What a Pain! – Chapter Twelve

Dorothy and Jeannie returned, and found Mike snoozing away. Dorothy smiled at her son, and eased herself into a chair. Walking had become so difficult lately; it was really distressing. The arthritis started out gradually, but it seemed that once it took hold, it really took hold. Her hips, knees, and feet hurt constantly, as did her shoulders and hands. She was so grateful to her daughter for bringing her to Michael's side. There wasn't much she could do to help him, she knew, but he insisted he was happy to have her here anyway. "Such a handsome boy," she thought, and then shook her head slightly, "no, such a good man. Michael would make his father so proud."

"What are you thinking about, Mom?" Jeannie asked, noticing the faraway look on her mother's face.

"Oh, just how much Michael reminds me of your father," Dorothy replied, wistfully. "It would have been wonderful for him to see you and your brother grow into such fine adults."

Jeannie smiled, "Yeah, I know. He was a pretty great guy; I miss him too."

And at that, Mike opened his eyes and groaned a little. Jeannie hopped up and went to his bedside, waiting to see what Mike would do next.

"Hi, Mighty," she said softly, "how do you feel?"

Mike considered the question for a moment, then said, "Ugh."

"You feel 'ugh'?" Jeannie laughed.

"Yep. Juuust...ugh," Mike replied, still struggling slightly with his speech. "Mmy head sti-ill hurts bad. My sh-shoulder feels a lllittle better; j-just stiff. Same w-with my hand." He closed his eyes again. "Je-Jeannieee," he whispered, "you don't h-h-happen to have a mirror handy, do you? I... w-want to see it."

Jeannie flinched a little at Mike's words, knowing that although he was never vain, Mike would surely be shocked by his appearance. The original lump caused by his tumble down the stairs during the fire had been replaced by a much larger bruise which had spread to his cheekbone; a result from the surgery. His left eye was still ringed in black and blue, which had developed after the hematoma had grown, and a good portion of his hair on that side had been shaved away prior to surgery. The swelling had gone down, but still lingered enough to make Mike's face obviously asymmetrical. Still, Jeannie dug out the small hand mirror she kept in her purse and gave it to him.

Studiously, Mike turned the mirror at every angle and observed his face, all the while saying nothing. The bandage still hid the surgery site, but the bruising was nothing like Mike had ever seen- splotchy and colorful. His hair had started to grow back a little, but was still just a bristly patch of fuzz. "W-wow," he breathed. "Guess th-they really diiid a nuumber on me, huh."

Jeannie leaned over and gave her brother a gentle hug. "Yeah, they kind of did, little brother. It'll get better by and by, though, I promise."

Noting the brace padding his shoulder along with his current 'look,' Mike snorted with a feeble laugh, "Hmph. U-until then I g-get to loook like Qu-Quasi-mmmodo, I guess."

Dr. Early entered Mike's room then, and, overhearing the last bits of conversation, with good humor added, "We'll have you back ringing the bells in no time, Mike." He smiled at the recuperating fireman and his family then asked, "Well, Mr. Stoker, how are you feeling this afternoon?"

Mike shifted uneasily in the bed, trying to ease the pressure he felt in his head at the moment. The pain meds had worn off again and he was suffering. "My head st-stilll hurts, Dr. Earrrly," he reported quietly. "How much llllonger?"

"Well, considering the type of surgery you had, Mike, it's going to take a few weeks for the pain to dissipate totally." Then, realizing it sounded as if he were dismissing Mike's very valid concerns, he added, "Ideally, I'd like to see the pain lessening each day. Do you feel like it has been getting better or worse?"

"Umm...I guess b-b-betterrr. It hurrts some all day, though, e-even with morphine," he struggled out.

Dr. Early flipped open Mike's medical chart. "Can you describe the pain? Is it sharp or dull? Is it hurting all over or more localized?"

