Chapter 5: Owen's Appointment
After lunch, Owen fell asleep on the couch. Amelia smiled as she placed a blanket over him and whispered to Bronwyn and Oliver, "You guys need to find somewhere else to play. Daddy's sleeping." Out of habit, Oliver headed to the "playroom," aka the temporary master bedroom. "Ollie," Amelia pointed out, "if you watch TV in here or play in here, the sound will probably carry to the other room and wake up Daddy."
Oliver stood up and headed upstairs. Lynne saw him in the hallway and whispered, "Finley and the babies are all asleep up here, sweetie. Make sure you're quiet." No matter where he went in the house, Oliver was told to watch his volume. He sighed with disappointment and asked if he could play outside with the dogs. After reminding him of the rules about staying away from the water and insisting he put on a heavy coat, Lynne shoo'ed him outside. The dogs couldn't have been more thrilled to welcome their playmate into an exuberant game that mixed chasing and fetching.
While Lynne remained upstairs catching up on the children's laundry, Bronwyn asked Amelia if she could nap with her daddy. In the last couple days, Bronwyn occasionally sucked her thumb or spoke in baby talk. Amelia had read that when military parents returned, regression in the 3-6-year-old age group was a possibility.
Speaking with a little voice, Bronwyn pulled on Amelia's shirt and sought her attention, "Mama…can me take nappy with Dada?"
The baby talk bugged the hell out of Amelia, but she knew that correcting it wouldn't help. She knelt down and looked Bronwyn in the eye, "Yes, you can. Bronwyn. Here's the deal: if you lie down with Daddy, you need to sleep. If you wiggle around or come close to waking him up, you'll nap in your own bed instead."
Sucking her thumb, Bronwyn nodded her head and toddled over to the couch. Looking back at Amelia with feigned helplessness, Bronwyn lifted her arms signaling she needed Amelia to lift her up and place her beside Owen.
Amelia was willing to play along to a degree but being signaled to pick up a nearly 5-year-old little girl was her limit. "You can crawl up on the couch by yourself, Bronwyn. Then snuggle in and close your eyes." After a dramatic sigh, Bronwyn squirmed under the blanket next to Owen. Periodically, she opened her eyes and played with her hands or surveyed the room. Her eyes became heavy and Bronwyn dozed off.
At 2:45, Owen woke up on his own to a silent house. Straining, he could hear the dryer running a load of clothes and Oliver talking to the dogs in the garage. He smiled as he glanced at the little red head beside him and stroked her hair. She was sucking her thumb as she slept. Owen wondered when that had begun – he'd never seen Bronwyn do that.
As she descended the stairs, Amelia whispered with a smile, "Hey… I was just going to come wake you up for PT."
Owen smiled and nodded his head to the side to encourage Amelia to approach him. "How long has this been going on?" he asked curiously as he motioned toward Bronwyn.
"Since we knew you were injured. Someone gave me a handout along the way that said it's normal to see regression in her age group at this point in deployment. She also baby talks sometimes – have you heard that yet?" Amelia shrugged. "Ella's reaction to you is also within those bounds as well as Finley's irritability and fighting with Oliver. He's been isolating and having a lot of headaches too. And Mr. Oliver? He's following the listing to the letter: increased whininess, occasional aggressive behavior, focusing on big events you've missed and now won't miss, and increasingly clingy. They're all adjusting and trying to make sense out of changes that are beyond conscious comprehension. All three older kids have had challenges with sleep since you left."
"At least Gwen's rolling with the punches, huh?" Owen chuckled.
"Yes," Amelia grinned, "Although maybe that explains the PT behavior… who knows?"
Owen nodded with a slight grimace, "Anything else I should expect?"
"I'll have to find the paper. The only other one I can remember, which I'm praying to God pertains to older teens only, is promiscuity and drug and alcohol use," Amelia recalled.
"Oh," Owen responded softly. "That'd be quite the set of issues. I'm not sure I'm ready for all that." He paused then asked, "How often is Naomi in the scene nowadays?"
Amelia smiled and raised her eyes toward her eyebrows, "Well… they're still nuts about each other. She comes over here, he hangs out at her house, she goes to his soccer games and practices, he stays at the library to help her with homework. Most I've seen is hand holding, hugging, and peck on the cheek kissing."
