Chapter 3

He heard the front door open. Finally!

"Good morning !" The home health care aid called out to him from the hallway.

Christ! Why does he have to be so fuckin' cheerful?

The young man stepped into Malcolm's living room. Or rather, into what was now his bedroom. "How are you this morning?"

"T-toilet," he barked at the man.

"Use your word's Mr. Tucker."

What am I, fuckin' two? "Toilet!"

"How long have you been waitin' for me? You can get up on your own, you know." The aid stopped next to his bed. "You need to get up and get moving."

"Fffff…youuu." And fuck his sister for leaving his urinal in the bathroom when she left last night! And fuck the fact that he couldn't say his favorite word anymore! He'd lost the best weapon in his arsenal of words. Use your words! As far as he was concerned his words were now useless. He waved his left arm at the man. "T-toilet."

The man grabbed his hand and helped him to a sitting position. "You can't keep doing this Mr. Tucker. You want me hold your dick for you too?"

Malcolm glared at him.

"You're only gonna' have my help for another month. If you don't start making an effort you're gonna be all alone here pissin' in your own bed." He scooted a walker from where it had been sitting beside the bed to a spot right in front of Malcolm. "You can do this on your own." He left Malcolm sitting there and went to dig something out of the bag he'd brought with him.

Great! More therapy bands.

Instead, he pulled out a magazine and plopped down in the new lift recliner that his sister had purchased for him when she'd changed his living room into his bedroom. Shit! This guy was going to let him piss on his bed, or at least, on the,...on the...on the ground ! He looked at the metal contraption in front of him. He'd managed a few times with the therapists help, but he hated it. It reminded him of the old geriatric blue haired pensioners he'd seen cruising with their walkers while feeding the pigeons in the park. That's not me!

He looked over to the aid for help again. Ron…John…Don, he'd forgotten his name again, but he was engrossed in his magazine. I should just piss myself! Instead, he grabbed his nearly useless right hand with his left and placed it on the bar in front of him. His thumb had a limited range of motion, but his fingers would not straighten on their own. With his left hand he uncurled the stiff fingers and placed them around the bar. He held on as tight as he could with his thumb as he pulled himself forward with his left hand. Once his feet hit the floor, his left hand let go of the walker and he used his good hand to reposition his right leg and foot to be in the proper place with his left foot so that when he finally stood up he wouldn't topple over.

He was starting to sweat, not just from the effort, but from the fear of falling. Where the fuck is Don Juan? He looked over his shoulder. The man was still reading. I'm gonna piss myself straining to stain up! He put his left hand back on the bar and began rocking back and forth to give himself enough forward momentum to pull himself up. On the third try he pulled himself up. He put too much weight on his right leg too soon and he felt himself wobble to the right. Shit! I'm gonna fall!

He didn't fall. Shaun was at his side to stabilize him. "You need more practice," was all the encouragement he offered. He let go once Malcolm slid his right leg into place. "Let me know if you need a hand," he smirked.

"Diiick!

The aide sat on his bed to wait. "We'll work on that limited vocabulary of yours when you get back."

The trip to the bathroom was exhausting, which is why he didn't want to do it in the first place. He had waited so long to go that he started pissing before he was clear of his flies. He wet his pajama bottoms and the floor before he hit the toilet. "D..daaam it!"

Shaun appeared in the doorway. "Next time you won't wait so long."

Malcolm's frustration and exhaustion had taken their toll. His arms started shaking and his breathing became rapid as he held himself up on the walker. He was sure something was wrong when his eyes started burning. Shaun quickly stepped forward when he saw that Malcolm was crying. He'd pushed him too far. "Come on." He put his arms around Malcolm's shoulders. "Let's get you back to bed."

The return trip was easier with Shaun's help. Malcolm didn't even protest as the man undressed him, cleaned him up and redressed him. "Sorry," Shaun said when he'd finished. "You haven't been very cooperative with your therapy since we started and when I spoke to your sister yesterday, she said that I shouldn't put up with your shit anymore. I am sorry that happened, but maybe now you understand how important it is that you work with me."

Macolm lay in the bed with his good arm across his face. It had taken him a while to realize that he'd been crying. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. It embarrassed him and he tried to hide his eyes. He realized it was stupid. John was the only one in the house to see him. And yes, he had been a dick to the man during the past few of weeks. And yes, he did need his help. So he apologized too.

"Ssssoo…kay. "

"We're cool then Mr. Tucker?" Shaun asked just to be sure.

"Mm…aalcuumm."

"All right then, Malcolm. You feelin' up to some speech therapy before breakfast?"

"Ssuure."

When Shaun left at two o'clock, Malcolm actually felt upbeat. He even stood to greet his sister when she arrived at her usual time. She babysat (as he called it) from six to ten every night. "Hi Mm…aggie." She hugged him and started crying again, and this time he felt himself tearing up as well. Twice in one day. He wondered what was wrong with him? He didn't realize until later that night, as he lay in bed thinking about all he'd been through since waking up in the hospital, that crying is what a normal person would have done along time ago. He'd just forgotten how.

xXx

The first time he was awake at the hospital for one of his sister's visit, she'd cried. He didn't know how to react, so he just closed is eyes and waited for her to stop. He wasn't able to do much anyway after coming out of his coma. Nothing seemed to work properly and they kept him sedated most of the time. They said it aided his recovery. Anytime he was awake, they were always poking and prodding and running test and asking questions he could barley answer.

