Disclaimer: refer to chapter one
NOTE TO READERS: Thank you for the reviews. I know I had previously planned to have this story complete by the season premiere of season two, but I highly doubt I will. Also, I've had a handful of email requests to continue the story long term. I'm considering it, but no promises. I have a specific arc planned for this story, but if I continue with this long term, of course the story will surpass the arc, and explore the aspect of the story that would have generally been left to the reader's imagination. Let me know what you think about continuing, and if it would something you as a reader would like to see.
Side Note: I've used some time leaps in this chapter. They are all noted.
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Chapter Twenty-three
Of Past Regret and Future Fear
By Dawn Nyberg
"You never know what we could be in store for. The way it goes we're in for more of the same, one step beyond the flame … take my hand we'll face the fire together…" Lyric excerpt Richard Marx, Nothing Left Behind Us
Two Weeks Later, Early April 2008
Sam had been home for a couple days now, and Dean had begrudgingly gone back to work. One of his co-workers had to leave town for a family emergency and Larry was short, and business was heavy. He hated leaving Sam, but the home care nurse that Lena had arranged was nice and she started her day early at 7 AM, so that she could be at the house when the IV infusion nurse arrived. Sam's IV therapy happened twice a day in twelve hour increments. It took two hours for the antibiotics to infuse, and the IV nurse usually showed up at 7:30 AM and then a different one showed up at 10:30 PM for Sam's evening dose. Sam didn't have to be awakened for the infusion to begin … thanks to the IV port. The infusion nurse simply had to plug the IV into the port and wait for the therapy to finish. Dean yawned into his hand in the kitchen as John entered the kitchen. "Pam here yet?" John asked his oldest son.
"Nah, not yet," Dean replied. "She told me yesterday she was gonna be about ten minutes late this morning." Dean had been relieved when Sam didn't really complain about needing a nurse during the day. And, Pam had a way about her that didn't make Sam feel like he was being babysat because he understood he had almost died from this infection and that he needed help and that his family needed to return to work.
"You look tired," John commented. "I'll stay up tonight Dean and wait for Joe to finish the evening infusion with Sam." When Joe had first shown up and introduced himself John had been the one to answer the door and took in the sight of this burley man in khaki's and a dark blue shirt with an embroidered emblem that said: Jefferson City Medical Home Infusion and the his name had been embroidered as well: Joe Callahan, R.N., IV infusion specialist. Joe explained that evening home infusion was primarily handled by the male technicians unless a female employee needed the late shift. John understood, after all, some patients receiving care paid for by the state didn't live in the best areas and wouldn't be safe for a female at night.
"Nah, Dad, its okay. You have to be at work earlier than me and he finishes at 12:30 AM with him and is gone pretty quick. I got it." John shook his head.
"Look, Dean. I'm only working three days a week, and I'm off tomorrow, so I'll stay up tonight, okay?"
"Yeah, okay," Dean relented. "At least Sammy sleeps through both visits most of the time. I still haven't got used to the fact he sleeps in now."
"Well, the doctor said he'd be weak and tired for a while and that sleep was the best thing for him."
"Yeah," Dean replied. There was a light knocking at the front door and Dean walked out of the kitchen to answer it. It was Sam's home care nurse. "Morning Pam," Dean offered a tired smile.
"Good Morning Dean," she surveyed the young man. "Late night again, huh?"
"Yeah, well, only for another week and then Sam's IV therapy will be done." He offered. "Would you like some coffee or something? I just made a fresh pot."
"No, I'm good thanks. Sam still sleeping?"
"Yep."
"Well, I'll wait for Corinne to get here. If you have to head out I've got it," she offered. Dean looked at his watch. He sighed. Although, he didn't normally get to work until 8 or so, today he said he'd get any early start on some backlogged cars for Larry. Dean felt a sense of obligation to the man because he had been so completely understanding to his family situation and never complained once when Dean would have to take off for family reasons. Larry was a good guy and Dean didn't want to leave him in the lurch.
"Thanks Pam. You got all my numbers and my dad's if you need us," he still couldn't stop himself. Pam had been coming for a couple days now, and there was a general routine all ready developing. She smiled.
"The numbers are in my paperwork, plus on the fridge," she replied with an all knowing smile. Dean felt the heat of embarrassment rise in his cheeks.
"Sorry, it's just…" she raised a hand to stop him.
