I knew I was dreaming but I didn't want it to stop. Brandi and I were running on the beach along Michigan Bay in Benton Harbor. It was her birthday and she wanted to go to the lake to celebrate. She was six; just one year before she was diagnosed. Her blonde hair flew in every direction from the warm breeze that came off the bay, causing it to swirl around her head. It was June and summer had finally arrived. Her laughter danced across the water along the shoreline as she skipped beside me.
"Mommy, watch me!" she yelled happily as she ran ahead of me to play tag with the small waves that lapped at the sand. She was barefoot and happy; my little ray of sunshine.
Then the scene changed and she was in the hospital. She was dying. Why can't I just stop the dream before this part? I'd be so much happier waking up. But it came with the package. So did the tears.
However, before my crying started, a loud crash interrupted the scene…and then some swearing…and then I woke up.
I wondered what it was that had shaken me out of that vision. It was then that I heard someone say something rather gruffly to another.
"Blast it, Mikie; be careful! D'ya wanna wake Min?" It was Raphael. He was trying to not be loud but that was like asking an elephant to tip toe.
"I was being careful. You just didn't watch where I was goin' s'all." Mike replied defensively.
"Some ninja you are!" Raph shot back in a louder hushed voice.
Ninja? Ninja turtles? Boy, now I knew for sure that I was still dreaming. I had to be. But as I thought about it and remembered the armament my friends packed with them, I considered the possibility. After all, they were bi-pedal, they talked, and they were intelligent. They could also climb the sides of buildings and leave no trace of footprints whenever they walked in the snow. All of that seemed incredible in and of it self. How much harder would it be to believe that they knew martial arts? Not much, that's for sure.
I just laid there and acted like I was still asleep. I wanted to hear more of their conversation. I kept my breathing shallow and rhythmic. There wasn't any way that I could tell if anyone was watching me since I still had my eyes bandaged, but I did notice a considerable drop in whatever noise had woken me up in the first place. It could be that I was already found out.
"How are you feeling, Mindy?" It was Donatello.
Yep, I was found out. Rats…I was so hoping to get a little more uninhibited information.
I could tell that he was quite close. "Fine, I guess," was my replied. I could tell that someone seemed to be close to the bed.
"I am going to remove the bandages to see how the swelling is. There may be some discomfort, but I will try to minimize it." He informed me.
"Ah, I have a question…" I stammered. "Where did you learn about first aid? I mean, you sound like you know what you're doing, but…well…I'm just not used to…" and I really had a hard time saying the words 'having a turtle for a doctor.' I didn't tell him this, but it was on my mind.
Imagine my surprise when he interpreted my thoughts.
"Having a turtle play doctor?" Donatello offered. There wasn't a hint of humor or amusement; he was all business.
There were some snickering that came from just behind him and then I heard Splinter admonish, "Michelangelo, you will either control yourself or go to your room."
Donatello sighed as if he was quite annoyed with Mike's reaction,"Mindy, I have read every available book on medicine that I could get my hands on. Splinter stocked our library well. Trust me; I know what I am doing." And then he asked me to sit up.
It was very painful to even move and Donatello noticed it. With his gentle assistance I managed to get myself into an upright position, swinging my legs around and onto the floor.
Sitting there on the bed and having Donatello remove the bandages was quite an experience. I figured he had the same three-fingered hand as his other brothers and yet his careful and delicate approach was impressive. I felt only a slight discomfort as the wrappings were being removed. Finally, as the last layer was unwrapped, I saw light. But I had been in darkness for three days. I squinted against the brightness – and felt a new pain.
"OW!" I exclaimed as I brought my hands up out of reflex.
"Do not squeeze your eyes tight, Mindy. You still have some bruising. Just close them lightly." Don instructed. He took my hands and gently placed them back down on my lap.
The wrappings were now off. I could feel Donatello touch the area around my eyes to determine the amount of swelling. My skin was still sensitive, but his caress was so light the pain was minimal.
"It looks like most of the swelling has gone down. I think we can leave the bandages off for now. But I'd like you to ice your eyes five minutes twice an hour today to help reduce it even more."
