Roy peered in anxiously looking for his former partner's position in the small, Spartan room. He thought the rehab center was a good place based on his many observations of other patients and how the staff interacted with them. He understood from Dr. Gordon that Johnny's depression was typical at this stage, but Roy couldn't stop feeling that his friend was slipping away from him. He took on the responsibility of arranging visits for Johnny and making sure that Johnny wasn't alone. No matter how much Johnny said he didn't want anyone around, Roy could see in his eyes a certain thankfulness that Johnny was unable to express verbally.
"Hey, Johnny," Roy started, as he walked over to the corner that Johnny was settled in. The high-back wheelchair made Johnny appear smaller.
"Hi," Johnny replied quietly.
"So, I understand you've made it past the prone wheelchair and they've got you in a vertical one today."
Roy had been updated on the progress of the therapy. Keeping Johnny's blood from pooling in his legs was critical until his body became accustomed to longer periods of vertical positions. The fact of an ever-present threat of a stroke had made this therapy even more critical.
"No comment, huh?" Roy queried.
Roy was also aware that his best friend would not be in the mood for chit-chat or small talk. That was the way it had been these past few weeks. Roy also went to counseling, learning how best he could support Johnny during this time. Helen, their new-found friend they met on a rescue, was also a quadriplegic and had been for almost 20 years. She became an important visitor for both Johnny and Roy and Roy was thankful for her reminders of small blessings and the possibilities of a full life despite Johnny's physical challenges.
"Jenny drew this for you. She's really hoping to see you, soon. I hope you're still considering the visit. I think it will be good for both of you," Roy stated quietly. He placed the crayon drawings on the wall, so that Johnny could see them.
"Nice, Roy," Johnny sighed.
"So, what's up?"
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"Well . . . I know you and everyone else has been trying to keep me going, here . . .and . . . umm," Johnny rolled his eyes and groaned. "I mean, . . well, I'm just not sure that this is working. I'm . . . just . . .not. .. Hell, I think I really fooled myself back at Rampart. I mean . . . " he gasped with a large sigh.
"Johnny?" Roy looked deeply into the brown eyes full of sadness.
Johnny hung his head down, in obvious frustration and anguish. Roy cringed. He hated these moments and how they were bearing down hard on Johnny's soul. He knew that Johnny was fiercely independent and this new path of dependence was crushing his friend's spirit. Johnny always hated to depend on others or become a burden in any way. This was always quite evident in any of his recoveries from work-related injuries over the years.
"Roy, I just can't live . . . like . . . this . . there, . . . I said it," he whispered, looking directly at Roy, his jaw tight. Roy met his bleak stare. The depths of the man that was once Johnny Gage was no longer evident. Now, instead of the exciting and compassionate man that made him a good paramedic, an outstanding man and an even better friend, was the reflection of a man who died and never put to rest. Fear gripped Roy during that moment--a fear deep with a penetrating pain that he hadn't felt in months. He recognized its pursuit of Johnny's soul and his own fear grew more intense.
"Johnny, I don't . . . " Roy began.
"No, Roy, stop."
"But you are not alone. I'm here with you."
"Don't . . .please, I can't . . ." Johnny begin to breathe heavily.
The immediate act of reaching out to his best friend and gripping his arm came to an abrupt halt as Roy was reminded that it wouldn't help and he hated that. He hated that Johnny could no longer feel a reassuring touch; a physical connection with another. In fact, he hated this whole situation and he was beginning to feel the edges of Johnny's depression creep around his own heart.
"Look, I think we just need to move on one day at a time and focus on that electronic wheelchair. From what I saw, it seemed pretty nice."
"Roy. . ."
"Just try it, okay? Dr. Gordon sounded like this last combination of meds will really help. Can't you just . . ."
"Stop it! Just go, Roy . . .I'm tired and I want to go to bed. Just go home to your family, would'ya?" pleaded Johnny.
Roy stood up from the kneeling position he had ended up in. He stretched behind Johnny's wheelchair and released the brake, moving him closer to the bed. Slowly, tenderly and with all the caution of holding a fragile piece of glass, Roy began the process of putting Johnny to bed. They both remained silent during a task that he was very good at—Johnny kept his eyes closed so that Roy couldn't see the declining embers of life.
The floodgates of hopelessness continued to open up as Roy began the drive home after waiting for Johnny to fall into another restless sleep. He didn't know what the next step would be, but he was determined not to fall into the same pit currently swallowing up his best friend.