Hospital and Acceptance

I don't know how much time passed between getting injured, getting my amputations or surgeries, when I awoke, or when I arrived in the NCR's capital. Every time I awoke on the journey, I was still weak, but talked with my personal nurse. I eventually learned her name by looking at the tag on her uniform (A thing I neglected to do because of her face), but the tag said "Cpl. S. Andres" and I never got her first name. Even though she out ranked me, she looked younger than me, and acted more like that caring mother than a woman you'd pay for her hair (Although I would've for her).

The last time I fell asleep from my injury sustained weakness, I slowly awoke to the clip clop of the brahmin hooves on paved road and heard shouting or cheering. Saint Andres forgot to lower my shade again, so things were blurry as I awoke, but I saw hundreds of people lining the roads of what I assumed was Shady Sands. I'd never been inside the place, only at that little army base outside the walls, but I was taken in by the sights. People cheered and screamed, waving little NCR flags, or carrying homemade signs that said things like "Welcome home Troopers!"

I couldn't believe it. There were only around 20 or so crippled troopers on the whole caravan, but the crowd was as if thousands of soldiers were returning in triumph. All those people, those kids, those parents, those whoever, put their lives on hold for a day just to welcome us back from the Mojave… To welcome me back. I wasn't even an NCR citizen months or years ago, but they cheered for me regardless. As I waved at the people who floated by, I felt my vision get blurry with wetness again, and broke the promise I made to Angel Medic Andres.

I cried again, though I certainly wasn't as hysterical this time, and the blurry eyes were much more from joy than shock. While the vision went, I was still waving, and felt that wave of exhaustion take me over again. I fell asleep on that gently moving brahmin to the cheer of the wonderful NCR people and awoke in a hospital.

I was stirred awake by the same medic who'd been taking care of me since feeling her angelic hands. Fluorescent lights were above me and I looked around to find I was in an adobe tan walled room. After chatting again about where I was, and proposing to the medic for the 5th time, that angel departed that day leaving me one nice sentence and a smile worth remembering. I didn't ask where she was going, but the sentence she left me with answered that.

"Goodbye, Harton. Gotta bring more of you back home."

She really was an angel. It was her job in the army to bring troopers in the Mojave nightmare back home. Despite the initial jealousy of other troopers awaking to her image, I took solace in convincing myself that she was only picking up female troopers from there on out... So, she left, and I was alone in the rather homely clinic room somewhere in Shady Sands.

I slowly came to as my body finally filled itself with the rest of the blood I lost. After talking with some of the doctors who periodically checked up on me, I learned I was there to recuperate. As more hours of consciousness passed, I learned that the pain in my amputated limbs was still very much there. Part of why I was so tired on the journey was because Angel Medic Andres was pumping anesthetics into me on occasion while I was unconscious. I definitely needed that stuff because as it wore off, the pain was like someone recently sawed, hacked, or bit off my lower arm and leg (I still wasn't sure what precisely happened at this time). So, with my blood largely replenished, I still had to almost constantly be doped up on something. That essentially meant I was more free than those injured troopers still unconscious.

I spent that time in the community room of the cozy adobe hospital between checkups from my physician. After those checkups and after getting sufficient pain drugs in my body, I was allowed more freedom to move around, and really enjoyed that community room. I spent whole mornings and afternoons in there, talking with other injured troopers and playing games or whatever while getting accustomed to missing a hand and leg. Without an arm to steer a wheelchair, I was bound for a crutch under my good arm to keep me up right. The fun times would end only when the drugs were wearing off. Then the pain came, and I'd shout for assistance to be doped up again, or escorted to another checkup.

There were in total about 50 or more injured troopers at the hospital. Most of them were conscious and spent that time between their appointments in the community room as well. Most of those troopers lost a limb or something like I did, but a few special ones suffered brain injuries and lost the ability to independently function in one way or another. If some of the other troopers had all their limbs present and weren't brain injured, they definitely showed the scars or scary displays of some terrible combat, whether that was "lucky" bullet wounds to the face or head, or mangled appendages unworthy of amputation.

