Please, no one gripe about the ages! I know that "according to cannon" Jean Luc is much older than Beverly. But, I think that cannon was poorly thought out and in the grand scheme of things, it never made sense that Jean Luc and Jack were supposed to be 20 or some odd years older than Beverly. So, I am throwing that bit cannon out the window for the sake of this story. Enjoy!
My situation this morning reminds me of an old Earth movie that I saw when I younger called Groundhog Day. In the film, the main character keeps waking up every day to the exact same scenario. Essentially, he's stuck in what we now would call a time-space feedback loop. I thought the movie was funny at the time, but now my situation is all too similar.
"Selar," I begin as she enters the room, "last night I regained some tingling sensation in my legs and I have some feeling in my groin this morning. Would you mind checking the Babinski again?"
The calm Vulcan reaches into the cabinet to get the reflex hammer, "certainly, Doctor. And I am pleased to hear that the feeling has returned. Are you able to move your toes at all for me?"
"I haven't even tried yet," but sure enough as a try to wiggle my toes, there they go! I feel victorious almost – victorious and satisfied.
"Excellent, now let us see about the reflexes." She places the hammer at my heel like she did the first time and as she drags the point upward, sure enough, my foot dorsiflexes and my toes fan. Textbook! I breathe out a sigh of relief. Now I am one step closer to getting out of here!
Typically courteous, "Doctor, would you mind if we began some passive exercises with your legs? I am afraid that after these few days of dormancy that the muscles are getting stiff."
"Of course, Selar. Do what you need to."
"Good. But, before I do, I want to discuss removing the catheter. You said that you have regained the feeling in your groin?"
"No, not fully. But I am able to feel when I have to urinate."
"Ok. The only thing I am worried about, as you know, is that you might not have full control over your external sphincter yet and that might prove messy if we remove the catheter now. But, let's see how you feet at the end of the day. Alright?"
I nod. I know she's right, but getting this catheter out will be a major step towards me being able to go back to my quarters."
She removes the sheet from my legs. Boy, do I have to shave when I get out of here! "Can you pivot your body while I swing your legs off the bed?"
I turn my torso as Selar grabs hold of my legs and brings me into a sitting position where my legs are hanging over the bed. For the next 30 minutes she begins rotating the legs. She painstakingly goes through all the axis of rotation as she adducts, abducts, extends and flexes the thigh around the hip and then the leg around the knee. I have to say that it does feel nice to have my legs moved after a week of dormancy.
She looks up from her task, "if you are able to, I want you to focus on moving the leg along with me. It will be greatly beneficial to your recovery."
The next 20 minutes I try to focus as much as I can on the movements and by the end, I am able to minimally help her with the simple actions.
"I think that is enough for this morning. I will return at noon and we will talk about the catheter and see if anything has improved."
I let out a long sigh. Selar notices, "remember, Doctor, this is a process. You have to be patient."
"Yes. Thank you, Selar."
She bows her head, "I will return later."
I have no reason to be frustrated. For a 40-year old woman who has just suffered a traumatic injury, I am making a remarkable recovery. But, I am still impatient. I sit looking at the wall. I'm apprehensive about my next conversation with Jean Luc. Last night at least we got everything out in the open. But now comes the hard part. There's so much to say. We have 25 years of feelings, hurt, and anguish. He's right though: we need a new slate. We have to be honest with each other. Both of us know this is the last relationship either of us is going to have. Jean Luc is in his 50's and I'm in my mid 40's. I think that both of us are ready for some modicum of permanence after 25 years of being constantly on the go. At least, I hope Jean Luc is. I'm interested to know what he meant when he told Deanna that he was ready to give all of this up. I wonder if he meant it; that it wasn't just a hypothetical statement made about a woman who, back then, he didn't know he could have.
I keep squirming. I'm nervous about this conversation. I'm apprehensive because I don't know if he is going to want to hear what I have to say or I'm going to want to hear what he has to say. I'm not even sure that I want to have this conversation in Sickbay. Having to sleep where you work is bad enough. But having to have this conversation would probably just be overkill.
The morning passes uneventfully. Deanna is busy with her work. She sent me a message that she'd be by later, and Jean Luc hasn't come for breakfast. I think he's trying to give me space. And you know what? I'm grateful. If he came here, we'd have to have the conversation. No, for right now I am grateful for the solitude.
So, I sit here alone. I try to move my legs, focusing in on the movements. I'm patient and focused, only because I want to get out of here. I of all people know that you can't rush these things, but I am sure as hell trying. By the end of the hour, I can move my toes with greater range of movement other than a slight flexion. Next I work on moving my knees. It's tiring and soon I fall asleep. I swear after this is over, I am never going to need to sleep again!
