floor. As she approached, the physician said, "Miss Fayne, I'm Dr. Carole Cahill. Your parents have told me you like to be called 'George'. Do you know where you are?"
"Hospital," George said in a hoarse whisper, and she was shocked by the alien sound that issued from her throat. She swallowed to try to counteract the dryness.
"That's right," Dr. Cahill said. "You're in the Northwestern University Hospital intensive-care unit. You were brought here last week after sustaining a very serious, life-threatening injury. Do you remember anything?"
George shook her head. "What...happened to me?" she managed to say, while the woman shined a light in both her eyes.
Dr. Cahill said, "I won't pussy-foot around this, George. Your folks told me you'd want to know straight up what happened, so here it is: You were shot twice. The first bullet shattered one of the vertebrae in your lower spine. The other cracked your right scapular, or shoulder blade."
George gasped.
"Shot?"
"When you were admitted, you had lost large quantities of blood and were taken for immediate emergency surgery. Pieces from the the first bullet were removed during this surgery. Other fragments remain lodged in some soft tissue areas." She went on to briefly outline other procedures that had been undertaken to help stabilize her spine and repair the damage done by the deadly projectiles.
George squeezed her eyes shut. How was this possible? This was too much. This was a nightmare.
"George," Dr. Cahill said gently, "you've survived against some rather incredible odds. A person with your type of injury, well, there are generally two outcomes: Death...or paralysis."
Death or...
"No," George moaned in a painful rasp.
"I'm sorry," Dr. Cahill said with genuine compassion, her hand covering George's. "The section of your spinal column that was affected is what we call the lumbar, or lower back region. The L-1, or highest vertebra in that section was severely damaged. This type and severity of injury generally results in paralysis from the waist down."
She felt like the walls of the room were collapsing in around her. Her vision swam momentarily and breathing became difficult. Tears were now streaming uncontrollably, and she had no desire to stop them.
Her mind was in turmoil as thoughts stormed through without any real focus or control. I'm ruined! I'm...I'm...a cripple! What am I going to do? I can't live like this! Why didn't I just die? Why don't I remember anything? Bullet fragments are still in me. My spine was shattered. A bullet cracked my shoulder blade. That's why it hurts. My legs; they're useless...Where are my parents? What am I going to do now? Who's going to want to care for a cripple? I should have just died. I can't live like this. Where are Bess and Nancy?
George drew in a ragged breath. Bess and Nancy!
The shock of not knowing the well-being of her friends launched George back to the present and instantly dried her tears.
"My-my cousin...my friend..." George fumbled to form her words. Her tongue felt thick and unresponsive.
"Who?" Dr. Cahill asked.
"Bess Marvin...Nancy Drew...there with me when I was shot?"
"From what I understand, I don't think they were brought to U-Hosp," Dr. Cahill said. "I'll let your parents fill you in if you have questions of that nature. They've been keeping vigil here since the night we admitted you. We'll see about moving you from the ICU soon enough."
Dr. Cahill left to locate the Faynes.
Please let them be okay, George prayed. If I've been hurt this bad, how much worse could it be for Bess and Nancy? They can't be dead. They can't be. Please, let my parents bring good news...
She drew a steadying breath to try to compose herself for her parents' sake. She figured a brave front would be the best for all concerned.
A/N: Talitha Cumi - Greek. Usually translates to 'Little girl, wake up' or 'Little girl, get up'.