Hello everyone. A big thanks to the Sheriff for your encouragements, both in and out FFN. And a big thanks, Janet, for your nice review and wishes. And also to all of you who came to read this new story and left a little review.

I wish you all a peaceful and blessed Christmas.

Lyxie.

Chapter 4

I think I 'm dying for good.

Each day since last week, I've been taken to dark rooms for further scans and exams. Even if I'm lying down and the nurses are rolling my bed from one place to another, I'm out of breath when they take me back to my room.

I keep asking for more pain killers because I can't stand it anymore. But they don't seem to help. I mean the pills! Sometimes, when it hurts too much, I'm allowed some small and calculated dose of morphine. But the surgeon told me that, now that vital functions are secured, feeling the pain was the best way to avoid unexpected injuries. Being aware of my limits prevents me from overexerting myself.

Mom comes every morning whilst I am still trying to emerge from a deep drug-induced sleep. When I wake up, she is there and I feel like I'm ten years old again and she comes to get me ready for school. I want to jump out of my bed and then reality strikes back. I'm just lying here like a corpse, a dead plant. Okay, Davey Boy, now you're gonna shake these ideas ouf of your head and move on.

Yeah, just like in the army! I could almost hear the baritone voice of our drilling sergeant. Man, was he mean to us! But he meant well, he wanted us to be strong and resist to anything that would come up. There were days I swear I could have killed him with my bare hands. He was hard on us. I guess now I'm sergeant to my own body and I've gotta be hard on it, just as my old sergeant was on us.

°.°.°.°.°.°.°.

I asked the nurse to help me call Hutch this morning. Gee, it felt so good to hear his voice. We exchanged only a few words because I was too tired to talk for more than five or ten minutes, but they were precious ones. I needed to hear his voice and be sure he was all right. He said he's back on the job, but I'm not sure whether Dobey has given him a new partner. Anyway, I guess he would reject the idea.

I closed my eyes and tried to figure how he looked. The very last image I keep of him is that pair of blue eyes trying to smile the most encouraging goodbye he could give. But somehow I had the strange feeling the fire was gone. He promised to call again tomorrow. I'll be looking forward to that call!

Then the rest of the morning was just another long nap. I'm not hungry. They tried to force me to swallow at least some soup or any enhanced liquid that would lead me to normal food soon. But my stomach just can't cope. As I hardly move, my body doesn't seem to want to be sustained as before. I don't even dream of a burrito or a cool beer anymore. I just want them all to let me sleep. While I'm asleep, I can forget the pain, the paralysis, this whole nightmare!

°.°.°.°.°.°.°.

They have installed a new catheter with liquid nutrients. My veins are so fragile and painful in both arms now. Sometimes, I need to cry. When I'm alone. I'm not ashamed of it. It's just that I can't hold back the tears anymore. I tried so hard not to show Mom and Hutch and all the others that I was depressed, but I've reached the limit of my pretence. It just hurts too much. Not only my body. My heart too. For I haven't seen any improvement since I was admitted to Mount Sinai. One exercise after another, one traction, after another daily massage. And yet, no improvement. Hell, when am I gonna feel something down there, dammit?

°.°.°.°.°.°.°.

There is a nurse called Sally. She is so nice with me. Patient and everything. Af first I trieds to be a good patient. But I feel I'm losing my composure and this morning I was even a bit rude to her. I felt sorry when she said nothing back and went on cleaning my body and searching for pressure sores to treat them.

I felt bad and when she came back later, I apologized. She smiled gently at me, without a word and went on with her routine.

Yet before leaving my room, she said something like I was one of the best patients she was currently taking care of. She always finds a kind word that makes me feel better.

The psychiatrist also came to visit me again. That Bruno is a tall guy, brown hair, clear complexion. He speaks with an accent I could not clearly identify at first. He finally said he was Italian and came to the States with his parents when he was five. How comes he never got rid of his accent? He is listening to my silence, sitting in a chair next to my bed. He always has a gentle smile on his face when he enters the room. It took me several sessions and several hours to start talking about how I felt, to let some anger show. I think I need to trust him.

But how could he possibly understand what I'm going through? Him, more than anyone else? Italians are supposed to be the macho type, right? And this one looks to me as the "ladies' man" if you catch my drift. How can I confess that one of my most secret fears is that I won't be able to be a man again, whole and complete?

°.°.°.°.°.°.°.

The worst time in the day is when they empty my body of whatever has to come out, because I can't do it by myself yet! I'm lying there, feeling nothing, but I can hear the sound and I'm totally powerless. The first time it was ever done, I could not help but let the tears escape freely, I felt so ashamed. But the care assistant was so discreet and efficient that I kind of accepted it, convincing myself that it was temporary and I will manage on my own soon.

The only control I have for the moment is the call button I push to call someone to get me some water or empty the urine sack when it's full. How can a man survive this nightmare for long? How could I go through this for the rest of my life? For now, the doctor said the urine catheter will stay in place permanently but they will soon install an intermittent one, to prevent infection. They keep track of a precise schedule, explaining to me that this method will avoid urinary tract infections. Otherwise, I'll be back on antibiotics again. Gee, enough of this! Please!!

Sometimes at night, the alarm goes off, because I can't breathe anymore, like an elephant is sitting on my chest. My diaphragm has not been functioning normally because I'm always lying down. And also because of the stress. That means I'll have to go through more respiratory exercises and these are really killing me. I don't want to be intubated and put on the ventilator again. Somehow it feels like I'm being strangled from the inside. I did not care when I was in a coma, I couldn't feel it. But now that I'm conscious, I dread the moment they'll push that tube down my throat again. Like millions of needles ripping my inner skin and stopping the breathing instead of enhancing it.

°.°.°.°.°.°.°.

Hutch called tonight but I was so exhausted with the recent respiratory exercises that the nurse did not feel like waking me up. She asked him to call again tomorrow morning. There is only a three-hour time difference and I hope he can call me before he goes to work.

I wish I could tell him I've made some progress but I feel so disabled , alone and depressed. I don't want him to hear this in my voice. I've never managed to lie to him. Even thousands of kilometers apart, he would know at once. Maybe it's better that I missed his call tonight after all.

°.°.°.°.°.°.°.

/tbc/