I slowly opened my eyes again but noticed that my vision was slightly blurred. Actually, it was very blurred.
"Ah, everything seems to be out of focus. Is that normal?" I asked.
"Yes. Because you have been in the dark for three days and because of the injuries, your vision has been compromised a little. But, I am sure by tomorrow or the next day, you should experience a marked improvement." He said assuredly.
"So, what crashed?" I asked.
"Hmm? Oh...that…" Donatello replied. "Ah, well…I can't really say for sure. I wasn't watching. I was waiting for you to wake up."
Okay, so Dr. Donatello had been sitting by my bedside watching me for a while. That made me feel really comfortable. "How long was I asleep?" I asked.
Actually I wanted to find out how long he may have been sitting next to me.
"For about five hours. You had fallen asleep while we were gone. Splinter's tea helped that. I've been waiting here for about two hours, though. " He replied.
It was weird the way he could interpret what I really wanted to know. And it gave me the creeps. Aside from the physical mutation I wondered what mental mutation had taken place among my four – ah, make that five - friends, aside from their obvious intelligence.
When I was still teaching at the university there were some professors of neurology who believed that it was possible to stimulate certain areas of the brain that were technically asleep and mostly unused. It was thought that once these areas were awakened, the patient would have extrasensory abilities similar to reading minds. I thought it was just a bunch of hooey generated by the professors having too much time on their hands.
"Ah…. Well, would it be possible for me to get a bite to eat? I'm rather on the hungry side." I commented.
"Yes, of course you would be. We were able to get some soup down you while you were unconscious, but not enough to ward off hunger. I'll be right back." Donatello stated and then he quickly left my room.
I looked around my 'room' and noticed that even with my blurred vision I could tell it wasn't really a room at all. In fact it reminded me of an old New York subway train. All I could see was my particular space. My bed appeared to be tucked into a corner of the 'room', so I slowly scooted myself up against the wall at the head of the bed. I grimaced some from the pain in my ribs. I tried not to use my right wrist as it, too, was quite sore. I wondered where about in the sewers I was. I also wondered what day it was.
"Here," Donatello said as he came back to my room. "Careful, it's rather warm." He handed me a bowl with a spoon in it.
"What is it?" I asked as I took it. I was just a little apprehensive. Did these turtles know how to cook? Did they practice safe handling of foods? Did they even wash their hands? Of course, Crazy Bill wasn't the strictest follower of the food safety laws in New York, so it would have been hypocritical to even compare them to him.
"Don't worry, Mike's a good cook; he knows how to handle food. It's chicken soup with some vegetables. It's light enough to not upset your stomach but has enough nutrients to help you heal." Don replied.
Either he was indeed capable of reading minds or Donatello was very adept at interpreting my feelings behind whatever I said. It was quite unnerving to say the least.
"So, what day is it, Donny?" I asked him as I began to sip my meal.
"Don't worry about it, Mindy. Just eat." He told me.
"No, I want to know what day it is. What difference does it make if I know?" I insisted. I was enjoying the soup but I did not enjoy not knowing my whereabouts or what day it was.
"What difference does it make if you don't?" he replied back evenly.
Hmm…good point. My job was definitely toasted. The last thing I remember about my life before the sewers is it was Saturday night. I had Sunday off. Originally I had been told I'd been out for three days. That would make my awakening happening on either Tuesday or Wednesday. Bill liked me but he didn't tolerate his workers not calling in when they didn't show up for their shift. I saw many young girls lose their jobs because they decided to take a day off and fail to call in. Or even when they were sick and couldn't get to the phone. Crazy Bill had a big heart for the down-trodden and those less fortunate. But if you had a job you were expected to do it. Showing consideration to him by calling in when one was sick was a courtesy he expected. Anything less and that worker would be toast. Though I never took a sick day, I knew there were a couple of other gals like myself who would love to take over my shifts.
What did worry me was if Bill decided to investigate why I was not coming in to work. I knew he wouldn't buy Mike's note about my aunt being sick. After two or three days of not showing up he would probably make a house call. I didn't have to worry about people in my building asking about me since they pretty much kept to themselves – just like I did, unless the power or heat went out. The sup was the only person I socialized with and only if I absolutely had to.
