Chapter 29

"The Painful Art of Settling In"

I KNEW I WAS RUNNING A LOW-GRADE FEVER WHEN I AWOKE TO DAYLIGHT AND OPENED MY SLEEP-CLOGGED EYES. I WAS FLAT ON MY BACK WITH AN EDGE OF BLANKET PULLED ACROSS MY BELLY. MY LEG WAS UNSUPPORTED AND THE STEADY ACHE BEAT LIKE A TOM-TOM WHEN THE INDIANS ARE ON THE WARPATH. THINGS WEREN'T GOING TO GET ANY BETTER BEFORE THEY GOT WORSE …

… AND RIGHT THEN, I COULDN'T EVEN GET OFF THE FLOOR.

TO MY LEFT AND RIGHT, AS I TURNED MY HEAD TO LOOK AROUND, OFFERED ONLY A WIDE EXPANSE OF DARK GREEN CARPET AND A SNAKE'S EYE VIEW OF FOUR BED LEGS. THE TOP HEM OF A WRINKLED SHEET HUNG OFF THE MATTRESS LIKE A WATERFALL, AND A PILE OF LAST NIGHT'S HASTILY DISCARDED CLOTHING RESEMBLED A CHUNK OF BLUE BASALT ON AN EXPANSIVE BARREN MESA.

I LIFTED MY RIGHT SHOULDER IN AN EFFORT TO TURN ONTO MY SIDE, BUT THE DEAD LOG THAT WAS MY RIGHT LEG SAID: "OH-NO-YOU-DON'T!" I LAY BACK AGAIN, GRIMACING. I KNEW THE ROOM WAS WARM, BUT DOWN HERE IT WAS COOLER, AND I COULD FEEL GOOSEFLESH SPREADING ALONG MY BODY LIKE AN ICE SHEET ACROSS THE ARCTIC.

I COULDN'T STAY HERE AND I COULDN'T GET UP. I LOOKED AT MY WATCH, BUT IT WAS ONLY 9:00 A.M. WILLY WAS NOT DUE TO ARRIVE FOR AT LEAST ANOTHER TWO HOURS.

ABOVE ME I HEARD THE ELECTRONIC WARBLE OF MY CELL PHONE. I COULDN'T ANSWER IT.

THINKING BACK TO YESTERDAY, I'D TOLD THE KIDS WITH THE VAN THAT I WASN'T 'HURT'; I WAS 'CRIPPLED' … AND THERE WAS A DIFFERENCE.

NO THERE ISN'T!

RIGHT NOW I'M CRIPPLED AS ALL HELL, AND I'M HURT. I'M ALSO A COWARD AND A LIAR; ALL OF THESE THINGS AT THE SAME TIME.

FINALLY THE PHONE STOPPED RINGING.

I FEEL LIKE CRAP. I FEAR I MIGHT BE SLIPPING INTO A BOUT OF BREAKTHROUGH PAIN. THE DAMN WARNING SIGNALS ARE ALL THERE. WORKING BOTH HANDS UNDERNEATH ME, I HEAVED UPWARD UNTIL MY SHOULDERS SCREAMED … AND DRAGGED MY SORRY ASS IN SLOW MOTION ACROSS THE CARPET. I LANDED GASPING; LEANING INTO ONE OF THE CHAIRS BESIDE THE WINDOW TABLE. FROM THERE I PUSHED TO A SEMI-SITTING POSITION WHERE I COULD GRAB MY THIGH AND TRY TO WRENCH THE PAIN OUT THROUGH THE SKIN.

NOTHING WORKED. IT DIDN'T DIMINISH. IT ESCALATED. I WAS SURPRISED TO DISCOVER THAT I WAS HISSING A STRANGLED, GARBLED SOUND BETWEEN MY TEETH, THE BLOOD POUNDING IN MY TEMPLES AT THE EFFORT TO HOLD IT BACK. I SWORE I WOULD NEVER BE REDUCED TO SCREAMING AGAIN. BUT THERE IT WAS. THE COWARD PART AND THE LIAR PART, HAND-IN-HAND. THE LIGAMENTS IN MY KNEE TIGHTENED UNTIL MY LEG TRIED TO DOUBLE AGAINST ITSELF. MY TEETH UNLOCKED, MY MOUTH GAPED OPEN … AND I SCREAMED.

That's all I remember … until I opened my eyes to see Willy Ortiz looking down at me with a stern expression on his face.

"Wha … ?"

"Be quiet, Greg," He said sharply. "Don't talk. I just gave you a shot of morphine. If I hadn't got here when I did, you'd be close to stew meat."

