Dr Feelgood Page 6

  My able-bodied friends. He doesn’t say the words, but they’re implied. Annabel, Dee, and Liz can all walk out of here, while I’m stuck in bed like a log. I can’t get up to use the bathroom. I can’t take a stroll down the hospital halls if I get bored. Will I need to wheel myself in a chair, or do I need to pay for one of those electric ones? That’ll take up my entire savings account.

  Plus, I’ll never be able to open my own business now because who would want a personal stylist in a wheelchair? I might be a novelty at first, but that would wear out quickly. I’d have no clients. Will Lalique even let me keep my job if I have to navigate the store from a chair?

  “What’s going on in your head right now?” Dee asks.

  “Nothing.”

  She has the nerve to laugh. “Come on, Summer. Talk to us. We’re here for you.”

  “Summer is a stupid name that doesn’t apply anymore,” I say bitterly. “I think you should call me Stephanie from now on.”

  My friends shared worried looks once more.

  “Shut up, we will not.”

  “Why not? How am I supposed to be who I was before?”

  Liz sniffles beside me. “You’re still our Summer.”

  The sweet words break the dam. Tears stream from my eyes, and my breathing is ragged. How could this have happened to me? Why can’t I feel my legs?

  The nickname Summer may have started when I was a kid because my brother couldn’t say Stephanie, but it stuck around because it fit my personality: that of a sunny, positive person.

  But without use of my legs, I’m not Summer anymore.

  My friends climb onto the bed with me as best they can. They clamber up, hugging me as tightly as possible. I don’t care that my ribs ache or that my wrist is heavy with a cast. Having them close to me feels good.

  But even as we cry together, I stare at my motionless legs. How can this be happening? How can I be a paraplegic now? And what can this physical therapist do for me? I’m depressed, and the tears flow like a river as I belt out my pain.

  8

  Ridge

  My footfalls are heavy on the revolving belt of my treadmill. Cardio sucks, but no one wants an out of shape physical therapist. Besides, I pride myself on staying fit and trim, and my muscular physique shows it. More than a few women have complimented me on my broad shoulders, taut abs and deep chest.

  Leo huffs next to me. “How much longer?”

  I check the screen on my machine. “Two more miles.”

  He leans against the treadmill and sighs like an old lady. Once a week, Leo and I hit the gym together and do the same workout. Five miles. Weights. Shoulders. Pushups. Sit-ups. Pullups. Then a two mile bike ride.

  We work out separately most of the time, but this is our one exception. We push each other and compete to see who can do more. Honestly, I usually win because during our off periods, my workouts include boxing, which is an incredible tune-up. Leo is too afraid that he’ll injure his hands, so he keeps things easy. I keep telling him that if he does boxing right, he won’t get injured, but it doesn’t matter. His entire career relies on strong, steady hands, and I can understand why he isn’t willing to risk that.

  We finish our last two miles in less than fifteen minutes, then do a one mile cool down. As his heartrate slows, Leo is able to talk more. He definitely isn’t a talker when he’s running. Or more accurately, he can’t talk because he’s too winded.

  “Any good PT patients lately?” my friend wheezes.

  I shake my head. “A few broken bones, a couple older patients recovering from hip replacements. The usual. They’re all good.”

  Leo nods.

  “I performed at least one of those hip replacements. Long term, they should be fine.” Our cool down finishes up, so we wipe down the machines and head over to the weight room. “There’s really nothing more interesting happening down in your wing?”

  I shrug. “Not really. What about you? Anything good happening over there?”

  He nods.

  “Fixed a couple tears. I did have a teen come in a couple days ago. Kid tore his ACL, and he’s a kicker for his school’s football team. Cried like a baby when I told him I’d be able to fix him up in time to start next season.”

  Leo is always blasé about things like this, but I know these are the stories that keep him going.

  “We also lost a patient last night,” he adds.

  I shiver. “I’m sorry, man. What happened?”