Once Bill was convinced that I wasn't at home, would he then call the police? That act alone could complicate my benefactors' secret existence. I could just see an all out search being organized on my behalf. My apartment would be thoroughly gone over by the authorities and maybe someone would see my bed and take it when no one was watching. That worried me the most. If I hadn't had been so reliable, my absence probably wouldn't have bothered a soul. Oh well, one problem at a time, I guess.
"Okay," I said, "You win. No more talk about what day it is."
"Good because I hate being pestered." Don said. He then left me to finish my meal.
The soup was good and filling, too. After I was done I put the bowl down next to me and tried to focus my eyes. It was difficult and frustrating since I really wanted to get a good look at my surroundings. But, after a few minutes of this 'exercise' I started to get a headache.
"You look uncomfortable, Min. Y'all right?" It was Mike.
I could see someone coming into my room. I knew it was him because of his orange bandana. Don's was purple, plus he stood a few inches taller than his outgoing brother.
"Yeah, just have a little headache is all. Too much strain on my eyes, I guess." I replied. I tried to sound like it wasn't a big deal since I didn't want him to worry. But Mike was out of the room in an instant.
"Mike said you have a headache, Mindy. Maybe we ought to re-bandage your eyes?" Donatello suggested as he came into my room.
"No, please, I'm fine. Honest. Actually, it's not that bad. But, I do need to use your restroom. Maybe the shower, too." I asked. I knew my ribs were taped but I really, really needed to shower. I was even having a hard time coping with me.
"Well, I can lead you to the restroom, but I think you need to wait on that shower.' Don suggested.
"Ah, no, I need to take a shower, Don. I can re-tape my ribs myself if necessary." I insisted.
"No, I don't think that would be wise. I think one or two more days and then you can shower. But I should do the re-taping." Don countered. The tone of his voice suggested he was getting irritable. Yep, he didn't like getting pestered, but that wasn't going to stop me.
"Hmm…I'll make a deal with you. Let me shower NOW and I'll let you re-tape the ribs!" I was not going to be denied my bath. I needed it – desperately.
I could tell that Don was thinking because he didn't reply to my last bargaining attempt. I waited for a moment and then asked, him, "So? What'll it be, Dr. Don?"
"I'm still thinking about it." He said. Don obviously didn't like being challenged on these issues and seemed to be a bit grumpy from my persistence. Finally, Dr. Don made his decision, "Okay, you can take your shower but if I hear you moan even a little bit you need to get out immediately. No arguments! If you argue I'll come in there personally and pull you out!"
Now there was a sight if I ever imagined one! Considering his willingness to do such a thing the mystery of who did the honors in getting me to the restroom while I was unconscious – or however the deed was done – was solved. If I blushed, I couldn't tell. I did feel a little heat come to my face, though. But Donatello was gracious enough not to point it out to me. For that I was thankful.
I was led slowly to the restroom and once Don had the water running for me, he left and closed the door behind him. Though my sight was still blurred, I made sure he was indeed out of the room. I was slightly paranoid that he would hang around in some fashion to make sure I was able to do this on my own. Satisfied that the doctor was out, I began the slow torturous task of undressing.
If you've ever had a broken rib and tried to undress or even shower, you know it's not an easy thing to do. Try three ribs protesting and then endure that without making a sound. Considering how adept my green physician was at discerning my emotional levels and you can imagine how difficult this task was without uttering even one grunt. There wasn't any way I was going to give Don an excuse to extract me from my bathing. I was so quiet a cotton ball would have made more noise when dropped. My body hurt so badly I could feel the tears fall down my face, but I put up with it; I was that determined!
I had my self completely towel dried and was messing with my hair. I couldn't see well enough to know what it was doing exactly, but I tried. It was getting too long again, but until I could re-emerge from the sewers to go get it cut, I'd just have to put up with it. But I felt refreshed at last.