Selar comes in at 1400 and brings me lunch. Breakfast had been small. I hadn't wanted any of the muffin that Alyssa left for me on my bed table, but I ate most of it anyway out of courtesy. She lays the sandwich in front of me, and wastes no time in getting down to her questions.
"Are you able to squeeze around the base of the catheter?"
To be honest I hadn't even tried. So, I try what I had been taught is called the Kegel exercise. Sure enough, I am able to mildly squeeze around the plaint plastic tube, "a bit," I say.
Selar knows how much I want to get this process moving. She's being a little more aggressive than she would be with a normal patient because not only am I her boss, but also she empathizes in her own Vulcan way with how helpless and frustrated I feel.
"Very well. I am going to remove the catheter, but –" she pauses, "I know that you will not like this, I am going to have you wear-"
"Okay, Selar," I know what she's going to say, and I really don't want to hear the words said. I'm not 120 years old, but I get the picture and I know why it's necessary.
She cocks her eyebrow, the Vulcan form of smiling, "very well."
"So," I cut right to the chase, "can I go back to my quarters?"
She's hesitant, "I'm inclined to say yes only because you are physician and I am assuming that you know your limits. We can give you a hover chair if you need to get around. However, I'd like to see how well you can stand on your own – if you can at all."
I don't know how well I can stand. I only have basic reflexes and sensory perception back in my legs, "very well," I answer cautiously.
I start to pivot like I did this morning, but Selar stops me by putting out her hand, "let's remove the catheter first."
Even though I am grateful to be having the catheter removed, it's still embarrassing. At this point in my life and my career, I should be above these feelings. I shouldn't be so damn prudish about basic bodily smells and functions. I'm certainly not this way with my patients. In fact, after doing my job for over two and a half decades and dealing with the anatomy and body functions of over 100 different species, I am used to just about everything. But now, I suddenly feel so self-conscious. And it really is silly to feel this way. Selar is just as professional as I am – as all physicians are- and I am sure that it does not faze her in the least to see me naked or to touch me in any 'intimate' way. But to me, because she is my colleague, it's very personal. I just try to block it out as she lifts the sheet and spreads my legs. It helps that Vulcans have no real facial expressions. I absolutely hate the smell, though and it reminds me how desperately I need to get out of here and into my own quarters where I can take a really long, hot shower.
I feel her hands and then I feel the thin tub slide out of my urethra. Selar replaces the sheet for privacy as she moves to the cabinet to get a pair of small absorbent underwear, "just a precaution," she assures me.
She quietly removes her exam gloves, "alright. Now I'd like to see if we can get you standing. If you can stand, I will discharge you."
Incentive. She mirrors her earlier action by grabbing my legs and swinging them around the bed while I move my torso. She leans in close and I put my arms around her neck as she lifts me into a standing position. It feels freeing to be standing – to feel my feet firmly planted on the floor. I can feel the faint buzz of this ships powerful engines vibrate my feet and that familiar feeling soothes me. Selar's grip on my waist lightens as she tries to gauge how well I can keep myself up. She moves away slowly and I remain standing, feeling more and more confident with every millimeter that she moves away.
"Good." She states plainly. It's at times like these when I wish that Vulcans expressed emotion. This is a milestone for me and I was rather hoping that I'd at least get an excited pat on the back. But, no – that's would not be a very Vulcan-thing to do. I suppose that being discharged is enough.
"Now, I am just curious, but are you able to walk at all." That's asking a lot.
"I don't know."
"Try."
I try to move my leg. I give it every bit of effort, but I only get a small movement – a small extension. Nothing, in fact that resembles walking. But, I try not to get discouraged. It will come back.
Selar's words mirror my thoughts, "it will return. You are making good progress. I'm going to discharge you to your quarters with a hover chair and a walker, which I have already beamed there. Are you comfortable with this?"
"Yes." The truth is that I am a little nervous. But, I'm sure that I'll get the hang of it. I can stand on my own, which means that I can at least stand in the shower propped against something. I have the hover chair in case I need it and I can train myself on the walker. I've trained countless patients how to use it in the past so I am well familiar with the motions needed. The full use of my arms gives me a huge level of mobility so I will be well able to care for myself.
"Very well. Are you sure, Doctor?" She asks one last time.
"Yes, Selar. Thank you for everything."
"My pleasure, Doctor. I will come to your quarters this evening and check on you after my duty shift ends."
"Thank you." And I am thankful. Selar and I have never been close, but her care and vigilance over me for the past week has been touching. She knows exactly how to handle me and take care of me without appearing overbearing and for that she will have my eternal gratitude.
She leaves me standing as she retrieves the hover chair. She sits me down in the chair, "do not hesitate to comm. me if you run into any trouble."
"Thank you. I will." And with that, a swirl of blue deposits me in my familiar quarters and I breath a deep sigh of relief.