Prologue
"Well, Mr. Branson, it looks like your three-week stay with us is at an end. How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit by a truck," he responded with a smirk.
The middle-aged woman looked up from her clipboard and peered at him over her glasses, perched at the tip of her nose. "It was a car, wasn't it? Next week, you'll be telling your friends it was a train."
Tom smiled. He liked Nurse James. He might go as far as to say he would miss seeing her everyday, but that didn't change the fact that he was so very happy to finally be leaving the hospital. So eager was he to go, in fact, that he'd gotten up at 6 o'clock this morning even though his official discharge wasn't until seven hours later. That was just as well, since it took him something like 45 minutes to change into his street clothes. He'd been practicing walking on his crutches for two hours when Nurse James walked in to release him.
He'd be back, of course. You don't break your right femur in two places, tear your right ACL, dislocate your left shoulder and suffer a concussion and get away scot free. His body, as Nurse James had told him several times yesterday and today, needed serious physical rehabilitation over several months to recover fully. Still, he'd been lucky. She'd told him that every day he'd been here.
Luck is a funny thing, Tom thought.
"Here are your discharge papers," she said handing him a thick stack. "The ones at the top have your physical therapy schedule for the first month, and your nurse's contact information. You'll meet her when you come in for your first session on Wednesday—Don't be late!—She'll see you through the whole process. A lot of hospitals don't do it that way, but I am a firm believer that continuity is best for patients, especially stubborn ones like you."
"Me?"
"Yes, you! You're the type who will think you have it all figured out in a week's time, that you'll be good as new in a jiffy. But let me warn you Mr. Branson, this is a long process. And it will be very hard and very painful. You've gone through a serious trauma. The sooner you accept that your life will not be what it was when you step out of this hospital, the better it will be."
He sighed deeply and looked out the window. He knew life wouldn't be easy, he'd have his mother's over-protective hovering to contend with, the settlement over the accident. Yeah, accident. And the new job he was supposed to start next week.
Maybe I should just stay.
"You're going to be fine, Mr. Branson." Her words pulled him out of his reverie, and he realized that she was now leaning on the bed next to him, smiling kindly at him. "The upside to being stubborn is that you can use it to your advantage."
"Thank you, Nurse James. I'd probably be dead if it weren't for you."
"Oh, I don't know, my boy. I've a feeling it takes a lot more than that to break you."
He smiled bashfully and looked at his feet.
"Well, who has time to dally!? Look through those papers and let me know if you have any questions. You have someone picking you up, I expect?"
"Yes, my brother. I told him I'd meet him downstairs."
"Very well, I'll have an orderly up here with a wheelchair in a few minutes."
"I don't need a wheelchair! Didn't you see how well I was doing with these when you came in?" he said pointing to the crutches.
"You're going to want to burn them before the day is out, I imagine," she said with a laugh that spoke of experience. "Take the help while you can. In fact, you should make that your motto. Take the help while you can."
"All right, far be it for me to contradict you," he said with a cheeky wink.
"Good man." With that she turned to leave, but his words stopped her at the door.
"Nurse James, is this right? It says here Sybil Crawley will be my nurse."
It had to be her, right? How many Sybil Crawleys who were physical therapy nurses could there be in London?
"Of course, it's right!"
"Is there any chance I can have someone else?"
"Why in the world would you want someone else? Nurse Crawley just started with us this week, but she brought wonderful references. I'm sure she's up the challenge."
"It's just that—"
"What kind of shop do you think I'm running here? I make out my nurses' schedules weeks in advance. You'll be with Nurse Crawley and like it."
"But, I, um. . . . I have a bit of history with her. . . . What I mean to say is, I know her."
"Well, of course, you do."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I know you know her."
"How could you possibly know that."
"Because she told me when she requested you as her patient."