I was quite proud of my accomplishment, pain and all! In fact, I felt smug. That is until I realized that in my rush to get into the bathroom I had forgotten that all of my clean clothes – i.e. underwear – were still in my apartment. Here I was without a clean stitch to my name. Now what was I going to do?
"Mommy, watch me!" she yelled happily as she ran ahead of me to play tag with the small waves that lapped at the sand. She was barefoot and happy; my little ray of sunshine.
Then the scene changed and she was in the hospital. She was dying. Why can't I just stop the dream before this part? I'd be so much happier waking up. But it came with the package. So did the tears.
However, before my crying started, a loud crash interrupted the scene…and then some swearing…and then I woke up.
I wondered what it was that had shaken me out of that vision. It was then that I heard someone say something rather gruffly to another.
"Blast it, Mikie; be careful! D'ya wanna wake Min?" It was Raphael. He was trying to not be loud but that was like asking an elephant to tip toe.
"I was being careful. You just didn't watch where I was goin' s'all." Mike replied defensively.
"Some ninja you are!" Raph shot back in a louder hushed voice.
Ninja? Ninja turtles? Boy, now I knew for sure that I was still dreaming. I had to be. But as I thought about it and remembered the armament my friends packed with them, I considered the possibility. After all, they were bi-pedal, they talked, and they were intelligent. They could also climb the sides of buildings and leave no trace of footprints whenever they walked in the snow. All of that seemed incredible in and of it self. How much harder would it be to believe that they knew martial arts? Not much, that's for sure.
I just laid there and acted like I was still asleep. I wanted to hear more of their conversation. I kept my breathing shallow and rhythmic. There wasn't any way that I could tell if anyone was watching me since I still had my eyes bandaged, but I did notice a considerable drop in whatever noise had woken me up in the first place. It could be that I was already found out.
"How are you feeling, Mindy?" It was Donatello.
Yep, I was found out. Rats…I was so hoping to get a little more uninhibited information.
I could tell that he was quite close. "Fine, I guess," was my replied. I could tell that someone seemed to be close to the bed.
"I am going to remove the bandages to see how the swelling is. There may be some discomfort, but I will try to minimize it." He informed me.
"Ah, I have a question…" I stammered. "Where did you learn about first aid? I mean, you sound like you know what you're doing, but…well…I'm just not used to…" and I really had a hard time saying the words 'having a turtle for a doctor.' I didn't tell him this, but it was on my mind.
Imagine my surprise when he interpreted my thoughts.
"Having a turtle play doctor?" Donatello offered. There wasn't a hint of humor or amusement; he was all business.
There were some snickering that came from just behind him and then I heard Splinter admonish, "Michelangelo, you will either control yourself or go to your room."
Donatello sighed as if he was quite annoyed with Mike's reaction,"Mindy, I have read every available book on medicine that I could get my hands on. Splinter stocked our library well. Trust me; I know what I am doing." And then he asked me to sit up.
It was very painful to even move and Donatello noticed it. With his gentle assistance I managed to get myself into an upright position, swinging my legs around and onto the floor.
Sitting there on the bed and having Donatello remove the bandages was quite an experience. I figured he had the same three-fingered hand as his other brothers and yet his careful and delicate approach was impressive. I felt only a slight discomfort as the wrappings were being removed. Finally, as the last layer was unwrapped, I saw light. But I had been in darkness for three days. I squinted against the brightness – and felt a new pain.
"OW!" I exclaimed as I brought my hands up out of reflex.
"Do not squeeze your eyes tight, Mindy. You still have some bruising. Just close them lightly." Don instructed. He took my hands and gently placed them back down on my lap.
The wrappings were now off. I could feel Donatello touch the area around my eyes to determine the amount of swelling. My skin was still sensitive, but his caress was so light the pain was minimal.
"It looks like most of the swelling has gone down. I think we can leave the bandages off for now. But I'd like you to ice your eyes five minutes twice an hour today to help reduce it even more."
I slowly opened my eyes again but noticed that my vision was slightly blurred. Actually, it was very blurred.
"Ah, everything seems to be out of focus. Is that normal?" I asked.