"Hmm…" Owen responded without words, recalling the conversation he and Finley had shared weeks ago. "I was a 13-year-old boy once. I think I'll talk with him about it and set some clear expectations."
"On that note…" Amelia teased, "PT has some clear expectations of you. Are you ready to head out? I thought we could take my car. The lower height will probably be easier for you."
Owen smiled and responded, "Thanks, Mia. I hadn't thought of that. Can you bring my walker around? I'm going to pee, brush my teeth, and throw on my shoes, then I'll be ready." He slowly walked to the bathroom and then the bedroom. Once again coming face to face with his dependence, Owen called out and asked Amelia to help him with his shoes.
As Owen pushed his wheelchair through the hospital hallways on his way to PT, nearly every staff member in his path stopped to welcome him back. He was both humbled and embarrassed by the attention, although he sincerely appreciated everyone's kind words. When he and Amelia entered the PT room, Bill, his new therapist, ordered warmly, "Hi, Dr. Hunt. Park that wheelchair in the corner. We won't be needing it. Then walk on over here."
"Do you want me to stay or go?" Amelia asked Owen.
He grinned and assured her, "No. Stay. Please, stay." He squeezed her hand and then lifted himself from chair to walker.
"Not using crutches yet, Dr. Hunt?" Bill inquired.
"No, Bill. The walker is hard enough at this point. And if we're going to be working closely together, you might as well call me Owen," Owen grumbled.
"You got it, boss," Bill laughed. "So, Dr. Torres will be down here any minute to observe your gait. Let's start over here and assess your range of motion while we wait. You've probably already had this done at least 10 times, huh?"
"Yep," Owen confirmed with a hint of boredom.
"I may or may not assess the same motions. With your particular injuries, we had to craft a unique plan, so we don't over-stress the femur while not over-resting the patella. Now, let's start with side to side. Lie down, lift your right leg just above your left and show me how far to the left and right you can swing it," Bill directed.
Owen's range side to side was intact but weak, which was not unexpected. Next Bill had him raise his leg as high as possible without using his hands or any assistance. As Owen's leg ascended, Callie walked in. She approached Owen as she watched his leg begin to shake, then reached out and pressed just under his knee, "Now put your hands between here and your ankle and keep going. You can use your arms to pull the leg back further."
"Hi, Callie," Owen grunted as he worked, attempted to point out she hadn't greeted him before ordering him to try something.
"Yeah, yeah, save the pleasantries for outside PT. You'll need your strength in here," she joked. "Can you pull any farther?"
"No," Owen gasped.
"Hmm…let's see how long you can hold it there then," she suggested. Owen's arms and leg began to shake, so Callie summoned Bill and told Owen, "Now we're going to see how far we can move it before the pain is too much. Holler out. We'll start slow… just holding your leg in place here, then incrementally bringing it closer and closer to your head."
"Argh! That's good," Owen sputtered.
"No, it's not. Bill, hold it there and then try more movement," Callie directed.
Grunting, Owen asked, "What do you mean, 'no, it's not'?"
"I want to see you go further at this point. You're ok," Callie shrugged.
"I couldn't move this far before I was shot," Owen grumbled.
"Oh, you could too," Callie flirted. "Ok, Bill, really slow now…"
Owen yelled out in pain, "You're breaking me."
"Hold it there," Callie ordered. "What's breaking, Owen? What's stopping you?"
"My semimembranosus muscle," Owen groaned.
"As in your hamstrings, show off?" Callie teased.
"No," Owen corrected her slowly, "Not all three in the hamstring group. Just the semimembranosus."
Callie rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Oh, easy fix. Bill will keep holding your leg while you try to rotate your ankle in circles. We'll go both clockwise and counter-clockwise so take your pick and start there," Callie stated.
"I hate you," Owen grunted.
"Oh, stop, you do not," Callie laughed as she shook her head. She grabbed his foot and caused him to make larger circles. "Now, see, when you do that, the muscles in your ass – as you medically referred to them – and your semimembranosus muscle relax. Bill, did you already go side to side?"
Bill nodded, "Yep. He's solid, great angles but needs to build strength. We haven't taken this position side to side yet."
"Ok, Owen, Bill's going to slowly bring your leg so it's pointing straight up at the ceiling. We'll rest it there and then measure side to side motion," Callie informed Owen.
