DARKENED WINGS

Chapter 21

"Making Some Domestic Adjustments"

CHRISTMAS EVE:

IT WAS 5:00 A.M. AND STILL DARK AS MIDNIGHT.

I'D COME AWAKE WITH THE HAIRS ON MY ARMS STANDING ON END. I'D SENSED HIM MOVING RESTLESSLY IN BED AND MURMURING TO HIMSELF IN WHISPERED TONES. RESTLESS ELBOWS SCRAPED OVER NEWLY STARCHED SHEETS IN THE NIGHTTIME STILLNESS. THIS HAD HAPPENED SO MANY TIMES IN THE PAST THAT ITS RENEWED ACTIVITY HAD ROUSED ME INSTANTLY. INTERMITTENT SCREECHES FROM A METAL-ON-METAL BED FRAME SCRAPED ACROSS MY NERVES LIKE AN ALARM GOING OFF. HE WAS IN PAIN, AND I WAS IMMEDIATELY ALERT. I THREW THE COVERS BACK AND STOOD UP. MOVED SILENTLY ACROSS TO HIS BEDSIDE AND LOOKED DOWN.

He was in REM sleep. His lips were moving: whispered words I couldn't make out. I paused, debating whether or not to wake him, but decided against it for the moment. His sleep wasn't peaceful, but at least it was sleep. His body was responding to sensations that the meds were only partially blocking from his brain. At his side, long fingers reached for the habitual contact points in the leg that was no longer there.

He was experiencing pain; phantom or otherwise I couldn't tell. Suddenly I wondered what it would be like … having ghostly symptoms that could never be pacified by physical contact. Never touched and never, ever soothed. Only endured. Always elusive and lurking and biting, while its victim sought in vain to find a way to pacify it.

I shuddered, debating.

Ultimately I reached down and touched his hand. Folded it into my own until I could feel his stiffened fingers beginning to release the tension. His restless elbows stilled. I pulled the visitors' chair closer by reaching out with my foot and dragging it over the smooth floor. Sat down and leaned into the contact, gently squeezing and releasing my grip. Eventually he stopped the reaching and allowed his entire arm to relax.

When he became quiet again, I positioned my head on the mattress with his hand still clasped in mine. I turned in the chair until I was able to attain some semblance of comfort. I tried to relax and maintain a vigil, hoping he would sense the presence of another warm body in close contact.

It was breaking daylight when I woke again. Our hands were still touching, and when I chanced to look up to gauge his status, he was staring back at me with those enormous blue eyes … just studying and studying.

"How long have you … ?" He whispered.

My back felt as though I'd been kicked by a mule, but I smiled and lied through my teeth. "Not long. Your snoring was keeping me awake."

"Yeah, and your grip on my hand has cut off the circulation. Now I have to have that amputated too. I hope you're happy."

I snorted a 'touche' and we both grinned.

The sky to the east was clearing. Snow on the windowsills outside looked to be piled to a height of at least a foot, and drifted by the wind into spectacular formations against the glass. White Christmas, as in: 'I'm dreaming of.'

"Looks like Ma Nature has finally let go with a whole shitload of white stuff," he said. "It's been building up for it all week. Nice thing to wake up to … if you don't have to slough around in it or shovel it …"

"Ummm …" I said. Not quite an answer, or a comment or an opinion. Just the acknowledgment that I'd heard what he said.

He did not complain of pain or demand any explanation why I was asleep at his side and holding his hand. We maintained the status quo, knowing that a discussion would bring up many unanswerable questions.

At 6:30 a.m. the hospital began to wake up. Boot stomping, coat shaking; murmured complaints about road conditions spoken in snatches. Someone pushing a pill cart was approaching in the corridor, and I heard one of the food carts jangle out of the elevator. Glass things began clinking and metallic things dinged against each other. Footsteps lost their night-shift stealth, and doors trundled open and clicked shut more often. Early morning voices opened up into casual conversation and occasional laughter as night people prepared to leave and daytime people were briefed on anything significant that might have occurred during the night.

