Visitors

I think it was my 5th day in the hospital when one of my checkups ended with the doctor offering to contact a prosthetics specialist. I wasn't really sure what a prosthetic was, but he said it'd be essentially a replacement limb. I didn't really know what that meant, but he said I was a prime candidate given where the amputations were cut. I finally agreed, since he seemed to have my best interest in mind, but I was honestly more excited to conclude this checkup up. I was going to finally meet some visitors!

Visitors were a fairly frequent sight in the community rooms since I got there. One of my injured brothers or sisters in brown would meet with their family who made the journey from all over the NCR to meet with their proud serving family member. I was excited for that particular day because this was one where visiting hours were open to the public. Most troopers, especially ones without family looked for this day since patriotic citizens from Shady Sands or the surrounding region would come in to meet the troopers who did their time everywhere. I heard that sometimes a senator or councilman would come to the sick bay for a photo shoot, but the wounded who'd been here longer than I looked forward to this for the girls, or occasional stud for the sisters in brown.

In that rec room, I got a spot reserved on the couch since it was cruel to make a legless man on a crutch stand. So, I sat there during the hustle and bustle of patriotic citizens meeting their wounded heroes and waited. Several amazing and grateful people took their seats on the couch next to me or stood across from me, asking what happened to my limbs, or gave me baskets of odds and ends or fruit as gifts. I forgot what food other than ant meat and old canned beans tasted like.

I heard all the chatter around me, and was approached by every kind of person you could think of. Sweet old ladies approached, gave me prayers and called me, "Poor Dear". Gruff middle aged men and women approached asking where I served, and returned with stories of where they've been or what they did. Families of my pals approached, showing that they cared for anyone who wore the same uniform as their son or daughter. Young guys and gals approached, asking for advice about joining the service, or asking what they should do with their lives (I wasn't the guy to ask that, but I appreciated the fact they deemed me wise enough to do so).

One seemingly ambitious young woman asked the standard question, "How did you get injured?"

I explained how one of those Legion dogs broke my left arm before gnawing on my shoulder while someone or something made off with my leg...

Side note: According to the hospital docs, the doc at Forlorn Hope amputated my leg above the infected site of the crude tear something made when it ran away with my leg. All the doc did was cut a little more of my leg off to prevent infection. My hand on the other hand (Pun intended) was the same way. Someone swiped my left arm and hand off while I was being eaten, my brain couldn't process what pain or thing to focus on, and the doc did the same thing he did for my leg.

Anyways, the young woman was puzzled how I didn't know who or what "Made off" with my leg. However, she did return with a short story describing an officer she met who was also confused about what took his leg. That officer apparently woke up one day while his unit was in the field with "One sock too many." I didn't think it was a "Tiger" that made off with my leg, and figured it was more likely a Legion dog.

Upon hearing more talk of the dog, she responded determinedly as if she was already a sergeant, "We're gonna put a boot up Caesar's *Profanity* and send his dogs with him."

No idea what she did for a living, but if that young woman was planning on enlisting, the way she made that statement made me believe it.

Anyway, my heart warmed with each person who just wanted to meet me, and I enjoyed giving my bit about the service. The meet and greet with the strangers ended when someone familiar sat next to me on that little sofa. The woman just sat there and stared at me for a while, and I wasn't quite sure what to do. Most people were pretty instant with the whole "How you lose that leg/arm", but not this woman, and I couldn't put a finger on why she was familiar.

She was a pretty one, long brown hair with bangs (sorta), pale features, glasses, and a mouth that looked sorta like a smile but also serious. I was a tad more entranced by her white cloak looking thing. It looked like the doctors coats, and I was about to ask if she was a new doctor or something. I stopped that when I finally recognized the funny circle and cross thing on her shoulders, and it hit me.

I'm glad she got tired of my perplexing gaze because she asked, "Don't you recognize m-"

And I instantly said, "Stacy? The Follower of the Apothecary?"

She chuckled, "Close enough, and yeah. How you been, Ed?"

I wasn't too close with my Redding pen pal, and I always really liked Stacy. I recalled the couple pictures I got of Stacy at Forlorn Hope and that was why her face looked familiar. I threw my arm and a half around that woman and we talked. It was really nice to meet one of the people behind the letters I'd gotten all the time. We chatted idly for a bit and my mind wondered how she found me. I then craned my neck to look around the busy community room. The fear of my other pen pals tracking me down turned me a few shades lighter. I ended or was close to ending comms with the other two pen pals peacefully, but the fear of seeing Andrea Walker or especially Damien Torres haunted me. I then caught how Stacy found me as she talked.

She said, "... I only came here to offer assistance since I was in town with my parents and a long way from LA. I talked some things over with the doctors here, and saw your name on the list of patients… When me and my parents showed up in town, I saw a public notice of casualties, and saw that your name was on there as 'wounded.' I was honestly pretty worried about you since I hadn't heard from you in almost three weeks and the last letter you sent was about you volunteering for that big mission. That casualty list put my mind at ease, at least knowing you were alive, but I'd say it's a chance in a million that I decided to volunteer at the same hospital you were recovering at…"

I listened to her talk, but for some reason only thought, "Yes, 'Volunteered' for that assault."

I liked listening to my pen pal talk, and was more than glad that I made a distant friend during my time in the Mojave who cared enough to visit me coincidentally or not.

Soon enough, I was called away from the community room for one of my checkups and a refill of pain drugs. I had to say bye to Stacy. Although, she did volunteer to help care for some of the patients here, and I respected that a lot. I didn't know much about the organization she was in, but I do remember thinking how bizarre it was that they worked for free. But, that didn't matter because I was just happy to regularly see Stacy.

Anyway, a couple more days in the hospital drifted by, and I spent a lot of time with Stacy, getting to know her in person when I wasn't paling around with my injured friends. I met with the prosthetics physician a few times for consulting, and getting sized up for a fake arm and leg. I finally learned what a prosthetic was during one of those times when the specialist came in with a few samples. There was a lot of prep work to be done before they hooked one of those up to a stump, and so that was added to my recovery plan.

On one particular day, something I wasn't expecting at all happened. I just had lunch with my pals and Stacy, and had to go back to my room for an appointment with the prosthetics specialist. This wasn't the actual installment, this was just a review and analysis of the injured site. During that session with the specialist, he removed the wrapping on my leg stump and made some incisions in the gross looking thing in place of where my lower leg should have started. He warned me that this was to gather bone samples around the site, and measure the depths that the prosthetic would have to go in order to be stable. What he didn't warn me about was how painful those incisions would be. The incision was so unbelievably painful, and my pain drugs I took that morning were already almost gone. I screamed and shouted and cursed the specialist who was a really nice guy, and shouted how I didn't want the stupid prosthetics if the pain of the installment would be like that. A nurse came in as I freaked out and screamed. She injected me with a hefty dose of the stronger stuff they were trying to wean me off of, and my vision went to black.

*Some will get the reference about the "Tiger" quietly stealing an officer's leg... It's Monty Python*