"You don't have to explain. After everything, I'm sure you and your family have been through with this infection you're still a little gun shy to leave him since he got discharged a couple days ago. It's okay. I understand." Dean nodded. John walked into the room with his truck keys.
"Well, I hate to cut and run," he said. "Hi Pam."
"Hi John," she replied. The Winchester men from the start had insisted she use their first names and to dispense with formalities. Sam liked Pam and that was enough for John and Dean. John slid down the hallway for one quick peek at Sam and then he was out the door and as he backed out of the driveway he saw Corinne pull up to start Sam's infusion. He offered a polite way and left.
One Month Later, May 2, 2008
"You takin' Sammy to his speech and occupational therapy today?" Dean asked as he walked into the kitchen.
"Yeah, and then I thought I'd take him out to lunch and maybe take in a movie. I figure a little father son day on his birthday wouldn't be too much for him."
"Yeah, he'll like that. And, Dad," Dean began. "Don't forget to make sure that Dr. Borsody talked to Dr, Myers to tell her Sam still hasn't been cleared for returning to PT."
"Yeah, I'll take care of it." John and Dean had both taken Sam to another follow-up appointment and Dr. Borsody said Sam would need a little extra time to recoup. So, they had maintained with the day nurse, Pam, but today was Thursday and that meant John was off, so they didn't use Pam on days one of them could be with Sam. "You getting' off early today?"
"Yeah, of course, I told Larry two weeks ago that it was Sammy's twenty-fifth birthday. Dad, I'm not sure he's going to be up for a family dinner out," Dean hedged. John nodded. It was truth. Sam was still recovering and he headed to bed earlier than the rest of his family.
"Yeah, I was thinking of having Chinese delivered from the China Palace, sound good?"
"Oh yeah, and get some of that fried Rangoon," Dean was all ready salivating.
"You want your usual?" Dean nodded as he took a drink of coffee.
"General Tso's, right?"
"Yep. Well, I better go. Oh, hey, I stopped by the pharmacy yesterday on the way home from work and picked up a refill of Sammy's seizure meds," Dean pointed to the cabinet nearest the fridge. "I put the prescription bags in there. I think he had a couple days worth still in the bathroom medicine cabinet, but I'm not sure. I just didn't get a chance to put them in the bathroom for Sam."
"Got it," John answered with a smile.
"Guess, I better go" Dean replied looking at his watch. "Business has been booming since Larry took an account to service a local rental car company's vehicles when they are returned from customers."
"So, you have a heavy docket today son?"
"Yeah, one transmission rebuild I've been working on, a brake job, and Larry gave me four rental cars that all need an oil change, and chassis lubes. And, one of them needs new break pads. And, then I have at least two oil leak repairs on two customer's cars." Dean sighed. "The list goes on and on, but hey, the money's good," Dean commented with a wry smile.
"Just don't work yourself into the ground son. Life's too short."
"I know. It's not so bad, Dad. Like I keep saying I get a three day weekend, so I get some R&R. I'm good."
Later that Afternoon
John picked Sam up from Ivy Ridge and as his son climbed in the car he surveyed his son. "You okay, Sammy?"
"Yeah, jjj…just hate not hhh…having PT."
"I know you feel like you're falling behind in your therapy Sammy, but you were really sick and you need to let your body heal first. At least you're back to speech and OT." John offered with a warm and reassuring smile. "Hey kiddo, I was thinkin' you and your old dad could grab some lunch and a movie for your birthday." Sam smiled at the incredibly normal sounding activity.
"Okay," he answered with a lopsided smile.
"You feel up to it?" John asked looking Sam in the eyes. "I don't want you pushing yourself if you're tired. You've had a full day."
"It's only nnn…noon dad," Sam commented. "Sss…short day with no PT."
"Well, any ideas on what movie you want to see?" John asked. "I figure we'll eat afterward." John headed back toward Jefferson City and to the Riverside Galleria Mall and Entertainment Complex.
"We'll ppp…pick the mmm…movie when we get there." Sam answered.
"Fair enough," John replied.