I finally straightened in the chair and grimaced in pain as the muscles in my back bitched that I might want to remember I was no longer twenty years old. I creaked to my feet in the half light and stretched my body gradually until all the offended bones jolted themselves back into place. Snap, crackle and pop.

At that moment the room lights clicked on and a tiny Hispanic woman in a long white apron pushed a small breakfast cart before her and halted it beside Dr. Calloway's bed. Behind her, an orderly with an armload of sheets and pillowcases placed his burden on the night stand and hurried back to my friend's side to raise the head of his bed to a position that would be comfortable for him to eat his breakfast.

"You let me know when to stop, Doc," he said.

In my head, I was thinking: 'Even the orderlies and the household and kitchen staff know you!'

The kitchen lady said, "Hi L'il Doc. Beautiful morning, no?"

"Unhhh … yeah it is … Si …"

In his bed, Kyle Calloway was sitting up straighter and looking intermittently pained and smug. He obviously knew that they knew who I was too. "That's good, Alex," he said. "Thanks."

"Sure, Doc …"

The two of them dispatched two trays of piping hot food on the rolling bed table and smiled at our obvious expressions of ravenous intent. "Breakfast is served," said Alex. "We'll be back for your trays in about fifteen minutes. Enjoy!"

I looked at him and he looked at me. "Real food at last," he exclaimed. "Damn! My stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

"Strange," I sniped. "Your stomach got it wrong … it's your damn leg that they cut!"

"Oh … you wound me." He grunted. Evidently he was getting used to his change in status … and I couldn't help wondering what would happen when he went to his first therapy session.

We lifted the covers from the trays and inhaled the aroma of what lay beneath. Eggs, sunny side up, two strips of bacon, a fruit cup, and two slices of wheat toast. Two cups of steaming hot coffee and two small glasses of orange juice. It wasn't exactly a feast fit for a king, but to us it sure looked like one.

"Oh god, I've died and gone to Las Vegas," he quipped.

We tried to eat slowly and savor the food, but it was useless. We ended up bolting everything like a couple of hungry puppies. Later, sated and leaning back, we sipped at the hot coffee and just melted into the fabric.

By 7:00 a.m., day shift was solidly entrenched and Hazel Braddock walked into the room with her little electronic notebook and another paper cup containing another dose of Tylenol-3. The potent stuff. I was sure this time.

He swallowed it without comment.

Alex and his partner in crime came for the breakfast trays, and left without speaking, since Hazel was there on "nursy" business.

"How was breakfast?" She inquired offhand.

Our chorus of … "Oh. Wow!" … made her laugh. "You will find that this institution breaks all the rules about hospital cuisine. Its food is ultimately edible."

Immediately she got down to serious business. "Kent, I am going to give Kyle some pointers on how to look after his stump, and how to move comfortably from his bed to a wheelchair and back again. We're going over to PT to try the parallel bars and do a few simple exercises. Ordinarily the PT staff would take care of this, but they're off until after Christmas, so he has to put up with me. And an orderly or two of my choice.

"While we're doing this, I'm going to ask you to take care of a few things at his place to make it easier for him when he returns home. You can also pack up some personal clothing to wear here, okay? Bring comfortable stuff; something that doesn't take much care. Don't rush. The snow has stopped and the crews are clearing the roads, but you may still run into some slippery conditions. It's beautiful out there, and you'll enjoy the ride. Drive slowly and come back safe, okay?"

She snapped open her notebook and took out a printed list of basic alterations and adjustments for a recent amputee's living arrangements in his-or-her home. I scanned it quickly and walked to the room's open door where my coat hung on the back. I lifted it and it was heavy. Its pockets were stuffed with everything I'd removed from the clothing I'd been wearing when I arrived. I stuffed the list in on top of everything else.

I turned back to the pile of clothing I'd scraped onto the floor last night, wondering how to compact them to take them back for washing.

At that precise moment, a young man arrived with a large plastic bag already half full of the clothing my friend had worn when we arrived here early yesterday morning. The kid dropped off the bag and then promptly left again. Well! Seemed there was at least one person who was not buddy-buddy with the famous 'Doc'.