"It's breakthrough pain, not a death sentence …" I was in the bed and had no idea how I'd got there. I was also wearing nothing but boxer briefs and didn't know how I'd got that way either.

"Shush!" He had a stethoscope sticking out of his ears and was listening to my chest. I glared at him, but he paid no attention. Finally he sat back, pulled the ear buds out and yanked the blankets up to my shoulders. He caught me glaring and glared back in return. "You couldn't get to your phone, could you?"

I shook my head. *No ...*

"That was me that called awhile ago. I didn't like it when you didn't answer. Didn't know I could still move that fast …"

I was relieved when he shut up. "Can I say something now?"

He nodded.

"How the hell did I get into bed? Did you take my clothes off?"

"Yeah … I picked your lard-ass off the floor and plunked you into bed. I took your tee shirt off. And your socks. Your leg was still spasming and you were thrashing around like a fish out of water. I gave you a shot, elevated your leg and put the moist heat pad on it.

"I also checked your heart rate to be sure you weren't having a coronary. You were lucky. Another ten minutes and … who knows! You have to see a specialist about the leg. Soon. It's not going to get any better. Not now … not later. Probably never. Your foot's turned inward. 'Inversion', I think they call it."

"I know all that," I reminded him petulantly. "I already had plans to find a specialist, but you and Luther stuck a monkey wrench in the machinery. I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose the damn thing, but I'm trying to put it off as long as I can. I've had it for a freakin' long time, you know … and I'm kind'a used to it."

"Yeah, I figured that would be your excuse. I have a military elastic bandage I want you to start using. You don't need to wrap it tightly, but some firm pressure against those jittery nerve endings might save you from too many whacks with the morphine needle. Too much morphine is worse sometimes than a heart attack. I also brought along a new medication you might want to try. It relieves pain without causing addiction … if you use it right."

I looked at him suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Immitrax. I got it from my former CO who first used it on the battlefield in Afghanistan. It's almost ready for approval by the FDA. I got permission for you to try it. But you have to follow protocols. Experimenting, even by doctors, will break the protocol. The CDC definitely would not be happy with you. Okay?"

"Don't tell me you're a rule-breaker like me," I said. "If it's not on the market yet, how do I know it's safe?"

Willy laughed. "If you promise to keep your mouth shut, I'll show you why … because I've taken the stuff myself. And yes … I'm a risk taker ... just like you."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "And … ?"

He sat down on the edge of the bed. Hiked up his right pants leg. What I saw was a stretch of flesh-colored industrial plastic that fit into his sock and shoe. A metal rod reached upward into a stainless steel artificial knee, and beyond that, a formidable-looking contraption that cupped his flesh-and-blood stump. I hitched a breath and pushed back the covers to take a closer look.

"See? I'm already a member of that exclusive club you're going to be joining before long. You couldn't tell I was using this, could you? I got a little too close to a land mine in Afghanistan. Took off my leg just above the knee. The prosthetic doesn't affect my job and I certainly don't advertise it. Even Luther doesn't know."

"I wouldn't have known either … and I'm a doctor. Yeah, no problem. I didn't just see what I just saw."

"Thanks." He rolled his pant leg back down and stood. "I want you to sleep, Greg. At least a couple more hours. When you get up, I'll help you wrap your leg … and there's already a bottle of 'Immy' in your top dresser drawer. That's also on the QT … okay?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks." I tucked my head down and got comfortable. I was pain-free and drowsy. It would be wonderful to feel "normal" for a while. I wanted to ask Willy more questions about the prosthesis … and the new medication … but not now …

The house was very quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner. I lay in a twilight world for a few minutes, but there were no sounds of movement and no voices. The sun was either going down, or coming up. It was clouding over and getting ready to rain. I reached down to my leg, ghosting my fingers over the scar and touching the thigh area a little further upstream. The large heating pad was pleasingly warm. The truncated flesh was quiet for a change and I did not wish to disturb it while it was sleeping. …

I sighed and pushed the blanket down to my waist. The room was comfortable and so was I. No telling how much longer it could last, so I closed my eyes and let myself drift off.

The next time I woke, Luther was sitting in a chair beside my bed. He scared the crap out of me when I looked over and saw his bulky body blocking my view of the window. William Howard Taft in dusky, soft silhouette. He appeared to be dozing. I smiled.

"I saw that," he said softly. "Startled you, didn't I?"

"Uh huh. How long have you been there?"

"Not long, dear boy. Are you feeling better? Willy told me what happened."

