Episode Fifty
Milo spent most of his lunch time distributing the ballots for the WIBAs to rest of the student body. He went from classroom to classroom crossing off all the names that on his copy of the list the committee had been provided by Principal Milder. With the WIBAs looming at the end of the month, it seemed as if nobody was talking about anything else.
"So who are you guys voting for?" asked Zack the next day over lunch, running his eyes down the ballot. "I was thinking about nominating Mort for Most Improved Athlete," he said, "and Chad for winner of the poetry contest."
Melissa took out her ballot sheet and frowned at it in response. Milo could clearly see on the back where she had written Zack Underwood next to Greatest Personal Improvement in her neat penmanship. "Mort for Most Improved Athlete I can see," she said, writing down his name in the blank space next to the award in question, "he's been having a good season, but Chad for the poetry contest?" She shook her head. "He was OK, but honestly Chad should stick to gardening. I thought that Joni's piece was much, much better than Chad's." She paused. "What do you think, Milo?"
Milo washed down the last remnants of his tuna sandwich with a swig from his bottle of water and fished his ballot out of his backpack. He examined it critically. Like Melissa, he had already penciled in Zack Underwood next to Greatest Personal Improvement in his usual messy scrawl. He ran his eye down the list of award categories until he got to the poetry competition. "Actually, I didn't vote for Chad or Joni," he said.
"So who did you vote for?" asked Zack.
Milo shrugged. "I voted for Bradley," he said.
Zack and Melissa traded a look that was equal parts surprise and equal parts wry approval. It was typical Milo. He had voted for the poem that he had thought was the best and had disregarded what he knew full well what Bradley thought of him. "What?" he said, a little defensively, "I thought that Bradley's piece was really, really good."
Melissa laughed. "No, it's OK, Milo," she said. "We're just appreciating you being you."
Milo's cast came off a week later. He sat in the waiting room at Dr. Gardener's office next to Martin, perusing the lasted issue of Doctor Zone Universe. His crutches were propped up on an empty chair next to him. Martin sat on Milo's other side. He was nursing a sprained wrist. He had somehow managed to trip over Diogee going down stairs for a late night snack at one AM. The room was brightly lit by utilitarian fluorescent lights. The assorted chairs scattered around the room were slight worn and held a variety of people of different ages and descriptions.
"Milo Murphy?" Milo looked up at the sound of his name. A tall, thin woman in hospital scrubs was standing framed in the doorway. She was holding an open medical file in one hand. "Is there a Milo Murphy here?" she asked.
Milo put away his comic book. "Over here," he said.
The medical assistant double checked the notes in Milo's file. "Dr. Gardner will see you know," she said.
Milo got up, slid his backpack on to his shoulders and picked up his crutches. He thrust them under his arms and hobbled out of the waiting room with Martin in tow. Milo and Martin followed her down a drab looking corridor. The walls were painted institutional beige. Utilitarian light fixtures hung from the ceiling at regular intervals. Slightly battered looking filing cabinets dotted the walls on either side of the hall in both directions. Posters offering tests for various conditions and notices reminding doctors, nurses and medical assistants to wash their hands between patients lined the walls. They stopped at the end of the hall in front of a nondescript looking metal door. The nurse pushed open the door and frowned when the door knob came off in her hand.
"Oh, sorry about that," said Milo, who had noticed the look on her face and the door knob in her hand. "That's just Murphy's Law."
"Oh, ummm….right," she said. She pushed open the door, and Milo and Martin stepped inside. "Dr. Gardner will be with you shortly." She went out and let the door swing shut behind her.
Dr. Gardner's office was slightly shabby looking. Milo sat down on a small stool in the middle of the room, his left leg stuck out in front of him. He had examined the two rickety looking chairs next the room's sole desk and had decided not to risk them. Milo's hypothesis was no sooner proven correct than Martin sat down and his chair immediately collapsed, dumping him onto the floor. The desk that occupied most of one corner of the office held a computer and several anatomical models. The walls also held diagrams of various human anatomical systems and yet more notices admonishing the clinic's staff to wash their hands between patients. The wall opposite the desk was mostly occupied by an examination table. A small metal cabinet full of tongue depressors, gauze, cotton swabs and other medical supplies stood in the corner.
The door opened again ten minutes later, and Dr. Eugene Gardner entered the room. Dr. Gardner was a dark skinned man in his mid-forties with a medium build and close cropped black hair. His temples were flecked with grey. He held two files in his hand, both of them were labeled, "Murphy, M."
"Hello, Milo," he said as he entered the room, "Mr. Murphy."
"Hi, Dr. Gardner," said Milo cheerfully.
Dr. Gardner pulled out his chair and down at his desk. He glanced at Milo, giving him a quick once over and then flipping through Milo's medical notes. "I understand your cast is supposed come off today," he said.
Milo nodded.
"You appeared to have recovered from your experience in San Fransokyo," he said.
"Yeah," said Milo, "well, aside from my leg."