I stared, first at Hazel, then at 'Kyle', who were watching me (I thought) with ill intent.

I walked to the doorway after stuffing my dirty clothing in on top of his. "I'm off. I'll see you later." My eyes fell on his face. "Be careful in the gym …"

He returned an expression of pained indulgence. "Yes, Mom."

I drove slowly and carefully, cautious of oncoming traffic, which wasn't much. The New Hampshire countryside was like a winter wonderland. Trees, everywhere I looked, were topped with crowns of pristine snow. Parked cars, fence rows, road signs and bushes were wearing staggered layers of white so bright that they hurt my eyes. I almost wished for sunglasses. Unfortunately I hadn't planned that far ahead and hadn't brought any with me.

The sun was like a gold medallion in the cloudless sky. "Ma Nature", as he'd called her, had used up all her bewitching glory on her work of the past twenty-four hours.

Knock it off, you jibbering idiot, or you'll find yourself upside down in the ditch!

I pulled the VW onto the sidewalk in front of his place. I would have to shovel snow, I acknowledged. Walks on all sides of the apartment were shoveled clean except his. I shut off the engine and activated the blinkers. I pulled the bags of clothing and junk from the diminutive rear seat and got out with them on the street side. Fortunately, snow ploughs had already gone through, and the streets were bare, even down to the macadam in places. Even on Christmas Eve morning. I hurried to his front door and picked his key out of the three or four on the chain.

I let myself in and stared at his door key for a moment in mild fascination. He had provided me with a key, and I had not even asked for it. I was feeling better and better about the two of us every minute. We could certainly weather the rest of the storm ahead with mutual respect. I wondered how the future might unfold if we worked at doing things right this time with as much stubborn determination as we had worked at destroying them before. Only time would tell.

I turned on the overhead light in his living room, tossed the plastic bag of dirty clothes on the sofa. I shouldered out of my jacket and left it there also. I went into his bedroom and set about digging some comfortable clothing from my overstuffed suitcases that stood at the foot of his bed. He wanted cutoff shorts, so I would have to find those also.

I wondered if he had a washer and dryer. If not, I would have to find a laundromat, and I'd really hate to have to do that. I began to investigate his apartment, leaving no stone unturned in the search. His place was compact and put together like … could I say it? … a brick shithouse. Not an inch of wasted space. It was in immaculate condition. Might he possibly employ a housekeeper? Surely some of the chores would be intimidating for a man who couldn't stand to touch his foot to the floor and was still in pain as he held it off the surface? It made sense, since the man I had known before had not been a pillar of neatness.

Inch by inch I began to case the joint and learn where things were. I snooped behind doors and into drawers; scrounged underneath cabinets and into chests and dressers. Even under the bed. Under coverlets and behind cupboards and curtains. Looked for cubby holes in the bathroom. Checked outside the back door, but only encountered a pile of drifted snow that stopped the door in its tracks. I reclosed the door and checked the lock. Everything was neatly arranged everywhere I looked. Nothing piled … or heaped … or stuffed into.

I stood in the middle of the compact kitchen and scratched my head. No laundry facilities. Damn!

WAIT! What … ?

Across from where I stood was an area I hadn't checked. Just a louvered cabinet, I had thought.

Louvered!

I walked to it and searched for a handle. Or handles. There were none. Frustrated, I pushed on it. There was a latch that activated when the front of the thing was depressed. I stood back quickly, and the louvered door swung open to catch on my shoe. Inside, filling a very small space, stood a compact washer and dryer stacked one atop the other.

Wonderful!

I almost danced a happy dance. I wouldn't have to go traipsing around to find a laundromat. In fact, I could go about completing all the other tasks I had come here to do while the stuff was washing.

So I did the laundry. All of it. It took four loads. These little machines were not the Maytags and Kenmores and Frigidaires that you see ads for on TV. These were like trying to shove socks into a thimble. But I did it because it needed to be done.