"Yes. Because you have been in the dark for three days and because of the injuries, your vision has been compromised a little. But, I am sure by tomorrow or the next day, you should experience a marked improvement." He said assuredly.
"So, what crashed?" I asked.
"Hmm? Oh...that…" Donatello replied. "Ah, well…I can't really say for sure. I wasn't watching. I was waiting for you to wake up."
Okay, so Dr. Donatello had been sitting by my bedside watching me for a while. That made me feel really comfortable. "How long was I asleep?" I asked.
Actually I wanted to find out how long he may have been sitting next to me.
"For about five hours. You had fallen asleep while we were gone. Splinter's tea helped that. I've been waiting here for about two hours, though. " He replied.
It was weird the way he could interpret what I really wanted to know. And it gave me the creeps. Aside from the physical mutation I wondered what mental mutation had taken place among my four – ah, make that five - friends, aside from their obvious intelligence.
When I was still teaching at the university there were some professors of neurology who believed that it was possible to stimulate certain areas of the brain that were technically asleep and mostly unused. It was thought that once these areas were awakened, the patient would have extrasensory abilities similar to reading minds. I thought it was just a bunch of hooey generated by the professors having too much time on their hands.
"Ah…. Well, would it be possible for me to get a bite to eat? I'm rather on the hungry side." I commented.
"Yes, of course you would be. We were able to get some soup down you while you were unconscious, but not enough to ward off hunger. I'll be right back." Donatello stated and then he quickly left my room.
I looked around my 'room' and noticed that even with my blurred vision I could tell it wasn't really a room at all. In fact it reminded me of an old New York subway train. All I could see was my particular space. My bed appeared to be tucked into a corner of the 'room', so I slowly scooted myself up against the wall at the head of the bed. I grimaced some from the pain in my ribs. I tried not to use my right wrist as it, too, was quite sore. I wondered where about in the sewers I was. I also wondered what day it was.
"Here," Donatello said as he came back to my room. "Careful, it's rather warm." He handed me a bowl with a spoon in it.
"What is it?" I asked as I took it. I was just a little apprehensive. Did these turtles know how to cook? Did they practice safe handling of foods? Did they even wash their hands? Of course, Crazy Bill wasn't the strictest follower of the food safety laws in New York, so it would have been hypocritical to even compare them to him.
"Don't worry, Mike's a good cook; he knows how to handle food. It's chicken soup with some vegetables. It's light enough to not upset your stomach but has enough nutrients to help you heal." Don replied.
Either he was indeed capable of reading minds or Donatello was very adept at interpreting my feelings behind whatever I said. It was quite unnerving to say the least.
"So, what day is it, Donny?" I asked him as I began to sip my meal.
"Don't worry about it, Mindy. Just eat." He told me.
"No, I want to know what day it is. What difference does it make if I know?" I insisted. I was enjoying the soup but I did not enjoy not knowing my whereabouts or what day it was.
"What difference does it make if you don't?" he replied back evenly.
Hmm…good point. My job was definitely toasted. The last thing I remember about my life before the sewers is it was Saturday night. I had Sunday off. Originally I had been told I'd been out for three days. That would make my awakening happening on either Tuesday or Wednesday. Bill liked me but he didn't tolerate his workers not calling in when they didn't show up for their shift. I saw many young girls lose their jobs because they decided to take a day off and fail to call in. Or even when they were sick and couldn't get to the phone. Crazy Bill had a big heart for the down-trodden and those less fortunate. But if you had a job you were expected to do it. Showing consideration to him by calling in when one was sick was a courtesy he expected. Anything less and that worker would be toast. Though I never took a sick day, I knew there were a couple of other gals like myself who would love to take over my shifts.
What did worry me was if Bill decided to investigate why I was not coming in to work. I knew he wouldn't buy Mike's note about my aunt being sick. After two or three days of not showing up he would probably make a house call. I didn't have to worry about people in my building asking about me since they pretty much kept to themselves – just like I did, unless the power or heat went out. The sup was the only person I socialized with and only if I absolutely had to.