John sat watching the movie flicker across the screen. The action movie had been running a little over an hour, and he and Sam practically had the theater all to themselves in the early afternoon on a Thursday. John always in hunter mode whether he looked like it or not had all ready counted six people sitting either together or alone in various spots in the theater. He knew where they were and if they got up during the movie. He sat on the aisle with Sam on the inside seat. John glanced over at his young son. Sam had nodded off about twenty minutes ago, and slept soundly leaned back in the large rocking theater seat. John smiled and let his son continue to slumber. There was a particularly loud gun fire and explosion scene and John cast a worried glance over to Sam not wanting him to startle awake, but all his son did was move slightly and turned inward toward his father.
An Hour Later
"Hey kiddo," John spoke softly as he placed a warm hand on Sam's cheek. "Sammy, it's time to wake up." Sam scrunched his face and opened his eyes. He sat up and looked around the theater. The end credits were still rolling and loud music blared from the Dolby sound surround system. He suddenly looked crestfallen as he realized what he had done.
"I fff…fell asleep," he complained. "Dad, you sss…should hhh…have woke me up." John smiled.
"You obviously needed the sleep Sammy, so I let you sleep. Anyway, you didn't miss anything. Guy blows up things, guy rescues girl, guy shoots guns, guy walks into the sunset … you've seen once action movie you've basically seen them all." Sam rolled his eyes completely irritated with himself. "Well, sport, I think we're gonna pass on lunch out. I'm going to take you home. I'll make you a grilled cheese and some tomato soup, how's that sound? And tonight we're ordering Chinese, okay?"
"Okay," Sam relented. John offered his son a hand up, and Sam took it. "Happy Birthday Sammy," John replied lightly as he pulled Sam up to his feet from his seated position.
"Thh…thanks dad."
"Twenty-five Sammy, you're a regular senior citizen, huh?" Sam gave his father a light swat across the stomach with his arm. "Oof," he grunted with the barely detectable impact. Sam smiled.
The Winchester House, Late Afternoon
Dean pulled into the garage and walked into the kitchen with a cake box and a bag from Barnes and Nobles. He looked around the kitchen eyeing the doorway from the family room. John walked into the kitchen. "Where's Sammy?" Dean whispered. "I don't want him to see the cake."
"He's in his room. How'd it turn out?" John asked as he tried to look at the cake through the cellophane window on the top. John chuckled when he saw it. "Did they think you were nuts at the bakery?" Dean laughed.
"Hey," Dean admonished. "I had to go to three bakeries before I found one that had a Ghostbusters template available to do a cake. It's not like I was gonna tell them to do little pink roses on it." Dean slid the cake box onto the counter. "He asleep?"
"Yeah, for about an hour now," John answered.
"Is he okay?"
"Oh, yeah, he's fine."
"How was the movie and lunch? Did he have fun?"
"Well, he seemed to be enjoying himself the first forty minutes of the movie and then he slept through the rest of it. I'm thinking his speech and OT may be too much for him right now. I think he may need to take a break or cut back on some library days or rehab. He was wiped out. We didn't even go to lunch out. I just brought him home made him a sandwich and some soup, and he zonked out."
"Well, we'll let him sleep and wake him up in a bit. We can order the Chinese around six and he'll probably last until 9 or 10 before he's down for the count. Man, I'll be glad when he's back to a hundred percent," Dean paused with a slightly haunted look. "Well, you know what I mean."
"Yeah," John answered gruffly. "Me too, kiddo."
"I need a shower. I feel like I have the dirt of every car in the state of Missouri on me," Dean mused. "If he wakes up hide the cake. I want it to be a surprise." John chuckled.
"Yes, sir," John mused. Dean looked at his father and gave him an impish grin. John watched Dean make his way to the bathroom to clean up. His oldest son had been excited that this was the first birthday they had celebrated as a complete family in years, and the Winchester's when they did celebrate had usually considered a cup cake or a warm meal good enough. But, this year they were a family again, and this birthday Sam almost hadn't lived to see. A shiver worked its way through John at the thought. When he let his mind think back to a mere couple months ago his body felt cold at the thought that if Sam had succumbed to the infection and they had lost him his mind revolted at the mental picture of his son in a coffin and watching the lid close, and subsequently watch his baby boy lowered into the cold, dark earth, his precious light lost to him and Dean forever. John shook his head and took a breath; Sammy was safe, home, and healing.