In the meantime I changed his bed. Set the used sheets aside to do at a later date, because we had to return the clean clothing to the hospital. I raised his bed three inches at the foot end to make it easier for him to sleep as his stump continued to heal. I changed places with his dresser and chest of drawers because he could see the TV better from atop the chest of drawers. I left enough space along the wall beside the bed to put a walker where he could reach it easily, or replace it with his wheelchair … whichever was more convenient at the moment.

The bathroom didn't need any changes. It was already fitted out with all the handicap devices the law would allow. The room was so small that he would have to be cautious in there, no matter how he moved around. But he already knew that. Other than replacing the throw rug in front of the sink with a serrated rubber mat, he was good to go.

I looked around the apartment and switched out anything that could possibly catch on the big wheels of his wheelchair, because he would be moving fast if I remembered correctly. I switched out the floor lamp to his end of the couch and the end table over beside the lounge chair.

When I finished, I stood and surveyed the changes. There was a clear path from living room to bath. Also from living room to bedroom, living room to kitchen, and from bedroom to bath.

In the kitchen, all the small appliances, from toaster to mixer to Ninja to coffee maker, were moved to spaces where he could easily reach them without getting out of the wheelchair. Everything came off the top shelf of the refrigerator to shelves where he could reach them also. Coffee beans and grinder were relocated to a shelf in the cabinet beside the sink. When he came home, he could move around and see what had been adjusted, and give whatever suggestions he thought might make it even easier.

When I was finished, the ambience of the tidy little apartment hadn't changed much, but there was nothing that would trip him up or catch somewhere and dump his ass on the floor. I heaved a sigh as I crossed the last thing off Hazel's list and headed for the strangely equipped bathroom to reward myself in a shower with gobs of soap and hot water.

When I had packed our clean clothes back into one of my big suitcases and returned it to the car, I discovered that someone had shoveled the sidewalks, all the way along the block where the apartment stood. Surprised, I looked all around, but there was no one on the street. I had been inside for more than three hours, but had neither seen nor heard a thing. I put the key into the ignition and started it up to get warm.

There was one more mission to accomplish…

Shaking my head, I hurried across to the Watson Inn and looked around for Lily. Of course she had seen me coming and was waiting in the lobby. She was looking at me so anxiously that I walked up to her and encircled her shoulders in a hug. "He came through the surgery very well, I'm happy to say. He said when I came back to check the apartment, I should come over and let you know that he was fine." He had done nothing of the sort, but I thought it would be a nice gesture if she thought he had …

She backed away from me, and I knew the words I offered were the ones she'd most wanted to hear. "I am so happy, L'il Doc. So happy. He is such a dear man, and he was in such great pain for such a long time. Please tell him we're all thinking about him …"

"I will," I said. "I promise. And now you must tell me something."

She looked at me with wide, questioning eyes.

"Lily … who shoveled the snow away from his place? Please tell me."

She gave me a smile that looked like the Man in the Moon. All pleased and joyous that I would even ask. "It was Jake and Joey," she said. "They work here, and sometimes on weekends they play poker with Doc. I will tell them you said thank you on Doc's behalf. They always do it for him because he cannot do it for himself."

I clasped both her cheeks between my hands and kissed her on the forehead. I came away with the aroma of gingerbread and cinnamon. "Thank you, Lily. I must go now. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, L'il Doc. I will tell Jake and Joey."

I turned and walked out onto the veranda, waving back over my shoulder.

I took one more turn around his place. My eyes stopped on his wheelchair. It might be a good idea to pack it into the car and take it along. It would be familiar to him and nobody would have to listen to any bitching about one of the hospital wheelchairs being to big … to small … too uncomfortable. I folded it and removed the footrests. It should fit into the back seat fine.

That being done, I returned to the apartment and made sure everything was turned off, battened down and waiting in 'stand-by' mode. I then locked the front door and walked to the car. I put it in 'drive' and pulled out slowly.

The snow had melted a little and the streets were sloppy. Outside of town I put the pedal to the metal and scooted back to where the most important person in my life was waiting.

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