Oh my life is changing everyday

In every possible way

And oh my dreams

It's never quite as it seems

Never quite as it seems

Cranberries - Dreams

My first meeting with the physiotherapist is an assessment, more than anything. Dr. Elliot comes to my room and helps me into a wheelchair. He's going to be present for the first session, and weekly after that to measure my progress. The physiotherapist is a friendly man named Keith. Middle aged, physically fit, and soft spoken, but with a booming, jovial laugh.

"The first thing I need you to do for me is stand up," he explains. "If you can get standing by yourself without too much difficulty, I'm going to get you to take a couple of steps and show you how to use a cane to support that hip," he grabs his own left hip with his hand as he speaks. "Now, before you get up, some ground rules. Don't try to throw yourself out of the chair. Take your time. The wheels are locked, hold on with your right hand, and slowly stand up," he leans forward in an exaggerated manner. "I don't want to see you doing this. Don't lean forward to far and hope gravity will do the work. Your body will let you down if you don't trust it. You won't be able to straighten yourself before gravity plants your face. Try to pretend it isn't hard, but remember that it will be. You ready?"

I sigh. "No, but what the Hell?"

He claps. "Ha! That's the spirit."

He stands easily and moves closer to me, presumably to keep me from falling and injuring myself further. My feet are already on the ground, so I carefully inch my bum forward in the seat and sit up straight. "That's it," he says, approvingly. "Nice and slow."

I grip the arm of the chair tightly in my right hand. "Not too tight, there, okay? We want your legs to do most of the work here," I nod at him as I continue to manoeuvre myself into a more comfortable position to stand from. Once I'm straightened in my seat and feeling reasonably steady, I slowly start to pull myself to my feet.

It shocks me how hard it really is just to stand. My legs are like rubber. The feeling is similar to the weakness after strenuous exercise. Then, I notice a shooting pain in my hip. I wince, but don't waver. "'Atta girl," Keith cheers me on confidently. "You got this," I let go of the chair as I come to my full height. My body sways momentarily with unsteadiness as the controlled motion stops. I put my right hand out towards Keith, as I'm uncertain about my balance, and my left arm is immobilized in the sling.

"Excellent job," he grins. "Now, I know you're unsteady, but you feel okay? Not feeling like you're going to hit the floor?"

I shake my head. "I think I'm good."

"Perfect," he keeps his eyes on me, but leans sideways and easily finds the cane that's leaning on his desk. "You're a little but taller than I thought. I'm gonna give you this, then I'll adjust it. It's a feel thing, so you'll have to give me some feedback," I take the offered cane and Keith kneels down to adjust it. I look to Dr. Elliot who is taking the odd note and looking fairly bored with it all. I feel a gentle tugging on the cane as Keith touches it to the floor. "Try that. You want to feel supported. You should be able to put your weight on the cane, with a straight arm, without leaning to the side."

I test the cane. "It feels good. It's comfortable."

He stands up. "Okay. I'm going to get you to take some steps. You're going to go from here to the chair next to Dr. Elliot. Then we're gonna try to get you to sit. 'Kay?" I nod. "When you walk with a cane, you'll move it forward with your bad leg, got it? That'll support you as you bring your good leg forward. Give it a try. Lead with your left, go ahead."

I follow his directions and move towards Dr. Elliot. It's challenging, but I'm able to do it. It's four steps to the chair, then another step to turn around. Keith stays with me as I walk the short distance. He looks very pleased. "That's great. That's great! You're killin' it."

I chuckle. "Should I sit?" My voice is hopeful. The small amount of activity has quickly tired me out.

Keith laughs his loud laugh and gives another clap. "Yeah, okay, you can sit. Don't get too excited, though. It's got to be careful and controlled. If you let yourself fall to the seat, you'll only do more damage. We need to retrain your muscles to do all of these simple tasks we so often take for granted," he explains. "Taking a seat, for you, isn't going to be the same as taking a load off for quite awhile. Ever go to sit on the toilet after leg day and wish nature hadn't called?" I furrow my brow in confusion. He looks at Dr. Elliot, who sighs. "Just me? Okay," another laugh.

"What I need you to do is put a fair amount of support in your right hand and right leg, and straighten that left leg out - Tommy, can you come forward a bit just in case she needs... thank you - now usually there'd be a second arm you could support yourself with, but because of your injuries, what you need to do is lean a bit to the right as you lower yourself down. The goal is to come down almost entirely on that right glute before you transfer your right evenly to the other side," I'm doing each movement as he directs and slowly, with some discomfort, I'm able to sit in the chair without any assistance. Again, Keith looks proud. Even Dr. Elliot looks impressed. "And there it is. Right on, girl, that's perfect. Do you have any concerns or questions about anything so far?"

"How long am I looking at? Realistically?" I'm afraid of the answer, but I needed to ask.

"We've got an eight week program outlined, three days a week here with me and four days of independent exercise in your own," he explains.

"Eight weeks?!" I'm stunned. "That's two months."

Dr. Elliot speaks this time. "The goal, medically, is to have you ready for discharge in one. The additional four weeks would be an outpatient program," he clarifies.

I relax. "That sounds more reasonable."