As Bill worked on that far less painful process, Callie greeted Amelia and mumbled through a smile, "He's kind of a whiner, huh?" Amelia smiled like the Cheshire Cat as Callie continued, "You'll need to help him with these at home. You might be better off having the kids help as long as they won't get too pushy and understand the incremental movement – he'll probably be kinder to them than you."
The two women watched as Bill attempted to move Owen's leg back from center and toward his face. "See," Callie observed aloud, "he was hollering by that point earlier. Now look at how far he's taking it. He's doing great, but we're going to keep pushing him."
After a brief break and some water, Callie called Owen up to the parallel bars. "I actually want you to start with what you've been doing – left leg then both arms, no weight bearing on the right leg. Go whatever speed feels best for you." She switched her gaze between Owen's leg and Bill's eyes as Owen walked. Behind Owen, Bill nodded affirmatively.
"Ok, stop," Callie called out when Owen made it to the end of the bars. "That was excellent. Have you turned around on these yet or should we show you how?"
"I've done it," Owen grunted as he maneuvered his body and turned around. "Now what?"
"We're going to bear just a touch of weight on the right leg. It's an inexact science but I want you to estimate using the leg at about 15%. Just take one step and stop," she ordered.
Owen's face turned various shades of red as his right leg felt pressure for the first time in over a week. He clenched his teeth as tears fell from his eyes. Callie instructed him not to clench because it only makes things worse. Instead, she ordered him to breathe through the pain with deep and slow breaths.
"Now when you step with your left leg, you're going to shift back 100% of the weight bearing to your arms. Nothing, no weight bearing at all on the right leg when it's on the ground alone. This step will be a breeze," she predicted.
They repeated this routine over and over, going the span of the bars multiple times. The PT session ended with an ice massage, which felt sublime after all the hard work. Amelia stood beside him and chatted reassuringly with him as he stretched out and rested while the ice worked its magic.
At the end of the session, Bill quickly reviewed how to use the crutches and encouraged Owen to begin trying to use them at home. Callie strongly suggested the wheelchair stay behind, but Owen refused. They negotiated a deal where he promised to use the chair as little as possible, try to begin the transition to the walker, and even try the crutches.
As Amelia walked alongside him, Owen pushed himself toward Dr. Wyatt's office. "Can you, uh… can you stay for this too? Maybe we can talk some things out…" he asked her. Dr. Wyatt was a therapist who had treated Owen previously.
Amelia's past experiences with therapy were mostly tied to her addiction or Ryan's death. Therapy was pretty much the last place she wanted to spend the next hour. Even so, she heard her voice saying, "Sure," as the rest of her resisted.
The couple walked in and Dr. Wyatt extended her hand to Amelia, "You must be Dr. Shepherd-Hunt. It's wonderful to meet you."
Amelia feeling and looking like a kid sent to the principal's office grinned uncomfortably and responded flatly, "Same. Thanks. You can call me Amelia." Dr. Wyatt mentally noted the hesitation, yet found it promising that Owen had asked Amelia to come with him.
"So…Owen. It's been awhile. I've read the report from Marcus in San Antonio. You did some intense work with him in a short amount of time," Dr. Wyatt summarized. Amelia, willing to be a supportive present, but not particularly comfortable if Owen was planning some sort of impromptu marital therapy session, became distracted by the tchotchkes strewn around the office.
"Yeah, we did. He … uh… had a way of stretching me without breaking me," Owen admitted with an awkward grin.
"Amelia, has Owen had a chance to share his experiences of therapy in San Antonio with you?" Dr. Wyatt prodded; fairly certain he had not done so.
Amelia brought her attention back to the moment, "I'm sorry?"
"She asked if I'd shared details of my therapy in San Antonio with you," Owen offered as he grinned at Amy. He turned toward Dr. Wyatt and answered on Amelia's behalf, "No. No, I haven't. I just got back. It's been pretty busy with 5 kids, PT, life and re-entry."
Dr. Wyatt nodded and sat back in her chair, "How is re-entry going?"
"Mostly up, but a little up and down," Owen offered. "I'm having a tough time coming back to being a Dad…trying to navigate how firm to be, learning what's changed since I've been gone, dealing with the kids' and their challenges."