  “A thirty-year-old woman was in a car accident. I was doing a reconstruction on her leg while they worked on some internal bleeding but they couldn’t get it under control, so they kicked me off the table as she bled out. Has two kids at home.”

  I’m silent as a matter of respect. Doctors have to deal with death but that doesn’t mean that it gets any easier. Leo and I both did death notifications as med students, and part of our internships and residencies included ER shifts, so we’re no strangers to losing patients. But with orthopedic surgery, it doesn’t happen very often, and I don’t deal with it in PT. Some of the older patients I work with pass away between sessions, but I’ve never had anyone die in the PT room. It’s one of the many reasons I chose not to go into surgery like Leo did.

  “I’m really sorry, man. You did what you could.”

  He looks down, hands gripping his towel.

  “Yeah. It just sucks, you know? And it was the last surgery of the night. The one I got called in for.”

  I know what he means. You can sometimes make yourself feel better about losing a patient when you get to save a life right afterwards, but Leo didn’t get that opportunity. My buddy continues.

  “I’m scheduled for a surgery today that should be easy. Knee replacement. The guy is young enough that I’m not worried because he should be able to recover speedily.”

  “Good, good. I’m sure it’ll go well.”

  “Yeah, thanks man. Sucks I’m on call all weekend. The surgery might end by eight but they could call me back any time.”

  I laugh. “You could have picked PT like me. You know I’m never on call. Guaranteed weekends off.”

  “Yeah, but it’s way less fun.”

  I disagree, but we’ve had that argument before. I know Leo likes being the fixer, but I like being the one who really gets people back on their feet. Leo does the surgery. He gets them physically ready to come to my office. Then, I come in and I show them how to use their body after it’s been changed. It can be frustrating, but at least I get to interact with my patient. They’re usually unconscious for ninety percent of Leo’s time with them. Not to mention, he doesn’t interact with them, not really. Not as fully responsive human beings in pain.

  Our conversation tapers off when we start lifting. I’m thirty pounds ahead of Leo and it shows. He always tries his first set at my level, but then gradually moves down ten pounds at a time until he can actually lift.

  With each rep, I wonder about my future at the hospital. They treat me well there, but I’m always on their time. Their schedule. Their patients. I didn’t mind it so much at first, but lately I’m wondering what it would be like to open my own practice. I could control my hours, and hire other PT’s to take on more patients. I could invest in state-of-the-art equipment. I know Leo would send referrals my way, and other doctors in the hospital would, too. Plus, I still have friends from med school who work at offices across the state who would do the same.

  It wouldn’t be hard. I’ve got the money saved up. All I’d need to do is to find a location, write up a business plan, and get the right licenses. Voila. I could do it.

  I finish my set and open my mouth to tell Leo about my goal, but he gets there first.

  “There’s this nurse who been in all my surgeries lately,” he begins. I already know where this is going.

  “Let me guess, she’s hot and you’ve hooked up in the on call room.”

  He rolls his eyes. “No one actually does that, except in TV shows. Have you done that?”

  I shake my head. “N
o. But I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  “Ass,” he grunts. “But that’s not the point. This nurse is a dude, first of all. And you know I’m not into that. But I don’t know how he even got licensed. The kid has dropped my tray at least once in every surgery, and we had to pause so he could get me clean shit.”

  “Have you told the chief?”

  Leo starts his next set. “I haven’t mentioned it because I’m not a snitch, but man, this kid is driving me crazy. I asked Tricia, she’s the head nurse, to give me anyone but him next time. But you know Tricia…”

  Ah. So that’s the actual problem. Tricia is Leo’s ex, sort of. More accurately, they’ve hooked up a few times, but then Tricia wanted more and Leo didn’t. It went exactly how one would expect it to go. She’s made his life a living hell at work, but in subtle ways, like assigning the worst nurse to all his surgeries. I have to give the woman props because she fights dirty.

  “Tricia isn’t going to stop putting him in your surgeries. You should just get used to him. Be his mentor and make it a good thing.”