Once Bill was convinced that I wasn't at home, would he then call the police? That act alone could complicate my benefactors' secret existence. I could just see an all out search being organized on my behalf. My apartment would be thoroughly gone over by the authorities and maybe someone would see my bed and take it when no one was watching. That worried me the most. If I hadn't had been so reliable, my absence probably wouldn't have bothered a soul. Oh well, one problem at a time, I guess.
"Okay," I said, "You win. No more talk about what day it is."
"Good because I hate being pestered." Don said. He then left me to finish my meal.
The soup was good and filling, too. After I was done I put the bowl down next to me and tried to focus my eyes. It was difficult and frustrating since I really wanted to get a good look at my surroundings. But, after a few minutes of this 'exercise' I started to get a headache.
"You look uncomfortable, Min. Y'all right?" It was Mike.
I could see someone coming into my room. I knew it was him because of his orange bandana. Don's was purple, plus he stood a few inches taller than his outgoing brother.
"Yeah, just have a little headache is all. Too much strain on my eyes, I guess." I replied. I tried to sound like it wasn't a big deal since I didn't want him to worry. But Mike was out of the room in an instant.
"Mike said you have a headache, Mindy. Maybe we ought to re-bandage your eyes?" Donatello suggested as he came into my room.
"No, please, I'm fine. Honest. Actually, it's not that bad. But, I do need to use your restroom. Maybe the shower, too." I asked. I knew my ribs were taped but I really, really needed to shower. I was even having a hard time coping with me.
"Well, I can lead you to the restroom, but I think you need to wait on that shower.' Don suggested.
"Ah, no, I need to take a shower, Don. I can re-tape my ribs myself if necessary." I insisted.
"No, I don't think that would be wise. I think one or two more days and then you can shower. But I should do the re-taping." Don countered. The tone of his voice suggested he was getting irritable. Yep, he didn't like getting pestered, but that wasn't going to stop me.
"Hmm…I'll make a deal with you. Let me shower NOW and I'll let you re-tape the ribs!" I was not going to be denied my bath. I needed it – desperately.
I could tell that Don was thinking because he didn't reply to my last bargaining attempt. I waited for a moment and then asked, him, "So? What'll it be, Dr. Don?"
"I'm still thinking about it." He said. Don obviously didn't like being challenged on these issues and seemed to be a bit grumpy from my persistence. Finally, Dr. Don made his decision, "Okay, you can take your shower but if I hear you moan even a little bit you need to get out immediately. No arguments! If you argue I'll come in there personally and pull you out!"
Now there was a sight if I ever imagined one! Considering his willingness to do such a thing the mystery of who did the honors in getting me to the restroom while I was unconscious – or however the deed was done – was solved. If I blushed, I couldn't tell. I did feel a little heat come to my face, though. But Donatello was gracious enough not to point it out to me. For that I was thankful.
I was led slowly to the restroom and once Don had the water running for me, he left and closed the door behind him. Though my sight was still blurred, I made sure he was indeed out of the room. I was slightly paranoid that he would hang around in some fashion to make sure I was able to do this on my own. Satisfied that the doctor was out, I began the slow torturous task of undressing.
If you've ever had a broken rib and tried to undress or even shower, you know it's not an easy thing to do. Try three ribs protesting and then endure that without making a sound. Considering how adept my green physician was at discerning my emotional levels and you can imagine how difficult this task was without uttering even one grunt. There wasn't any way I was going to give Don an excuse to extract me from my bathing. I was so quiet a cotton ball would have made more noise when dropped. My body hurt so badly I could feel the tears fall down my face, but I put up with it; I was that determined!
I had my self completely towel dried and was messing with my hair. I couldn't see well enough to know what it was doing exactly, but I tried. It was getting too long again, but until I could re-emerge from the sewers to go get it cut, I'd just have to put up with it. But I felt refreshed at last.
I was quite proud of my accomplishment, pain and all! In fact, I felt smug. That is until I realized that in my rush to get into the bathroom I had forgotten that all of my clean clothes – i.e. underwear – were still in my apartment. Here I was without a clean stitch to my name. Now what was I going to do?
