Chapter 95: Signing Off

Owen's morning PT and OT were combined into a two-hour block. His therapists ran him through all that he had learned and fine-tuned some of his techniques. Josh, knowing Owen was absolutely determined to walk on his own as soon as possible, encouraged Owen's goal and also warned him not to push too hard. Both Josh and Ann showered Owen with handouts showing various exercises he could do at home to improve his range of motion and to regain strength. Thanking the team profusely, Owen beamed as he watched them sign off on his discharge papers. The idea of going home was becoming more and more real.

Wrapped up and caught up in all that you fear.

Immediately after OT/PT, Owen saw Marcus. The timing was not ideal, since Owen was worn out from his time with Josh and Ann. However, Marcus had purposely arranged the session that way. Being tired meant Owen's defenses and walls would be down. Expending his energy in PT/OT, he wouldn't have the energy to pretend he was fine.

"Owen, we both know that you're clear about resuming therapy in Seattle by the end of this week, right?" Marcus confirmed yet again.

"Marcus..." Owen huffed with a hint of frustration, "We've been over this. Scout's honor, ok? Got a Bible? I can swear on it."

"Good. We're both clear," Marcus confirmed with a smirk without taking the bait of Owen's sarcasm. After pausing briefly, Marcus chewed the end of his pen and requested, "Tell me about your flashbacks." The two had not broached the subject, but nearly all soldiers had them. After treating many soldiers, Marcus had learned to avoid asking if flashbacks were happening and to ask about them instead.

"Flashbacks?" Owen asked, attempting to play dumb.

"From your time in Sudan especially, but also from your initial post. I'm sure there have been some related to the attack from the Sudanese," Marcus assumed with confidence.

Owen stared blankly at Marcus. He did not want to talk about his flashbacks. Nor did he want to admit he had them. Instead, Owen wanted to focus on going home. He'd assumed the session would be about reintegrating to civilian life and what to expect from the kids as they became accustomed to having him back.

"You're far too smart to play dumb, Owen. What memories are haunting you?" Marcus insisted.

Having a strong hunch that Marcus would not sign his release papers until they discussed the topic, Owen took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "Getting knocked to the ground. Thrown to the ground. Hard. Then his boot was on my head." Letting the slow leak of his emotional dam begin to flow meant the flood would soon follow.

"Good. Keep going," Marcus encouraged compassionately.

"Risa, a nurse under my command, was about to be assaulted. I yelled and ordered the soldier harassing her to stop. I don't remember exactly what I said. Something like, 'get your hands off my staff' or something. I was still on the ground. Suddenly, the boot moved from my head to my side. He kicked me. Beat the hell out of me. Kicking and kicking and kicking," Owen began to hyperventilate.

"Deep breaths, Owen. Take a look at the art in the room – whatever piece is soothing. Deep breaths, but stay with that scene," Marcus urged gently. "Take a minute. Take your time."

Owen collapsed emotionally, sobbing and shaking his head, "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can. Let the words come to the surface. It helps lessen the impact of what you've lived through. You can do this," Marcus pushed.

Slow deep breaths were followed by fast shallow ones then slower breaths resumed before the hyperventilating returned. The pattern wavered back and forth. "Just take your time. Take all the time you need, Owen. Breathe, let the fear out, fall apart. You're safe in here," Marcus reminded him.

Yearning to pull his legs up to his chest and hold on for dear life, Owen grumbled loudly in frustration as he remembered his debilitated leg. He closed his eyes and returned to slower breathing. His brain had an epiphany – if he sat lengthwise on the couch, his right leg could remain straight while his left leg could be bent the way he wanted. He slid his back, so it rested on the arm of the couch and carefully maneuvered his right leg onto the cushions. After pulling his left knee toward his chest, he wrapped his arms tightly around his leg. He purposely slammed his head onto it with a mixture of yelling and crying. Marcus let the process unfold.