  Leo drops his weights after the second set.

  “There’s an idea. Maybe I could turn him into the best surgical nurse on staff. He just needs some guidance. Wouldn’t that piss Tricia off so much?”

  I don’t like the mischief in Leo’s eyes but at least I know he won’t do anything stupid, because he likes his job too much. He’s not going to do anything crazy. He’ll just mold the kid into the kind of nurse Leo likes to work with, and if this kid is as bad as Leo says, that might be a good thing.

  “Thanks for the idea, Ridge. This is why we have to work at the same hospital. I’d be lost without you.”

  I stop mid-rep. Does he suspect I want to leave? Leo continues.

  “We can bitch about the staff together and you always know how to fix my problems. Imagine if we worked at different hospitals and had to find other confidants. It would suck.”

  I shrug.

  “You act like I’m your only friend at Mercy General. I didn’t realize you loved me that much.” I clench my hand over my heart for good measure.

  Leo slaps my shoulder. “I’m just saying, sometimes you need someone to talk shit with.”

  I shoot him a wry look.

  “We could talk shit even if we were working at separate hospitals.”

  My friend grunts as he starts in on his last set.

  “It wouldn’t be the same. I can name drop nurses and surgeons and you’ve got an idea of who I’m talking about. On the rare occasion that Seth actually chills with us, he talks about people from his office that we don’t know and who mean nothing to us as a result. Who the hell is Sofie Carter? I don’t know. Seth goes on about her every time we see him. Is she a nurse? A surgeon? He doesn’t bother explaining.”

  “That’s because Seth is an idiot.”

  Leo laughs. “That’s true, but you know I’m right. Jim, Gordon, Laney. You know these people, and that’s why it’s easier for us to talk.”

  I guess he does have a point. Jim and Laney are surgeons in Leo’s department, while Gordon is in cardio.

  Well, shit. I thought if I told Leo about my solo practice venture he’d be happy but clearly, that’s not going to be the case. He’s going to be pissed when I tell him I’m leaving. If I even leave. There’s still a lot of work to do before I can actually go out on my own. I’ll just have to cross the Leo bridge when I come to it.

  We finish our workout talking about a few other people we both have issues with. I vent about a nurse, Candace, who keeps leaving patients in the hallway instead of wheeling them into the PT room. Then she’s always late picking them up too, which throws off my schedule.

  Leo tells me about one of the ortho surgeons who got a job offer from Johns Hopkins.

  “He’s reaching the end of his career,” Leo explains. “He’ll still do surgeries but teach at the same time. The dude is living the dream.”

  After the last mile on the stationary bikes, we head for the locker room.

  “Shit,” Leo says. “I need to shower quick. My surgery starts in an hour.”

  “Alright, man. I’ll see you next week. Lunch at Sam’s on Monday?”

  He nods, grabs his bag, and heads for the door. I hate showering at the gym, but I don’t feel like going home sweaty either. I need to go grocery shopping anyway, so I may as well be clean when I do it without offending my fellow customers.

  After a quick rinse, I check my phone. No new messages. I open up my conversation with Candy and shoot her a text. She’s someone I’m sort of seeing, but it’s not official. At least not in my mind.

  You free? Let’s get dinner.

  Her response is almost instant. Took an extra shift. Rain check?

  Sure.

  Without Candy to distract me, I run my errands and head home. It’s great not having to work on weekends, but when everyone else I know has to, it’s kind of a dud. I’m forced to sit at home eating a frozen dinner while watching TV. It’s not a bad life, but it’s boring sometimes.

  Then again, if I went into practice for myself, I’d have a ton of administrative tasks that I’d probably have to do on weekends. There would be books to keep, records to review, and schedules to take care of. I’d have a staff to maintain, with secretaries, a couple nurses, and maybe some other PT’s. But I’d be the man in charge, which is definitely worth something.

