Apologies for the delay! My job is fantastic but time consuming. I won't give up on this story but it WILL be sporadically updated!
Chapter Eighteen:
It took a week until Ethan was anywhere close to where he'd been prior to the second surgery, and he was much quieter. He'd begun with physio instantly and was now able to roll over and lie on his stomach to sleep, which felt utterly fantastic. He slept more than he'd done previously and seemed much more passive. He regarded Guy Self with complete disinterest, in addition.
Physiotherapy and occupational therapy were his daily routine, now, along with endless sleep. He hated both therapies. Physio reminded him of how vulnerable he was, and he loathed how stupid occupational therapy made him feel. He knew he was a qualified doctor, a registrar, for God's sake. So why did he have so much trouble recognising and naming the little squiggles that were apparently the alphabet.
That afternoon's session of occupational therapy had been particularly unpleasant. He'd had to get out of the lovely cosy nest he'd been sleeping in, and be transferred to a wheelchair, then taken through a cold, blue maze of corridors to sit in an uncomfortable chair, reading flashcards and being made to play with playdough. He'd hated that, the gross feel of the slimy, chalky dough on his fingers and nails. He'd whined, and refused to touch it. He wanted to burst into tears. How could he be a doctor in emergency medicine when he couldn't touch playdough?
Cal bounded in, far too cheerfully, on Thursday evening, waving a towel and shower-gel at his brother, who was blinking groggily at him. 'G-go away.'
'Time for a shower, Nibbles.'
'Get l-l-lost.'
Cal ignored him, and pulled the blanket away, causing his brother to yelp in disgust. 'No, Caleb.'
'You need to shower, Ethan, you've not had a proper one since you last were home.'
'I don't s-s-s-smell.'
'Not yet,' Cal said, helpfully. 'Come on. It's on the list of things you've got to do, and you'd much rather I helped you than Connie. Or Dylan.'
'I d-d-don't know which coul-would be worster.'
'Worse.'
'Worse.'
'Me neither. Let's not think about it,' Cal said, taking the opportunity to pick Ethan up and transfer him into the wheelchair he'd had waiting. Ethan squawked at the unexpected movement, and flapped his arms. 'Chicken.'
Ethan scowled, as Cal led him towards the bathroom. 'Cluck.' He replied, grumpily.
It was early evening on Friday night, and Duffy was with him. He was fast asleep as the nurse sat in her chair, watching over him and sewing quietly. Connie had the weekend off and had gone away, and Cal and Dylan badly needed a break, too, so Duffy and Charlie had offered to hold the fort. Ethan was spending a few days and nights staying in a side room at the ED, something suggested by Guy and approved by Hansen to encourage Ethan's memories of work and normal life. Charlie had agreed to do nights. Even though nobody knew for sure if Ethan exactly knew who Duffy and Charlie were, he showed some vague signs of recognition, and it was far preferable to Ethan being alone and frightened if he woke up alone. That was another big personality shift. Ethan had switched from being a classic introvert to being anxious and tearful if he was alone without someone he knew. They'd begun to try and transition out of this, distracting him and momentarily leaving him. But it was exhausting. When Cal hadn't argued about being told not to set a foot on the premises that weekend, they'd realised the impact it was having on them all.
Duffy sighed, slipping another string mint into her mouth. If only it was that simple. Carl's willpower alone might have been strong enough to get Ethan back. She fluffed her fringe with her fingers, then checked her watch. 6:45. Medication at 7, and he'd need food with it. He'd have to be woken up. She always hated doing that; regardless of the tubes and wires and scars, Ethan always looked peaceful in sleep.
She hoped he would stir before the clock ticked around to the hour, but he slept on. She got up quietly, and went to his head, gently stroking his shoulder and then cheek. 'Ethan?' she said, softly, trying not to jar him. 'Ethan? You need to wake up, love, it's time for your medication. Come on.'
Duffy was pleased to see his eyelids beginning to flutter, and he turned his face. 'Caleb, I'm not working today,' he complained, loudly.
She smiled. 'Ethan? It's Duffy.'
He mumbled, 'lo,' before rolling over fully. 'What's the time?'
'Seven,' she replied, pleased to see he'd woken up relatively quickly and with some knowledge of his surroundings. 'You're due your meds, and dinner.'
'H-hu-h-h-hurrah,' he said, trying to sit up. She caught him before he slipped, and eased him up with ease. He'd gained two pounds back so far, and still looked rather gaunt. 'Sh-sh-sh…' he looked cross, trying to remember something. He fidgeted with the quilt, hissing between his teeth. 'Ch- ch. Ch. C. K.' His hands reached up and he pulled at his hair, hard, trying to remember. She gently guided his hand away.
'Ch? Ch… Charlie?'
Ethan nodded, visibly relieved.
'He's doing well!' Duffy smiled, and laid Ethan's hand back down on the pillow, before turning away to slip on a pair of nitrile gloves. She opened the packet of tablets, and drew up a syringe full of cloudy liquid, which made Ethan's face fall. 'Right, let's get this lot into you, and then it's done.'
An hour later, and Ethan had a stomach full of food and medication. He was able to feed himself, albeit slowly and messily. His upper-body and arm strength hadn't deteriorated during his immobilisation; his hand-eye coordination being the problem. He'd been given various items to try and improve it, the most recent being colourful beads and a string on which to thread them. This had ended up being hurled away, after twenty very frustrating minutes. He'd managed to draw some very wobbly lines on a whiteboard that afternoon. The well-meaning occupation therapy student had been very kind. Her joke about doctors' handwriting, however, had made him throw the pen down and roll onto his stomach, his face in the pillow. He didn't complete the session. His usual OT suggested that he tried to brush his teeth in the next session. It seemed impossible. He hated having his teeth brushed by Cal, who was very gentle; let alone clawing around and poking in his mouth himself.
'It's alright, love,' Duffy said. He hadn't noticed that he'd spilt water across the table. 'Let's get you ready for the night. Charlie's going to come and stay in here with you overnight.'
The medication began to kick in, making him feel sleepy. He was incredibly passive as she helped him into fresh pyjamas, washed his face and gave him a drink. 'Good.' He said, distantly. He was already more asleep than awake.
