Chapter 28
The following days flowed seamlessly into one another with Neal sleeping a lot of the time and sporadic visits from his extended family, including members of the Ellington clan. The pain in his abdomen was beginning to recede, ever so slowly, as his wounds began to heal under the watchful eye of the medical team. It was beginning to look like Neal would be released from hospital by the middle of the coming week and June's funeral was set for the following Saturday, a little over a week following her death. Whenever he was awake, he read or sat making notes for the eulogy, preparing for the ceremony which he was looking forward to as well as dreading in equal measures. The second piece of paper on Neal's bedside table, next to the many cards and flowers from well-wishers, was the very long list of questions he had for Dr. Miller before his release. Since progress was slow but continuous, she had asked him to hold his questions until the day before he left hospital so he wouldn't be fretting about things that would never come to pass.
On Sunday morning, Neal met Clive Bessett for the very first time. Clive was a young African-American man of twenty-seven years of age, recently graduated from the physiotherapy program at New York University. Neal liked him immediately - although the young man was quiet and unassuming, he seemed to know when to push and when to back off, something Neal would discover was very beneficial in Clive's line of work. The first couple of days of physiotherapy consisted of Clive forcibly moving Neal's legs up and down, bending and straightening his knees and rotating his hips as he lay in his hospital bed. Neal found the whole experience rather humiliating but was taking it all in stride. He knew that if he didn't keep his leg muscles moving they would become atrophied and he would have a hell of a time when he tried to use them again – something which he hoped would be in the very near future.
On Tuesday morning, at Neal's insistence, Dr. Miller agreed to remove his urinary catheter to see how he would manage with bladder control. This had been one of Neal's pet peeves since his first day in hospital; he hated the indignity of seeing his pee accumulate in the plastic bag and he looked forward to a more dignified way of emptying his bladder. At first, as he lay or sat in bed, Neal made use of a portable urinal, a most inelegant yet useful apparatus. He had begun to regain some sensation in that regard and if he didn't wait too long to pee, he was able to control the ebb and flow, something Dr. Miller had qualified as a success. He looked forward to using the toilet and the doctor began talking about having him transfer his weight onto his legs long enough for him to stand and be transferred to a wheelchair – which was a step in that direction.
The first time the hideous piece of junk – as Neal would later refer to it – made an appearance in his hospital room, Neal felt totally dejected. From day one, he'd held out hope that he would walk out of the hospital under his own steam but with a mere twenty- four hours remaining before his departure, it was becoming more than obvious that he would need the set of wheels to get around – at least for a little while. Neal resisted the notion for as long as he could but what he wanted even more than to walk out of the hospital was to leave the hospital and at this point, he couldn't wait to get home to his family and this new version of his life.
WCWCWC
Back in White Plains, unbeknownst to Neal, the first floor of his house was undergoing some subtle transformations under Sara's watchful eye. The first floor bathroom, which consisted of a toilet and shower stall, had been temporarily equipped with medical aids so that Neal could go about the business of his personal care in safety. Parallel bars were installed on either side of the toilet so he could stand to pee and the stall was equipped with a plastic chair that Neal could sit on in order to shower.
Sara watched as Liam and Peter came down carrying the bedside table from Neal and Sara's room and made their way towards the kitchen, lugging the piece of furniture. Neal was notorious for keeping everything but the kitchen sink in his bedside table and she thought it might make the transition easier for him if he could turn and reach out for god knows what he kept in there.
'Where do you want it?' asked Peter as Sara made room by the hideaway bed in the family room
'Right there' she said, pointing to the space she'd managed to free up.
They could hear hammering out at the front of the house as the workmen completed the small ramp outside the front door to 4788 Meadowbrook Street. It was a small step up from the front porch into the house but it would be a pain in the ass to navigate and Sara was eager for Neal to have as few obstacles as possible when he finally got home. She knew he'd be impatient to carry on with as little fuss as possible and the last thing he needed was those little frustrations that she knew would drive him right around the bend.
Peter and Liam set the table down by the couch and looked around. Sara had uncluttered the space of all the kids' things – Hope's art stuff, Liam's school stuff, trying to make the space a calm haven for what was to become, for all intents and purposes, their bedroom for the next little while.
Having to sleep in the middle of Caffrey central was not going to be ideal but, for now at least, stairs were out and they would have to make do.
'Anything else I can do before I head over to the gallery?' Peter asked as he looked around.
'No... I think that's it' Sara said, her voice apprehensive.
Peter walked over and put a hand on her shoulder.
'It'll be fine, you'll see' he said by way of encouragement.