  Leo’s words echo in my mind. He wants a friend, and if I have my own business, my staff wouldn’t be my friends exactly. Oh well. It’s lonely at the top, but I guess you can only see how you feel being King once you are the King.

  I’ll have to tell Leo eventually that the hospital isn’t my dream. He said it himself, anyways. That other surgeon is heading for bigger and better things, and I know Leo wants to retire to teaching eventually as well. He can’t be too mad at me for getting a head start.

  I need to stop caring about Leo’s feelings, anyway. He’ll survive without me. He’s a grown man, for crying out loud, and I have my happiness to think of.

  I change the channel, trying to distract myself. All this is a ways off, anyway, so for now, I focus on my mediocre dinner and some bad cop show where a helicopter chases a large black SUV down a highway.

  The future can wait … or can it?

  9

  Summer

  There’s a window in my room, but the view is of the other side of the hospital. There’s a little grassy area between the two wings of the hospital, but no flowers or trees. There’s only a picnic bench where doctors sit to smoke. It’s kind of ironic, all things considered, that they’re polluting their lungs while telling patients not to.

  Yet, I always stare out the window. I ask the nurse to open the blinds first thing in the morning, and they’re only closed when it’s time for bed. I’d rather stare at a miniscule green patch than the too-white walls of my hospital room.

  After all, it’s not like there’s anything else for me to do in this dismal place. My body is still sore from the accident even though a week has passed. I can’t get out of bed without help from a nurse, and I hate asking them. Being dependent isn’t a fun feeling, and my body cringes whenever one of the nurses approaches.

  I sigh and turn away from the window. There’s a small TV perched straight ahead, but there’s never anything on except for the latest Judge Judy or umpteenth Law & Order re-run. When Dee was here yesterday, we watched one of those shows where couples try to find the perfect house in their budget, but it was pointless. The couple couldn’t find anything they liked and I frankly hated the show.

  But I appreciate my friend’s effort. She, Liz, and Annabel have been taking turns every night to sit with me. I keep telling them not to bother, but they keep showing up like the Three Musketeers. Unfortunately, lately we do nothing but watch TV because I’m not in the mood to talk. I’m not in the mood to do anything, to be honest.

  My ratty curls spill over the hard hospital pillow. It hasn’t been brushed in four days, and hasn’t been washed in e
ven longer. The nurses come in and sponge bathe me every day and it’s so humiliating that I start throwing a fit whenever they get to my hair. I’d rather lay in my own filth than have another nurse wipe me down with a wet rag.

  Yesterday, a young woman named Candy even offered to shave my legs for me.

  “It’ll make you feel better,” she said with a friendly smile. I scoffed and told her not to bother because no one’s going to see my legs, anyway. They’re tucked safely under a scratchy blanket, like completely useless sticks of wood.

  I know my friends are worried about me and especially my mental state, but I don’t care. What’s the point in caring? Nothing I do will change what happened because I’m a paraplegic now and I have no use of my legs. I try to think about what I do have, like the fact that at least my arms still work, but it’s hard to stay thankful.

  I turn back towards the window. A butterfly flutters around the empty picnic table before landing on the weathered wood. I used to love butterflies and as a kid, I chased them. As an adult, I wondered if they felt as free as they looked, and now, I wish I’d had the nurse keep the blinds closed this morning.

  A knock sounds against the doorframe. Over the last week, the nurses have gotten more polite and they don’t barge in unannounced anymore. It helps that I snapped last weekend and told them to mind my privacy. Not that I have a whole lot of that here, seeing that my body is pretty useless.

  “Good morning, Summer,” the young woman says. We haven’t met yet but her name is Danielle, according to the badge clipped to the pocket of her scrubs. “How are you feeling today?”

  I turn my face away and don’t say anything. I’ve learned that they leave faster when you ignore them.

  “I heard you were a tough one, but I won’t give up. You and I will be spending a lot of time together. I’m Danielle, and I’m assigned to get you to physical therapy. Are you ready to go?” she asks in a chirpy tone.