"Amelia? How do you feel it's going?"
Pulling her feet onto the edge of the chair and her knees toward her chest, Amelia wrapped her arms around her legs. "Umm… well, I'd agree with Owen."
"But how are you doing with Owen's return?"
"Oh…me? Fine," Amelia shrugged and lifted her eyes toward her brows. "Yeah, good, I guess." She chuckled nervously and looked away, "I mean, I'm not using or anything. No relapses. I'm getting by."
Dr. Wyatt spotted Owen lowering his chin and glancing at Amelia with concern. He interjected, "Mia? What's going on?"
Amelia widened her eyes and lied, "Nothing." She added in a pasted-on smile and repeated herself, "Nothing at all."
"She left the house this morning and came to the hospital to hide," Owen offered with a tinge of frustration.
"I think that's my story to tell, Owen," Amelia responded with a look of angst.
"It happened to me, too, Mia. Can I share my viewpoint?" Owen asked flatly.
"I guess," she murmured with contempt.
"Amelia, would you rather Owen not share the story or his view?" Dr. Wyatt asked gently.
Looking perturbed, Amelia responded, "I… I didn't know I was part of this session until we reached your office. Then I thought I was here as moral support. Nothing personal, but we just met, Dr. Wyatt. You don't know me; I don't know you. I'm not the type to just emotionally eviscerate all that I hold deep inside with someone I just met."
Owen slowly closed his eyes and folded his arms. As he reopened his eyes, he offered gently, "Amelia, you're right. I'm sorry. I… I didn't think this through. I apologize."
"I think it's best if I step out," Amelia suggested with a smirk. She turned to Owen and insisted, "And, for the record, I'm not running away or hiding, Owen. I'm removing myself from a situation that feels like a trap even though I'm absolutely positive that wasn't your intent." Extending her hand, Amelia continued, "Pleasure meeting you. I apologize that our time together was so awkward."
"You're welcome here anytime, Amelia. I admire you doing what you need to do for yourself," Dr. Wyatt gently shared with a soft grin.
Amelia looked toward Owen and kindly informed him, "I'll be in the cafeteria when you're done."
Grinning but looking sad, Owen nodded, "Ok, Mia."
"Well, talk to me about what just happened, Owen…" Dr. Wyatt proposed when the door was closed.
"Hell, I don't know. She's right. I just kind of sprung an invitation on her to join us. I was hoping to work out the disagreements we've had since I've been back, but I didn't tell her that," Owen spewed.
"It sounds like your intention was to take care of her, but you ended up making decisions on her behalf," Dr. Wyatt observed.
"I guess so. That's kind of my default," Owen acknowledged before redirecting the conversation, "Since I've been back, it's like our synergy is gone. One of us says something and the other misinterprets it and reacts. I try to parent, and she scrutinizes my words or choices. If I were to choose one word to describe our relationship right now, it'd be 'prickly.'"
"Have you reconnected sexually?" Dr. Wyatt asked.
"Yeah. Once in the hospital right after everything and then just this morning," Owen disclosed.
"Good," Dr. Wyatt affirmed. "So what do you suppose is behind the tension?"
"For me, I guess I'm pissed…confused…trying to figure out my identity within the family. I'm not coming back as me. I'm some dependent, debilitated, and hurting version of me. I don't get to come back and play soccer with the boys or lay on the floor and play Barbies with Bronwyn. Rocking the twins or carrying them around isn't an option. How am I supposed to reintegrate when I can't do a damn thing?" Owen searched.
"What's behind Amelia's tension?" Dr. Wyatt asked. "We can't know for sure without asking her, but I'm curious if you have any hunches."
"Who knows," Owen sighed as he ran his hand through his stubbly, short hair. He chuckled, saying, "Well, I know she hates my hair. She doesn't like that I shaved it, but that's not major. Before I left, she told me that, as a colleague, she supported me, but that, as a wife, she couldn't possibly understand how I could choose to go overseas for another tour. It was difficult for her to get in the way of what I felt called to do, she deeply wanted to support me. But, as a wife and mom, I think she was pretty damn furious with me."
Dr. Wyatt noted the time and grinned, "It sounds like you have some things to discuss with Amelia tonight. I'll see you again on Monday?"
"Yeah," Owen nodded as he pursed his lips. "Thanks."