"Have you had any additional symptoms?" asked Dr. Gardner, "hallucinations, nausea, dizziness?"
Milo shook his head. "No," he said, "I feel fine."
Dr. Gardner scribbled some notes in Milo's file. "What about your memory?" he asked. "Do you have any recollection of what happened before you woke up in the hospital?"
Milo shook his head again. "No," he said.
Dr. Gardner scribbled some more notes. "The doctors in San Fransokyo told you that you might ever remember?"
"Yeah," replied Milo, "they said that's actually pretty normal."
It was Dr. Gardner's turn to nod. "It is," he said. He paused for a moment, picking his words. "In situations such as this, it's perfectly normal for the brain to suppress the memory entirely. You might remember it eventually or you won't, and if you that's OK." Dr. Gardner made some more notes. "Now, I'd like you to sit on the examination table so I can give you a quick exam and then we'll take your cast off." Milo got up and hobbled over to the examination table. He hopped up, sat down and began pulling off his sweater vest. After a couple of minutes, Milo's sweater vest, shirt and body armour were piled next to him. He was dressed only in his undershirt and a pair of jeans. The left leg of Milo's jeans were rolled up and pinned at the knee to accommodate his cast. Dr. Gardner fisher his stethoscope out of his pocket and pressed to Milo's chest, listening to his heart beat and the rhythm of his breathing. He gently probed Milo's neck and under his armpits. He shone a pen light in Milo's eyes, noted the dilation of his pupils and shone a light in his ears. He pulled a tongue depress out of a glass jar and thrust it into Milo's mouth. Milo obediently said "ahhhhhh," as Dr. Gardner examined his tonsils. He asked Milo a few more questions and Milo gave brief answers. Dr. Gardner paused momentarily to scribble down Milo's answers. He turned and set Milo's medical file on his desk next to his computer. "I'll be right back," he said, "I just need to get some tools."
When Dr. Gardner came back ten minutes later, he was carrying three pairs of safety goggles, face masks, a heavy duty pair of scissors and a small electric circular saw. He asked Milo to lie down and handed goggles and masks to Milo and Martin, then put on his own and plugged the saw into the wall socket. Milo felt his hamstring protest as he had not had full use of his left leg for several weeks. The electrical socket sparked and shorted out. A thin tendril of smoke curled up from the saw. Milo's negative probability field had fried its motor. Dr. Gardner set it aside and picked up the heavy duty shears in one hand and took hold of Milo's leg in the other. The sharp serrated blades of the shears made a crunching noise as they bit into the fibreglass. Dr. Gardner cut a mostly straight straight line from just below Milo's knee to just above his ankle. The two halves of the outer fibreglass sheath sprang apart as the tension was released. Dr. Gardner pried open the outer layer of fibreglass and gently lifted Milo's leg out of its cocoon. Milo's leg was tightly wrapped in medical gauze and tensor bandages. A plastic rod had kept the bones in Milo's leg rigid. Dr. Gardner pulled a pair of medical scissors out of a drawer and quickly cut through the gauze, then unwrapped the tensor bandage.
Milo sat up. The skin on his left leg had a dimpled appearance, as a result of being wrapped in bandages for several weeks, A thin crease ran up the side of his leg where the plastic splint had been pressed against his calf. His calf muscle appeared slightly shrunken, as a result of not having been walked on for several weeks. He put on his body armour, shirt and sweater and swung his legs over the edge. He hopped down on the floor and immediately staggered a little. Milo's calf muscles protested and he felt the ligaments in his knee twinge slightly.
"Go slowly, Milo," said Dr. Gardner, "you've been off your left leg for several weeks. Your strength will come back eventually, but it will take a little time, so don't push yourself."
Milo nodded and then chuckled. "That's a little easier said than done," he said, "but I'll try to keep it to a dull roar."
Dr. Gardner walked over to his desk and picked up Martin's file. He opened it and quickly scanned through it. He gestured to the place that Milo had just vacated. Milo returned to the stool he had been sitting on before Dr. Gardner had entered the room. "Have a seat," he said.
Martin sat down on the edge of the examination table. Dr. Gardner took Martin's wrist. He probed it gently. Martin winced a little. His wrist was a mottled purple and slightly swollen. "How did this happen?" asked Dr. Gardner, as he continued to probe Martin's wrist.
"I tripped over Diogee," replied Martin. He had been on his way downstairs to the kitchen at one in the morning for a piece of chocolate cake, when a vase had fallen off of a shelf. Martin had stepped on it in the dark, lost his footing and tripped over Diogee, who had somehow gotten free from Milo's bedroom and had been at the top of the stairs. Martin had tumbled headlong down the stairs, landing in a heap in the front and spraining his wrist.
Dr. Gardner rummaged through a drawer and produced some medical tape and a wrist brace. He quickly and carefully wrapped Martin's wrist. "You have a bad sprain," he said, "I don't think it's broken." Martin felt a stab of pain as Dr. Gardner cinched the bandages tight, then applied the wrist brace. "Take it easy for a days and you should be back to normal in no time."