"Let me be perfectly clear here, Miss, you're lucky to be alive. Four weeks of in hospital care in this case is minimal," he seems annoyed, but I'm taking that to be his personality more than anything. "And until you start getting your memory back, you've got nowhere else to go."

I narrow my eyes at him. 'Joke's on you,' I think to myself. 'I've got nowhere to go, anyway.'

...

Keith gives me a couple of exercises I can do in my hospital bed to help straighten my legs. He also instructs me to get up once every two hours when the nurse comes in to check on me through the day, a minimum of six times. I'm too walk from my bed to a chair across the room - or to the bathroom if needed -, sit down, get up, and walk back to my bed. My hourly checks would go down to every two hours starting tonight and he wants me to start this new regimen tomorrow.

When Dr. Elliot leaves me in my room after the physiotherapy appointment, I'm feeling exhausted, but also feeling something I hadn't felt since waking up. Hopeful. Optimistic. The prospect of being able to walk out of this hospital in the near future and into a new life is exciting. Terrifying, but exciting. It's a good feeling.

Right away once I'm settled, I flick the TV onto GCN and start doing my exercises. Lifting each leg one at a time, pointing my toes out and then up before lowering them. Bending my knees up one at a time, rotating them outwards, then back up before straightening the leg back out. Doing each one with each leg fifteen times, however long it takes to accomplish the task, not rushing myself. It's tiring and tedious, but it's working towards something, so I push through.

GCN is reporting on a recent bank robbery orchestrated by none other than the Joker. A busy bank in the heart of downtown. In the middle of the day. All men in clown masks. All robbers dead apart from one, who made away in, of all things, a school bus. I shake my head. How over the top can one man be?

Just then, Ruth walks in with supper. "Hey there, Sunshine, how's it going?" She smiles brightly, glancing at the TV. "Isn't that awful? I sure hope they catch that man soon."

I nod. "Yeah, me, too. What's on the menu?" I look suspiciously at the bowl.

"It's a sweet potato soup," she uncovers it. It doesn't look half bad, and it smells even better. "It's actually really nice. Give it a go."

I sit up and let her push the tray over my lap. "Thanks, I will."

"How was Keith? I know we're gonna be getting you up a little bit tomorrow. How did you find it?" She hands me a spoon.

I shrug as I stir the soup, savoring the aroma as it wafts into the air. "I'm pretty beat, but he was great. Really supportive. Informative. It's good to have some kind of a timeline. Hey," I pause, taking a small spoonful of soup to my lips. "What if I don't ever remember? What happens? Obviously I can't stay here forever."

She smiles at me. "No, but let's not think like that. Dr. Elliot is the best neurologist in the city. We've got some amazing psychologists. You'll get your memory back. And if it doesn't come back before you're better, there are outpatient programs to help you. We won't just throw you out on the street."

I smile and turn back to my food. "Good to know."

...

"Hey, Sugar," the voice is behind me, but I don't turn around. I know the voice, and he'll be in front of me soon, even though I don't hear any movement. "Where ya been?"

"Left," I sigh. "I left, Jack. Where are we?" I look around. There is blackened, charred rubble under my feet. Jack examines the surroundings with me.

"I suppose it does look different than it did last time you were here," he kicks some of the debris around and picks something up. "You weren't the only bat here."

It's a baseball bat. Blood soaked into the wood. "What's that?"

He holds it out to me. "Salvation, Sugar."

"Jack..."

"Take it," he growls. "Don't make me give it to you, Sugar, I can't."

I shake my head.

"Take it!" He roars, shaking. "Please!" He rushes towards me, raising it high above his head.

"Wake up!" My eyes shoot open as the bat connects with my head. Only there isn't a bat. No Jack. Just two worried nurses. One sitting on the bed leaning over me, the other hovering over the other side, shining a light into my eyes. I exhale a breath I didn't know I was holding and smile apologetically at the women.

"She's awake," one of them calls as Dr. Elliot bursts into the room.

"She's awake? Miss? Are you okay?" He hurries the second nurse off my bed and sits himself in her place. "Do you remember who I am?"

I nod. "Dr. Elliot," I reply. "And I remember going to physio. All of that."

He nods, scribbling on my clipboard. "I came right in when they couldn't wake you. They left you for three hours. There was a communication error. We were twenty minutes trying to get you back. I feared the worst with your progress."

"Maybe I was just tired?" I suggest. "It was a busy day."

He nods. "Maybe. Now," his eyes are alight with something I've not seen from him. "While it's still fresh. Who's Jack?"

I freeze. Shit. "Jack?" I frown.

"Yes, 'Jack,'" he repeats himself. "You said that name twice while you were walking up."

I shake my head. "I-I-I don't know."

"You do know," he insists. "You just don't remember."

"Right," I relent.

"That's where we're going to start. If we can find out who Jack is, maybe we can help you remember who you are," he explains.

I sigh. I've got to play along. "I'm in your hands, Dr. Elliot."

He grins. Great. Now I've got to convince the best neurologist in Gotham that my brain isn't working properly.

...

A/N - Hi all! I know it's slow starting, but we've got to get Kaylie back up on her feet in order for the fun to begin. There's going to be a familiar face in the next chapter to look forward to. I hope you're enjoying it so far. Thanks to all who have read, reviewed, faved, and followed so far! See you all next week!