Once they stopped sedating him and cut back on pain the meds, he finally learned how bad his stroke had been. He learned they had to cut open his head to fix the bleed. Cut open his head! His sister had been the one to show him in a mirror. I look like that guy…that guy…(fuck!)…that…thing sewn together with parts! It was all stapled back in place but there was still a drain tube sticking out of his skull. He had lots of tubes in him. An oxygen tube taped to his nose along with a feeding tube down his nose. He had an IV tube coming out of the port in his arm and a catheter stuck in his dick with a tube going to a pee bag. I look like one of those…round things… with pins in it. Round things? Pad? Bag? His ability to speak was minimal and realized lost the one thing that was more important to him than the use of his right hand or leg. He'd lost his words!

That revelation, along with a few other complications, sent him into a depression by the end of his third month in the hospital. The first complication freaked him out. He thought for sure he was dying when he started throwing up blood. His ulcer had hemorrhaged. It was easily fixed with meds; but a week later, he had another complication that almost did kill him. He had an infection in what he called his 'brain drain'. It set back his recovery. Recovery! Who were they trying to kid? His sister had been there nearly every day and she read to him all the pamphlets and printouts the nurses had provided about stroke and stroke recovery. He was fucked!

He quit listening to her and stopped replying to her questions. He stopped cooperation with the rehab nurses. He thought he'd won when he'd made his sister cry again and she didn't return the next day. But she hadn't abandoned him. She'd just gone for help. And when Jamie McDonald showed up at his room, Malcolm was thoroughly pissed.

"Fuckin' 'ell Malcolm. What 'ave you done to yourself?"

Jamie's voice jolted him awake. For a second, he thought he'd been dreaming he was in hospital and that he'd just woken up from one helluva realistic nightmare. But the bright antiseptic whiteness of the room told him otherwise. Jamie was standing at the door. He wanted to tell him to fuck off. He wanted to call for a nurse so they could make him go away. But he couldn't do anything but lay there. He tried to pull his sheet up over his head with his good left hand, but it wasn't long enough and only reached his nose.

"You don't want me to leave Malcolm. It seems I'm the only friend you've got."

Malcolm ran his hand down his face in frustration and then flipped him off.

Jamie laughed. "I forgot you knew sign language." He grabbed a plastic chair that was pushed up against the wall and dragged it across the floor to Malcolm's bedside and sat down.

"Didn't you know there were easier ways to avoid prison?

Malcolm couldn't help but smile.

"Your sis came to see me."

His smile quickly faded.

"Don' be like that. This hasn't been easy for her either. She's was cryin' in my office yesterday…so don't you be treatin' her like that, she's your own sister for Christ sake!"

Malcolm breathed out a heavy sigh.

"Look Malcolm, I'm not here to bust your balls. I just want you to know…that I know what you're going through."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. How could you possibly know what I'm going through?

"Screw you and your semaphoric fuckin' eye roll Malcolm; I do know what you're going through!

Malcolm shook his head. You know nothing.

Jamie leaned forward in his chair. "Remember when I took that month of vacation last summer?"

Malcolm nodded.

"Yeah? Well it wasn't because I went on a shagging expedition to the Bahamas like I told everyone. I went to Edinburgh to take care of my dad. He had a heart attack and then suffered a stroke."

Malcolm looked surprised.

"Why didn't I tell you? It's the same reason you don't want visitors. We can't let 'em see us bleed, now can we? Not in our line of work."

"Nnno."

"Ah! He speaks."

Ss..suum."

"I see you've got none of that face paralysis. That's a good thing, because with your face...you'd have looked like a whore's saggy cunt. Especially if you opened your mouth."

Malcolm laughed. Damn, he missed his friend!

"I bet that's the first time you've laughed since you've been here."

"Yup."

"And it won't be the last Malcolm, but it's just gonna' take time. A long, long time. So you need to do something. You need to forget your old life and all those pricks back there. You need to focus on getting better and then start a new life because you'll never be able to go back to that fuckin' cesspool."

Malcolm expected he'd be getting an upbeat pep-talk from his friend. Not this…this sucked! He got angry. "Wuh…wuh…wuh?" Dammit!

Jamie understood why Malcolm's sister had come by. He was in denial. "Why? You fuckin' know why! You are fucked in the head Malcolm! Jamie pointed to his own head. "Literally…fucked in the head! You're not gonna' wake up one day to find everything is back to normal. You will never be back to normal. Your doctors and your sister have been telling you this for months, but you're too fuckin' daft to listen!"

Malcolm grabbed up the TV remote lying on his bed and tossed it at Jamie's head. He missed.

Jamie picked it up off the floor. "You throw like a wee little girl." He set it just out of reach atop the small table next to Malcolm's bed. That earned him a glare.

"You keep doin that and next time I visit I'm gonna' shave those eyebrows right off, then where will you be?"

Malcolm looked up at the ceiling.

"This…," Jamie waved his hand around to get his attention. "This is your new world Malcolm. You're gonna' have to learn to live in it. So get up off your ass, do the speech therapy, do the physical therapy and…"

Malcolm turned his head away.

"Fine, fuckin' be that way! Jamie's chair screeched back across the linoleum as he abruptly stood up. "If you want my help? You call me. I promise I'll be there for you night an day."

Malcolm still refused to look at Jamie as he heard his footsteps move away.

Jamie stopped at the door. "I told your sister I would help, but I already had to watch me dad waste away an die, and I just can't do that again!

Shit! Malcolm turned his face to the door but his friend was already gone.

Jamie's 'pep-talk' gave him a lot to think about.