I absolutely loved everyone there; some of them I even knew from Forlorn Hope, but only a couple. I got along with the Forlorn Hope troopers best, but the troopers I met were from all over the Mojave and even some parts of NCR territory. I met both guys and gals who got their wounds fighting the "Fiends" around New Vegas, trying to keep the roads safe from a gang of escaped convicts, and fellas putting the heat on the Legion in other parts of the desert.

Jawing with the troopers who served at other places gave me a look at some of what was happening around that land in the east. The Forlorn Hope guys asked me what's been happening since x or y event, and I caught them up as best as I could. Although, there were some things I really wanted to know myself. I set aside some of that time to settle my curiosity, and asked one of the medical officers about what was happening out there while I was out cold.

That officer gave me the general public information he could which wasn't much, but told me a few things. There were no specifics, but there was a failed assault launched by Forlorn Hope around two weeks prior to my admission that brought up a new round of drafting. I think it was safe to assume that was the assault I got injured on. The officer offered to bring me a public list of the casualties of that encounter, but I declined. I didn't want to see who did and didn't make it out of there. I was the only one from the 1st wave I knew in the hospital, so I figured the rest were either gone or fixed up and thrown back on the Observation line. While chatting with the officer, I also learned that the failed assault on Nelson was followed by a counterattack, but our boys on the old line and trail head kept them at bay because Hope was still considered the worst place to be out east.

Other news about the Mojave as a whole was about how the chaos around there led to a lockdown of the roads for NCR troops and discouraged travel for the civilians heading on the 95. That seemed inconvenient because other news said the upper stretch of the I-15 was closed off because of an incident around an NCR quarry, while the lower part had almost always been closed because of that big convict escape. One of the more terrifying bits of new information was that the NCR's base called Camp Searchlight was recently hit by some radiation bomb. There weren't any public details about that attack, but those guys kept a great watch over the southern Mojave, so I hoped they were alright. Things looked pretty grim out there, but things were decent enough to get me out of there, and I knew the guns at Forlorn Hope were still giving Caesar's boys Heck.

So, when I wasn't relaxing with my pals in the community area, getting my wounds checked out by a doc, or catching myself up on the news, I was largely learning to adapt. Around three days into my stay at the hospital, I got to meet a new person. I was given a physical trainer to help me adjust to my new crippled existence. It was tough at first, but accepting the fact you were two less limbs was something I struggled with for months after leaving the hospital. As I worked with the trainer, she wasn't the only visitor us crippled vets got.

Although, it was on the second day in the hospital, and after one of the checkups, that I was asked by a nurse if there was anyone for the hospital staff to contact about my injuries. They wanted to know if I had family or friends that I wanted to visit me.

My first thoughts were about my pen pals. I was already losing contact with Andrea Walker, and I had long since broken up with my "Boyfriend", Mr. Torres. I thought of having the hospital contact the little Trooper Alisa (If she wasn't in the Vegas brig), but she wouldn't be able to visit regardless of where she was sleeping at the moment. I considered having them contact Stacy Paisley, my Followers pen pal, but I wasn't sure how far Boneyard was from Shady Sands, and concluded that I'd personally update her about what happened to me when I had the chance.

Then I thought about Mama and Pop for a moment and how I ran away from home. For much of my stay at Forlorn Hope, I would've rather turned myself in to a cross at Nelson than give them or their detective they probably hired a hint to my location... No, I couldn't have the hospital contact them, especially in my amputated state. I couldn't handle the "I told you so"s and didn't have ready access to a gun and brain destined bullet to deal with that talk. The more I thought about Mama and Pop, the more I began to mull over everything I went through and what I did to my parents by leaving. I thought about what they'd say, how they'd treat me, and everything I went through since making the decision to abandon them. My thoughts went on, I eventually shook thoughts of them out of my mind and found myself thinking a little more about some of my fellas at Forlorn Hope, thinking about who was alive, who was dead, who was injured, etc.

The nurse was still waiting for an answer to her question. She asked again if I had anyone for the hospital to contact, and I ultimately said, "No."