Mike considered the questions for a moment as his eyes seemed to wander to the window. How to describe the pain? If he hadn't just looked at himself in the mirror, he might have sworn there was an iron vise squeezing his thoughts out. Maybe it was a new kind of invisible vise? The pain now was unlike any headache he'd ever had, not even like the migraines he used to suffer as a teenager, but it wasn't always this way. Sometimes the vise disappeared and was replaced by a ton of bricks squashing his brains. And then, whenever he woke, it was because of the ice pick ramming itself into the side of his head. He started to pull compulsively at the top hem of his hospital gown as if trying to pick off an invisible piece of lint.

Dr. Early waited a few seconds. "Mike? Are you okay?"

There was no immediate response and Mike's observers were becoming concerned. Within a few more seconds, he broke from his trance as reluctant tears spilled from his crystal blue eyes. "H-h-how long, Doc?" he asked with trembling lips, "How long w-will it hurrrt? I h-h-hate thi-is!" More frustrating still was that with the braced left shoulder and the bandaged right hand, he couldn't even hide his face as he released the anguished tears he was trying to keep inside.

Immediately his sister wrapped her arms carefully around his shoulders. His mother, unable to get up quickly, covered her mouth with her palm and squelched tears of her own. "Oh, Michael," she choked out.

Mike turned his head as far as he could toward his sister and buried his face in her shoulder. He didn't cry, dammit! He never cried; hadn't cried since his dad passed away so many years ago! Now, here he was, nearly sobbing like a child. He was thoroughly embarrassed at being so emotional and wanted nothing more than for everyone to go away.

Dr. Early had been a doctor for many years and was accustomed to emotional outbursts, even if his patients weren't. He knew Mike was ashamed and Early was determined to make sure that shame was put to rest immediately. "Look, Mike," he told his still whimpering patient, "I know you probably don't want to hear this, but I promise it will get better. You don't nee to worry about the tears so much, either, okay? Along with the seizures, this is a typical response to the surgery while your brain gets used to firing on all cylinders again. And I promise you, we will get this pain under control."

Stoker sniffled and Jeannie wiped his eyes and nose. "Gah, I feel like an idiot, blubbering like that," he growled at himself, forcing a control he didn't really feel. He looked up at his sister and posed a rhetorical question: "Not so 'mighty' anymore, am I."

At his home, Sir Pain-in-the-butt perked up his ears at something only he could detect. Something was off-kilter and the cat could sense it. He jumped down from Stoker's bed and wandered though the house. He strolled over to the door in the kitchen that connected the house to the garage. That door was left ajar so Pain could go in the garage and use the litter box Johnny had reluctantly purchased. There was no way Johnny could stop by and let Pain in and out while on shift, so the catbox was a necessary evil. Fortunately, Steve Taylor, the engineer from Station 10, was a great friend of Mike's and had volunteered to feed Pain whenever Johnny wasn't able to. Keeping Mike's cat happy and his house clean were two of Johnny's modest goals while Mike was recuperating.

It seemed that using the "facilities" and munching on kitty-kibble wasn't what the cat wanted, though. He sniffed the doors and windows, mewing quietly. He jumped to the mantle in the living room and deftly stepped around the photos of friends and family Mike had on display there. The cat walked gracefully in, around, and through nine photographs, two candlesticks and a box of spare buttons, and not a single thing was dislodged from it's place.

He then jumped to the floor and was headed down the hall, when the phone rang. There was a second phone on a table there and Pain leaped up to sit next to the answering machine. The ringing sound was annoying at first, but then, the machine clicked and whirred before the outgoing message began. "Hi, this is Mike. I'm probably sleeping, and if you know me, you know why. Tell me who you are and I'll call you back. Thanks!" *beeep* There was another click, and then silence.

Pain's ears swiveled in confusion. That was the voice of his human! That was what was wrong! He missed the friendly man who let him sleep in the hammock with him and knew that something wasn't right. He looked up toward the ceiling and yowled with all his might.