Two Months Later, July 2008
The Winchester house had fallen back into its regular routine. Sam had been able to return to the library. And, he had gone back to his full rehab schedule. He knew his rehab had fallen behind during his recovery time, but he was working hard to catch up to where the center had set tentative goals for him to reach. Sam finished at the library, but it was pouring rain and he had walked to work from the house, and now he was trying to wait out the downpour. He had been let off work an hour earlier than usual, and sat in the breezeway of the entrance to the library and leafed through pamphlets that adorned the wall to kill time while he waited for the rain to stop. He spotted a pile of thick mini looking newspapers and picked up one: Jefferson Community College: Fall Semester 2008 Schedule of Classes …register early. He found himself mulling through the classes and then an idea sparked that maybe he could take a class or two. He noticed the rain had let up, and he folded the paper under his arm and headed toward home.
He pulled the mail out of the mailbox by the front door and slid the key into the lock. Sam lowered his backpack off his shoulder and dropped it on the floor to look at the mail. He leafed through the mail and noticed a large white envelope with Dean's name on it, but he noticed his name was right under his brother's:
Dean Winchester
Samuel Winchester
2440 Willow Bend Ave.
Jefferson City, MO
He glanced at the return address and frowned: State of Missouri Department of Special Services: Jefferson City Division. "Sss…special sss…ser…vices," Sam struggled with the 'S's' as usual. He put the other mail down and opened the envelope. There was an insurance coverage card in Sam's name for the state of Missouri clipped to some official looking papers and a letter. He stared at the papers, but it was the letter he read and felt hot tears sting his eyes:
July 9, 2008
Dear Mr. Dean Winchester:
RE: Dependant adult: Samuel Winchester
Please, find enclosed the medical coverage card to be used for future hospital and/or medical care services rendered to Samuel Winchester. Also, enclosed are coverage papers for your files, and should there ever be any questions, please don't hesitate to call. The state has reviewed your brother's special needs status along with the recommendations of his rehab social worker Lena Salvino, LSW. And, it has been determined that Samuel Winchester qualifies for full state coverage under the special needs act for physically and mentally disabled adult persons. And, enclosed, please find a final bill disposition from Capitol Region Medical Center for your brother's care during the time period of March 2008 to his discharge on April 5, 2008. The remaining balance was paid in full, and should you receive any further bills from said hospital for Samuel Winchester, please report them to the department of Special Services. Furthermore, the home health care nurse and infusion therapy were allotted by this department and services rendered have been paid.
Should you need any local assistance or have questions, please contact your local representative assigned to your brother's case: Celia Mackey, LSW. (417) 555-2187, EXT. # 461.
Yours truly,
Celia Mackey, LSW
State of Missouri's Department of Special Services
Jefferson City Division
Hot tears cascaded down Sam's cheeks. He understood the words in the letter, but the wording was confusing to him for the most part. But, he understood what the letter was saying, and the letter shook in his hands. Samuel Winchester qualifies for full state coverage under the special needs act for physically and mentally disabled adult persons, the sentence shined like a beacon to Sam, and finally the crushing reality engulfed him completely. He had felt different and knew quite well that people saw him differently, but now it was harsh, and accosted him violently. He dropped the letter on the small table by the front door where they always put the mail. He walked away blindly his vision occluded by tears. He felt a sob growing inside his chest and struggled to reach the safe cocoon of his room before he let it out.
Sam crawled into his bed lying down on his side drawing his knees up to his chest and began rocking himself. The sobbing came in hiccupping gasps as his body shook with the emotional onslaught. His grief for everything he had lost was all consuming, and then he felt the familiar tingle start at his finger tips, and some part of his brain registering the progression up his arm was privately wishing it would crescendo and take him into oblivion where he could slip into an eternal darkness. The Jacksonian seizure spread beyond his arm to his left side of his body it lasted only minutes and was over. Sam cried the entire time, and when the shaking slowed and finally stopped he punched his pillow in rage that the one time he wanted darkness to claim him it had stayed away. He pulled his knees back up and continued to cry in wrenching sobs.
John pulled his truck into the driveway and got out. He opted to go through the front door today. Work hadn't been too bad, and he was looking forward to his day off tomorrow. He looked in the mailbox and smiled knowing Sammy had all ready taken it inside when he came home from the library. John walked in and kicked something by the door. He looked down and saw that Sam had left his backpack by the door and a discarded newspaper looking paper lay to the side. He picked it up and looked at it. Jefferson Community College he said the words in his head. He noticed the mail on the table where he stood and a letter left lying open with a small card attached. He noticed quickly that it was the state insurance card for Sam. He took only a moment to look at the letter skimming for key points, and then that's when he heard the muffled cry's coming down the hallway. He strode quickly to Sam's room. The door was left askew, so he walked in. Sam's back was to the door and he was lying in a tight ball with his face turned into his pillow.