Sara shrugged and gave him a weak smile in response. It was far from fine but there was no way around the present situation and everyone, including Neal, would just have to make the best of it until things went back to normal.
She walked Peter to the door, thanking him again and he manoeuvred himself around the workmen while Sara made her way back to the kitchen, spying Liam making himself a PB&J sandwich.
'Peanut butter and jam for your birthday lunch, huh?' she said as she walked over and put an arm around her son.
He was taller than she was now and she wondered in passing when exactly he had surpassed her in height. At thirteen, he was almost as tall as his dad and although he was 'all Sara' in his colouring, she could see shades of Neal in his lankiness and the way he carried himself.
'It's no big deal, Mom' he said, licking his fingers. 'Like I said, I'd rather wait for all of us to be together for my birthday dinner.'
'So, what time is Uncle Mozzie picking you up for the game?' she asked.
'Early, he wants to take me out for dinner first' he replied.
Sara looked at her son with delight; he was turning into a young man before her very eyes and she was proud of his positive, cheery outlook on life, so like his dad's.
'Well, I'm headed over to the hospital. Have a good time – Go Rangers!' she said as she kissed her son goodbye.
WCWCWC
Neal's brow glistened with sweat as he cursed; when did moving his legs up and down a few times become such a workout, he wondered.
'Great job, Neal! I think that's enough for now' said Clive as he gently placed Neal's left leg back down on the bed.
'I can... do more' Neal said, his breath quick and uneven from the effort he'd just exerted.
If he was going to leave the hospital the next day, he needed to step it up.
'You're good' insisted Clive, bringing the session to an end.
'SHIT!' Neal let out as he felt the unfamiliar trickle of pee run down the side of his hip.
'It's okay. It happens sometimes when you push yourself' the physio said as he pulled back the sheet to survey the damage. 'I'll send your nurse in. Don't worry about it; you're doing great.'
The few minutes Neal waited for the nurse to come and rescue him seemed to last for hours as he lay there exposed in a puddle of urine.
'Hey there, Neal!' Terry finally chirped as she arrived with a flourish.
Over the past week in hospital, he'd had many nurses but she'd been one of his favourites – a no nonsense woman in her late fifties who didn't suffer fools gladly and knew her job inside and out.
'Maybe it was a mistake asking Dr. Miller to let you take my catheter out' he grumbled grudgingly.
'No mistake. You just need to get used to that feeling just before you need to go. Accidents happen when you overexert yourself' she said matter of factly as she began removing the top sheet from the bed.
'Perfect chance to try your new wheels' she added as she began to lift his gown and proceed to wash him down there.
Neal cringed as he felt the warm cloth on his genitals and his instinct was to grab the washcloth from her hand and do it himself but Terry just shooed him away.
'We're going to practice putting some weight on your legs while you transfer to the chair' she said as she pressed the call button to summon one of her colleagues.
Neal glanced nervously at the ugly contraption.
'I know, you hate it already, right?' said Terry. 'But you'll see, she'll become your friend, eventually. I think you should name her – you know, kill her with kindness' she said in jest.
Within moments, a second nurse arrived – a younger, prettier one – and Neal grimaced at the humiliation of having a pretty young thing see him in this less than impressive state. Years ago, he would have simply flashed his Caffreyesque smile and totally charmed her but even he couldn't pull that off with his pee dripping off him as it was.
Terry unceremoniously slipped Neal's legs off the bed, letting them hang there for a moment. He looked down, feeling dispossessed of his limbs, not feeling his feet and having limited sensation in his hips; suddenly his lower body looked like it belonged to someone else and it was the most perplexing and curious of sensations.
'Now' Terry instructed in her no-nonsense way (was that Sara's voice?) 'Let us support you while you put some weight on your legs.'
Neal became tense and after years of standing up at whim, without giving it a second thought, the idea of pulling himself to his feet became overwhelming and he hesitated, afraid of not being equal to the task.
'Come on' she insisted. 'The chair is right there. Just stand for two seconds and we'll settle you back down in it.'
Neal took a deep breath and willed himself to stand, pushing with more strength than he even knew he had. He grunted as he made the effort to stand, his legs shaking but nevertheless able to support his weight as he leaned on Terry and her colleague for support. He let out an audible sigh as he let himself fall into the chair, a small but smug smile on his lips. He was oblivious to the fact that he had a spectator nearby.
Sara watched in silence from the door to the hospital room. This was Neal, her strong and virile husband yet she felt like she was spying on a total stranger. She covered her mouth to keep a gasp from escaping her lips in response to the spectacle she'd just witnessed.
It was going to be a long, slow road to recovery and she was suddenly terrified of what lay ahead.