"I think I'll live," I grumbled. "Actually, he gave me a shot and I've been asleep most of the day. Where is he? Isn't it a little beneath your station to play baby sitter?"

"Oh, I don't mind. You're my client … and I have two young nieces that I babysit quite often. You don't look much like either one of them, but the job description is the same." He smiled in that grandfatherly way. "Willy went to get us some supper. We thought you might be a little hungry by now. He said you lost your supper down the plumbing last night … and you haven't eaten at all today."

"No … I haven't. But I haven't been very hungry either, since I've been in La La Land most of the time." I pulled myself upward and leaned against the headboard. Every muscle screamed in protest.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"That would be good, Luther. Yeah. Please." So it was evening. I had slept the day away.

He got out of the chair and lumbered into the bathroom. Came back in a moment with a paper cup of water, which I gulped in two swallows. He eased himself back into the chair and looked across at me; made eye contact and said: "Greg, I've asked my doctor to come by and take a look at you. You scared us … and I know you're a doctor … but I also know doctors can be their own worst patients. I hope you're all right with that, because he's coming."

I frowned.

*Oh shit!*

"You didn't have to do that, Luther. I'll be okay by morning and it will be a wasted trip."

"You heard me," he said. "You still look a little peaked and it won't hurt for him to check you over. Are you in pain now?"

I blinked and looked at him with a scowl on my face, which he ignored. His question caught me by surprise because when I'm not in pain, I'm not thinking about pain … and I was not in pain at that moment.

"I'm okay, Luther. Whatever Willy did, it worked."

"I'm glad to hear that. Did he tell you he was in the medical corps in Iraq and Afghanistan?"

"Yes he did."

"He was one of the lucky ones. He was wounded and got sent home. He doesn't talk about it very much. Anyway, he'll be here with something to eat very soon. After that, Dr. Delaney will be here to see you."

"Delaney …. Clayton Delaney?"

"Yes."

"Haven't seen him in a hundred years."

"He hasn't changed much." Luther pushed himself out of the chair again and turned toward the door. "You should do as I say, my boy, or I'll sit on you. I'm going out to brew a pot of coffee. Willy will be back soon. You also might want to put a shirt on …" He reached down suddenly and patted my hand. "I'm glad you feel better, Greg. I couldn't face your parents in the Great Beyond if I ever let anything happen to you."

I nodded, wishing he would just get the hell out of here. His compassionate words were doing nothing to help my composure.

Damn crazy old man … faker …

"I can't begin to thank you for all you've done," I finally told him, "so I won't. I hate seeing grown men cry …"

We nodded to one another and he turned and lumbered away. Kind of like Smokey the Bear, only bigger. He trundled out the doorway and into the hall. I heard his throaty chuckle diminish as he moved toward the kitchen.

I sure-as-hell wouldn't want him to sit on me! More and more I was gaining respect for the old buffalo. When Mom and Dad chose a lawyer, they made a canny decision with Luther Finn …

I barely had time to get to the bathroom to relieve myself and then roll back to the bedroom and pull on knee-length shorts and shirt … which had me wincing. All my muscles were cramped and hurt like hell with every move I made.

I heard the back door open and close. Willy was back. I straightened in the wheelchair, determined to hide the fact that sometimes a cure is almost as much a pain in the ass as the disease.

We ate oven-baked haddock, scalloped potatoes and stewed tomatoes, and sipped on huge mugs of Luther's good coffee. I was aware that both men watched every move I made like I was an insect in a petrie dish. I pretended to be oblivious … but I think they were both onto that.

Delaney got there about six.

I had just spent an inordinate amount of time in the Jacuzzi, and was prunified in the extreme. My muscles, however, were relaxing and almost back to normal. My leg was quiet and what pain remained was at a minimum. I attributed the improvement to the Immitrax. I had taken two of the small pink pills so far, and the nagging pain had not returned. Also, I felt no compulsion to swallow more pills than the prescription called for. I wondered idly which brain synapses the stuff had tweaked that the Vicodin had not.

*Interesting.*

Willy wrapped my thigh with a very wide elastic bandage that did not bunch up when my knee flexed. I reveled in the freedom by lounging on the bed in my tee shirt and shorts, browsing through a wrinkled newspaper he had bought the day before. My leg was cushioned on a soft pillow and my feet were bare. I sat flexing my toes like a kid with his feet in the sand, moving my ankles back and forth and shaking my head in disgust at the limited motion in the right one.

I was shaved and shorn, hair combed and body spritzed with Old Spice. For now I was almost insanely comfortable and wondering how long it could last …

I heard, rather than saw, a presence in the bedroom doorway, and I looked up to see the visitor I'd been expecting, but not wildly anticipating.