"Sammy?" John's voice was soft as he spoke trying not to startle his son. He walked over and sat down on the bed. Sam continued to cry and John watched his young shoulders hitch up and down as the tears continued to come. John simply reached out a hand and placed it on his son's back and rubbed comforting circles. He was quiet for a long moment, and finally spoke. "Sammy? Son, please, let me see your face." Sam shook his head in his pillow and refused to look at his father. "Sam that letter," John began tentatively.
"Nnn…no," Sam stuttered and hiccupped as the tears refused to stop. "No talk."
"Sammy that letters is just a bunch of words son. It's not who you are … not to me … and not to your brother."
"Thh…they sss…say I'm a tard," Sam took his face out of the pillow, but still wouldn't turn to face his father. John continued to rub comforting circles on his son's back.
"Sam," John's voice warned. "You are not retarded, do you here me? And, they didn't say that."
"Call me sss…spec…ial nnn…needs. They say men…tally dis…abled."
"They're just words Sammy. I told you it's not who you are … not to me or your brother." Sam turned and looked at his father. John's heart broke at the agonized look in his son's dark eyes. His face was flushed from the sobbing and tracks of dried tears crisscrossed with fresh ones. John reached down and cupped the sides of his baby boy's face with both hands and pushed the tears away on each cheek with broad thumbs. "Shh, Sammy…" he soothed. Sam's bottom lip quivered.
"Ddd…don't want ttt…to be dumb," he managed before his face crumbled again. He didn't care that he was crying in front of his father. This pain was too much to push down and hide.
"Sammy, listen to me," John asserted gently. "You're not dumb. Never dumb. You're brilliant, do you hear me. You're a smart boy, and you always have been." Sam shook his head and tried to turn away, but John held his shoulders preventing the action.
"Nnn…not any…more. Dumb now." Sam reached up and covered his face with a single hand as his tears cascaded silently down his cheeks. John ached to take his son's pain away. He felt at a loss until something in him took over and he became the father Sam needed right in this moment. He pulled Sam up against himself and held him against his chest. One hand holding his child's head firmly and protectively while the other hand pressed into Sam's back and rubbed in small circles.
"Shh… Sammy, I got ya son, I got ya. It's okay. Shh…" John's voice was soft as he tried to break through his child's pain and tears to make him realize he wasn't in this alone. He felt Sam reach up and cling to him, and he pulled him that much tighter into his protective and comforting embrace. "I got you," he assured.
Two Hours Later
Dean parked the car and walked into the kitchen. His Dad's truck was in the driveway, and he expected his father to be in the kitchen ordering pizza. It was pizza night on Wednesday and they always ordered delivery from the local Ma and Pop restaurant, The Italian Kitchen, but the house was quiet. Too quiet. He dropped his car keys in a tiny bowl by the kitchen door they threw their keys into for easy location. "Dad?" Dean questioned as he walked into the dim family room. The blinds were closed, but the late afternoon sun sifted into the room leaving streaks of light and shadow across the carpet.
"I'm here." John answered from his place on the couch. Dean turned and looked at his father. John sat on the couch as if he were in some waiting room waiting for bad news.
"Dad?" Dean couldn't gauge his father's demeanor and just studied him.
"We need to talk," John replied. "Sit down Dean," his father's request was soft, not demanding, but almost imploring.
"What is it? Are you okay?" Dean took an urgent step forward.
"I'm fine." John replied warmly. "Please, just sit." Dean complied and as he did so he looked around the room casually. He saw Sam's discarded backpack on the floor by the front door, and wondered where his brother was.
"Where's Sammy?" Dean asked casually. John looked at his oldest child and cleared his voice.
"In his room," John answered.
"So, what is it? I mean, you act like something's up," Dean inquired. "What do you want to talk about?" Dean noticed a white envelope and paperwork on the coffee table in front of him, but didn't really look at it because he was more interested in hearing what his father had to say. It seemed important. "Dad?" Dean spoke again when his father neglected to fill the silence with his own voice. "What do you want to talk about?"