Owen snarled with venom, "The abusive asshole kicked me with force, intensity. He enjoyed it. He was self-satisfied, proud." His agony was just below the anger, ready to burst.

Owen closed his eyes as his face remained buried in his knee, "Then the other bastard shot me. Three times. Each one penetrating, digging into my body. I was writhing in pain. Son of a bitch!" Owen shouted. Owen hit his fist into the back of the couch, his face shifting between anger and fear.

Very softly, Marcus prodded, "I hear the anger. Tell me about the fear, the dread."

Owen flopped his head onto the arm of the couch and focused on the ceiling. He was silent for about two minutes before Marcus repeated his question gently. Flatly, Owen disclosed, "I was afraid of the pain. Afraid I was going to die. I hurt with more intensity than I've ever experienced."

"What else?" Marcus prodded.

Owen's face crumbled as he covered it with his hand, "I was scared that I'd never see Mia again. Terrified I'd be leaving her to raise six kids by herself. Not that she couldn't do it – she probably would excel and face the challenge head on…I was afraid I'd miss Bronwyn's wedding, and Finley's graduation from college. Oliver's – who the hell knows what – something daring and adventurous. The twins walking, talking, growing up. The birth of my son."

"You didn't want to miss any of that," Marcus reflected.

"Hell no," Owen insisted as he moved his hand back to his stomach and resumed gazing at the ceiling.

"And you survived," Marcus pointed out. "You survived, Owen."

Owen remained in the same position, breathing a bit deeper than normal. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he squinted. Marcus inquired, "What are you feeling now?"

"Relief. Exhaustion. Yearning to make love with my wife. Eager to hold my kids. Wishing I could return to my work at the hospital. I want to return to my life," Owen listed.

"Living. Fully living," Marcus concluded observantly.

Plainly, Owen affirmed, "Yeah."

The breakthrough of initially opening up the buried emotions paved the way for the future. Owen's next therapist could now prod him along to continue processing his experience. Marcus signed the release and slowly handed it to Owen, encouraging, "Stay on the couch as long as you like. I'm going to step out. I'll be in the hallway if you need me."

Owen didn't move for ten minutes. Then he maneuvered himself into his wheelchair and headed back to his room where lunch awaited him. He was as famished as he was drained. Unlike his usual practice, he made certain he did not make eye contact with anyone as he made his way down the halls.

12:30pm

Fifteen minutes after he'd returned to his room, Owen's doctor arrived. She ran his vitals and examined his wounds. Obviously, Owen had been put through the wringer that morning. Choosing not to comment on his earlier appointments, Owen's doctor focused on pointing out her assessment that everything appeared to be healing nicely. "Major, you're headed home," she announced with a smile as she signed the release document.

"Amen," Owen declared with a grin that didn't match his ashen complexion and swollen eyes.

The doctor assured him, "We copied your records and forwarded them to Dr. Torres as you requested. She'll work on that right leg and oversee your PT from here on out. I'm guessing you have a general surgeon or GP who can keep an eye on the abdominal wound."

"I was planning to have Dr. Kepner maintain that part of the case. She's the one who treated me in the field – a talented trauma surgeon," Owen detailed.

"I wish you nothing but the best, Major. I'm sure your family will be thrilled to have you home. One step at a time…truly. Don't rush yourself in reintegrating," the doctor advised as she reached out her hand to shake his.

Relieved to have all the necessary signatures, Owen closed his eyes and napped. Relieved this step of his journey was concluding, he rested with serenity and imagined returning to his family, life, and home.

Suddenly everything seems so clear

At 3:00 pm his time, Owen received his itinerary. Immediately, he sent a picture of the itinerary to Amelia and promised that he'd call later. He was eager to tell the kids he'd be home before bedtime. He was relieved to not be on a commercial flight where his presence might garner well-intentioned but personally uncomfortable attention. A military flight to Seattle would depart at 6:00 pm San Antonio time and he would be aboard. The plane would touch ground at McChord Air Force base at 8:15pm, Seattle time.