The man who poked his head around the doorjamb reminded me instantly of the dad on "The Waltons". Tall and rangy, floppy gray-in-brown hair, and I swear … another guy with eyes that were bluer than mine. He and Packy should get together.

"May I come in?"

I knew who he was, and Luther was right; he hadn't changed much. "The more the merrier," I joked. "Just trying out my moving parts and seeing what works and what doesn't."

"Looks like things might work better if you took better care of 'em. I take it your knee is pretty much out of commission." He walked closer, looked at me sideways and smiled. "I remember when you were about ten and fell off your bike … wrecked that same knee."

"Doctor Delaney." It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

He nodded. "Yep. Surprised that you remember."

"Oh, I remember," I said.

He reached out his hand and we shook. "Luther asked me to come over and check your leg. May I?"

I sighed, feeling a bit like the "Whack-a-Mole" at a carnival. Everybody wanted to take a crack at me. "Right now it doesn't hurt," I said. "I'd like it to stay that way awhile. Go ahead and check it, but if you hurt me, I'll slug you."

"Fair enough. I'll do everything in my power not to hurt you."

I nodded, but didn't comment. I felt myself tensing up … 'anticipation of pain …' Foreman's buggaboo … and mine.

When Delaney had set aside the heat pad and the blanket and unwrapped the bandage, he took his time studying the scar and its multi-layered configurations without touching. As he looked, I followed his line of sight nervously into the labyrinth of tiny blood vessels running close to the gnarled surface of the mutilated gristle where there was no flesh left to protect it.

Even the gentlest touch near the mangled meat below the surface, where the deepest part of the injury's crater lay, sent shivers of imagined pain through my nervous system and caused the leg to jump with involuntary spasms. Even when I was experiencing the worst pain imaginable, I did not touch the rubbery consistency of the wound's crater when massaging it myself.

Delaney knew that and did not touch.

Eventually he worked his fingers beneath the thigh, and I could feel him gently manipulating around the adductors: magnus and longus. I drew a sharp breath and hitched to the side, not expecting the sharp burning sensation his action caused. He looked at me questioningly and withdrew his hand. "Sensitive there too?" He asked softly.

I didn't speak. Just nodded. I couldn't meet his eyes.

"Ah Greg … in all my experience I've never seen anything that looks like this; and you still retaining your leg and having more than minimal movement. If it had been me, I would have sued that damned hospital until there was nothing left but a hole in the ground …"

I snorted a mouthful of sarcastic laughter. "Just like the hole they left in my leg, huh, Doc? I didn't have the stomach for being put on display like a side of pork. I made 'em pay though, eventually. I turned myself into a diagnostic bastard so indispensable that they couldn't afford to fire me. I rode roughshod over their stupid rules and regulations like Casey Tibbs used to ride a bucking bronco."

I lay quietly while Delaney rewrapped my leg and eased it back onto the pillow. "Y'know, Greg, your dad told me a long time ago what happened to you. That was the only time I ever saw John shed tears."

I gasped. "What?"

"Yeah. Broke his heart. He was very proud of you." I didn't answer for so long that he bent down to look into my face. "You okay?"

"I will be."

Delaney eased into the chair vacated by Luther. "Blackjack was a proud man. He wasn't good with words, but he was great at loyalty. He told me once that you and he didn't see eye to eye about anything, and it was his greatest failure."

I finally answered. "You know, I would have given anything in the world if he had told me he was proud of me. Just once. But he never did. For the longest time I really believed what he said about me never getting anything right. I've spent my whole life proving over and over again that he was wrong about that … at least some of the time. That one omission messed us up forever."

Delaney shrugged. "All it proves is that you're as proud and stubborn as he was. Spending your life tied in knots over a bunch of words that didn't get said isn't good for your mental health. Have you ever heard of the Johnny Cash song: 'A Boy Named Sue'?"

He was pissing me off. "I was thinking about that the other day. It's another story of the elephant in the room. You don't see it until somebody reminds you it's there. After that you can never go in the damn room again without seeing an elephant standing in the corner …"

"I didn't mean to push, Greg, and I know things are hard enough for you."

"I'm fine!" I said. Louder than I meant to say it.

Delaney got out of the chair and looked down at me. His pity was obvious and suddenly I was seething. I clamped my mouth shut and looked at him with venom in my eyes.

"I'm sorry I upset you, Greg. It was good to see you. Take care." He had outworn his welcome and he knew it. He turned and slowly walked out of the room.

The remainder of the day passed in silence … most of it mine.

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