John's voice was soft and gruff, "Sammy." Dean's eyes darted toward the quiet hallway and his little brother's partially closed door. Dean's eyes filled with panic as a cold fear and dread dug deeply into his chest.
"What! What is it? What's wrong?" He started to stand to go check on his brother, but his father leaning forward and putting a single hand in his knee stopped him. His mind was all ready creating horrible nightmare scenarios. His head filled with one lucid fear: Please, god, no. Sammy had a seizure didn't he? I wasn't here. He was alone. I failed him. He's dead. Sammy's gone… gone, gone, gone…. "Please," His voice choked as he looked at his father. "He's not…" he tried to speak, but the words cut off inside his throat.
John was wide-eyed as he realized with dreadful clarity that Dean was thinking they had lost Sam to some unfair twist of fate. "No, no," he assured quickly. "Dean, Sammy is alive. I promise." The fact his father had simply replied that his brother was alive and hadn't used words like fine and okay terrified Dean even more.
"What aren't you telling me?" John inclined his hand toward the letter and papers on the coffee table. Dean looked at them and picked up the paper clipped items. He saw the insurance card attached in Sam's name, and still it wasn't clicking, but something was tickling at the edge of his comprehension.
"He saw his name on the envelope under yours and he opened it," John replied as he watched Dean skim the letter the same as he had done two hours ago. Dean put the papers back down on the coffee table and leaned forward putting his face into his hands.
"Shit," he hissed through his hands. "All of it … he read all of it?"
"Yes," John answered quietly. Dean leaned back into the couch.
"How is he?"
"Not good," John answered bluntly. "He was pretty upset," he hesitated a moment. "He is pretty upset," John corrected himself.
"I should talk to him," Dean leaned forward again.
"He's sleeping," John replied. "Cried himself to sleep. He's going to be out for a while. He's emotionally drained."
"Dad," Dean began. "I never wanted him to know … not like this. Dammit!"
"Look son, he'll bounce back. It may take a while, but when he understands what the state and a few bureaucrats in an office have labeled him … is just that a label he'll be okay. I told him it doesn't define him to us. Sam's strong and he'll come through the other side of this."
"Dad, thinking you're different and reading it in black and white are two different things. You know, Sammy, he's College Boy, and now he's seen his life and his potential distilled down to a letter that says: Samuel Winchester qualifies for full state coverage under the special needs act for physically and mentally disabled adult persons. Dad, he just sees that they think he's disabled in more than one way, and now his hope is gone."
"Dean," John began softly.
"No Dad," Dean asserted. "Sam always had hope whether he was saying it or not. I know he had hope and that was what drove him. The hope to regain his life back … all of it, and now he knows that medicine and government say he's disabled and they see him that way. And, I'll be damned if I let him see himself that way. It's not gonna happen, I won't let it. He needs to believe he can get back more than he already has. He needs his hope."
"Dean all we can do is support him and be there for him. We make sure he doesn't give up on rehab or himself." John paused for a moment. Dean leaned back into the couch again with a frustrated sigh. "You know," John started. "I noticed by his book bag he picked up a class schedule for the local community college." Dean looked at him.
"He did," Dean's voice sounded hopeful.
"Yeah, of course after today we may have to prod him, but I think it might be good if he wants to go."
"I can bring it up," Dean suggested. John shook his head.
"We should let your brother bring it up when he's ready. Follow his lead." Dean shook his head.
"No, Dad," Dean began. "Look don't take this the wrong way, but I know Sammy better than you and he's not gonna bounce back like a rubber band on this one. He blames himself for so much crap … he's going to find something to blame himself for now. Like he's some kind of burden or something. I need to talk to him. I'm not letting him lose faith in himself." John looked at his son oddly. "What?"
"Nothing," John said with a mild smile. "Since when do you talk about faith I didn't think it was your thing."
"Yeah, well, things change. And, Sammy needs to believe in things. He needs to believe in himself and I'm going to make sure he keeps believing in himself. He told me once, that sometimes you gotta have a little faith, and he was right." John nodded.
One Month Later, Late August 2008
Sam was assigned an academic counselor at Jefferson Community College and he enrolled for two classes starting in the Fall quarter to get his feet wet. Lena his social worker from Ivy Ridge had set his appointment up at the college and Sam had insisted he go alone when Dean and John had both offered to take him for the weekend registration days at the college. The past month had been very difficult for Sam. He had slipped into a state of melancholy and Dean and John had both been very proactive in handling it. They had spoken to his therapists at Ivy Ridge, Dr. Myers, and Lena. Sam felt compelled to escape the labels he'd been given. But, the real world seemed bound and determined to permanently affix them to him. Even now, he sat in the Office of Students with Disabilities with his assigned academic counselor.
He had found one aspect of his label he would use to his advantage, and if there was one thing he had learned from childhood was how to make the system work for you. The state provided educational funding for him, and he was happy that his family wouldn't have to pay for any classes he wanted to take.
"Sam, I think you may want to start with a lower division political analysis class than "Twenty-first Century Polycentric Norms in Today's society and Government," Mona, his counselor replied. "Maybe, Intro to Political analysis," she hedged.
"I hhh…have ttt…transfer cre…dits from Stan…fff…ford. It counts, rrr…right?"
"Well, yes, but…"
"Bbb…but what?" Sam's voice was level, but slightly accusing.
"Professor Dasser is very hard. The course load in that class is particularly heavy Sam. There is an presentation and a final paper."
"I rrr…read the class des…crip…tion," Sam replied. "I knn…know what is ex…pec…ted. I went ttt…to Stan…fff…ford."
"Yes," Mona relented, "but that was before your accident correct? I just don't want you to over extend yourself Sam. I believe you can complete your work … I just don't want you getting discouraged and withdrawing from your classes. It's common and I see it all the time."
"I www…want thh…that class," Sam asserted. Mona smiled.
"I'll have to get Professor Dasser to sign off since it's an upper level and you're coming in with transfer credit. Why don't you go out to the lobby and take a seat and I'll try to get a hold of him and I'll call you back in okay?" Sam nodded. Mona watched Sam leave. She really liked him and truly felt he was biting off more than he could chew, and didn't want him devastated when at mid-term or before he found himself drowning and facing certain failure and imminent withdraw from the class or perhaps the college all together. She had seen it too many times. But, at least Sam was starting off slow as opposed to other disabled students she hadn't been able to talk out of a full course load right off the bat. She had been provided a copy of his file and was made aware of his ongoing rehab from his social worker, and she read in his file of the devastating brain trauma he'd received as a direct complication of a head injury received in a car accident with his family over a year ago.
"Hello, Professor Dassler. This is Mona Radney." The professor recognized the woman.
"Hi Mona, what can I do for you?"
"Well, I have a student who wants to sign up for your Advanced Political Analysis. He has the approved transfer credits."
"This is one of your students Mona?" The professor was well aware that all of her students had some type of disability.
"Yes, he's a wonderful young man. His transcripts are from Stanford. He suffered an accident a year ago, but has been working very hard at getting his life back, and he wants to try a couple classes, and possibly get back into academia."
"Stanford? I trust this accident occurred prior to his admittance to that university."
"Yes," Mona replied. "He was there on a full ride scholarship. I tried to dissuade him from taking the advanced class, but he wouldn't hear of it. He wants to take it."
"What is his disability?"
"He suffered a traumatic brain injury. He has a speech deficit and some cognitive delays. He's a bright boy. I can see it in his eyes, but…"
"But, you think he's going to sink and drown in my class, right?"
"I just don't want him to fail right out of the starting gate."
"Let's see what he's capable off. I'm sure that kid has had enough short ends of the stick to last him a lifetime and I'm not going to be the one to shoot him down. If he thinks he can handle it then I'll grant him entrance into the class."
Later that Afternoon
Sam had to do two bus transfers to get home, but he made it. He had gone over the schedules with Dena his OT at Ivy Ridge and Dean and John had gone over it with him to. He felt happy that he'd been admitted into the advanced class he wanted. Classes started in three weeks, and he was excited. The library was willing to work around his schooling, and he was glad for that because he enjoyed his occupational placement there. He knew at the beginning of the new year though that Lena would have a new placement for him. She had told him it was good to broaden your horizons and try new places.
"Hey Sammy," Dean replied from the couch with a beer. "How was your school thing?"
"Good I got the ccc…classes I wan…ted." Dean smiled and flipped the TV off.
"Dad ran up to the Rusty Bucket Sub House and we're having some subs for lunch. He's getting your usual." Dean turned his nose up. "That frou-frou stuff you like … with the bean sprouts."
"It's good." Sam replied.
"Yeah, what ever you say kiddo," Dean quipped. "So, did they give you any trouble signing up for the classes you wanted?"
"I thh…think my coun…selor thh…thinks I might have ttt…trouble with one."
"Oh, yeah," Dean replied standing up and heading toward the kitchen. "Well, that counselor doesn't know shit. Guy or girl?" Sam looked at his brother oddly. "Your counselor … guy or girl?"
"Www…woman," Sam answered. "Www…why?"
"Oh, come on Sammy," Dean mused as they both entered the kitchen. "You just have to use those puppy eyes of yours and she'll do whatever you want." Sam swatted his brother in the shoulder and sat down at the kitchen table. "What? It's true," Dean countered. "But, really, Sammy … I'm happy to see you trying school again. I know it's not Stanford, but…"
"It's okay, Dean," Sam replied. "I jjj…just www…want to ttt…try."
"Hey, Sammy I don't want you being hard on yourself all right? I know you … you're a geek boy when it comes to school stuff, and if something doesn't come easy or whatever I don't want you getting discouraged, okay?" Sam nodded slightly. "Yeah, no nodding little brother. I want to hear you say, 'okay.'"
"Okay."
"And, you know you can use tutors if you have to Sam. I don't want you stressing out on stuff."
"It's ttt…two ccc…classes Dean." Sam complained. "It's nnn…not even fff…for a degree. I jjj..just want ttt…to ttt…try." Sam was so frustrated about his speech. He worked on it all the time and even did flashcards at home to practice pronunciations, but some words still hopped and skipped off his tongue, and it seemed no matter what he did they stutter and fragmentation still remained.
"So, what classes are you taking?" Sam pulled his registration paper out of his backpack and handed it to his brother. "Okay, are you serious Sammy? What the hell is Political Science 490: Twenty-first Century Polycentric Norms in Today's society and Government? That's a class?" Dean shot a look at his brother. Sam nodded. Dean looked at the other class and smiled. "Psy: 320 Myth and Urban Legends: A study in Human Nature, I think you could teach this class Sammy. Hell, you probably no more than the professor." Sam and Dean shared a smile. "So, Sam, that other class, the Polycentric whatever, you sure you want to take that? Sounds like a ball buster."
Sam shook his head. "I www…want to," he asserted. Dean raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Okay, okay, just askin'. Man, I'm hungry. I can't wait to sink my teeth into that Philly steak and cheese Sub. Mmm… with extra onions." Sam turned his nose up. "Hey, don't knock it Organic Boy." Dean laughed. "Dad, wanted a Philly, but you know the old diet for his ticker says no can do, man, so he was a little pissed. I think he's getting a turkey club or something."
"It's ggg…good thh…that dad is kkk…keep…ing with thh..the heart rehab diet."
"Yeah. I just like to give him a hard time. To tell you the truth Sammy I'm surprised he hasn't told those nutritionists he has to see once a month to stick it where the sun doesn't shine." Sam laughed.
"Ggg…give hhh…him time," Sam countered. Both brothers heard the rumble of their father's truck as it pulled into the driveway.
Jefferson Community College, October 15, 2008
Sam walked across the quad of the college having just finished his one hour tutor session for his political class he was taking from Professor Dassler. It was hard and he had to read the material multiple times to understand it, and he had begrudgingly acknowledged early on that he would need a tutor that could help him break down pieces of the textbook, so he could understand the material. He hated that certain things just didn't make sense when he knew that at one time before his head injury they had made perfect sense, and at times the theories he had read about seemed almost juvenile, but now some of them came across so difficult to him that he likened them translating an ancient language. He had almost dropped the class, but his big brother and his father gave him a confidence booster, and said they knew he could do it. And, when they had said, as long as you do your best and try, then no one can ask anymore he decided to stick with it. He was on the way to the library on campus to make some copies he needed when his cell phone rang.
It was always one of two people that called either his brother or his father, and usually he didn't even bother with glancing at the caller ID, but today he did look and when he saw the illuminated screen of his phone Sam stopped dead in his tracks staring at the display, as his mouth went dry:
Incoming call:
Sarah Blake
315-555-2380
To Be Continued
Well, as always let me know what you think. Sorry, for the minor delay, but getting two chapters out and posted last week sort of put me behind with other things, but at least you have a new update for the weekend.
Thank you for all the reviews you've left for chapters 1 through 22, so far. It's much appreciated.
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