“ANNA, wake up.” Sunny’s quiet, familiar voice emerged from the dream. “Open your eyes, Anna, and look at me. Look at me, Anna. Open your eyes for me, sweetie. Let me get a good look at those baby blues.”
She wanted to open her eyes for Sunny. She tried but they were so slow…so heavy. Can’t open…Not right now. Too tired. Words she thought, maybe words she said. She didn’t know, didn’t care. So much was jumbled up in her head, not making sense, and she couldn’t make it all stop. All the spinning, all the confusion…
“Anna? Open your eyes. Listen to me, Anna. It’s Sunny.”
Sunny, I’m trying…
“Anna, can you hear me?”
Can’t I just sleep another hour? Then I’ll open them…promise.
“Come on back to us, sweetie. We need you to come back to us.”
Coming… The weight of opening her eyes was exhausting, but she had to get back there. They needed her. Another shift to work, more patients. She had to go back. Fighting through the heaviness, Anna did manage to open her eyes a crack, but they wouldn’t focus because of the bright overhead lights. Why were they so bright? Somebody, please, turn them down…
“Anna?”
Sunny’s hair. A blurry shock of red. Anna tried to smile at Sunny, but her face hurt. Everything hurt. Well, almost everything. Her left shoulder was really sore, her right shoulder only a little. And her ribs—they hurt so much when she took a breath…
Omigod, the pain! Not her pain, couldn’t be. Another breath. More pain. Dear God, can’t be me.
It was the pain that brought her around, heightened Anna’s awareness. Pain so excruciating…Panic! “I…can’t…breathe,” she choked, trying to grab the air around her with her hands and pull it to her face. “Please…help…me!”
“Anna, you’re fine. Calm down.” Sunny’s voice again. It sounded so funny, though. Like through a hiss…Is that an oxygen mask on my face? She’d never worn one for real. Only for training. Why was she wearing one now? This isn’t training, is it?
Can’t remember.
Can’t focus.
And she was cold…so cold. “Blanket?” she asked, but she didn’t hear her voice actually say the word. All she heard were orders being shouted all around her. “Labs, CT scan, OR…” That’s right. Now she remembered. She was working triage.
But why is it so cold? “Turn up the heat,” she struggled to say. “Get some blankets on the patient, stat.” Stat—immediate, right away, pronto. She needed those blankets pronto. “Stat,” she echoed faintly.
“We’re warming you, sweetie,” Sunny said. “As much as we can. It’ll take a little while before you feel it, but we’re doing everything we can. You were out there for quite a while before we could get you free. And you’re going to have to go to OR pretty soon, so we can’t bring your body temperature back up all the way since they’d have to take it right back down.” Sunny said something else that sounded vaguely like going into shock again, but Anna wasn’t sure about that. Who was going to surgery pretty soon? One of her patients? Dear Lord, no! Had she missed something in Triage? Had she made a mistake?
“Who?” she choked. “Did I miss someone?”
Sunny’s tears splashed down on Anna’s arm. She felt them, and tried fixing her eyes on her friend’s face to see if she was crying. But the light—so bright. And Sunny didn’t cry, at least not on duty. “I need to go home,” she managed. “Get some sleep. Hospital policy…So tired.”
“You’ll sleep in a few minutes, sweetie,” Sunny said. “And when you wake up…”
Why was Sunny holding her hand? Not right. Something’s not right. That’s what she did when— “Tell me,” Anna interrupted, suddenly grasping that she should be feeling a sense of urgency, but unable to find it under the thick blanket of lethargy over her. She was the patient here, not the nurse. “What’s wrong with me, Sunny?” Anna cried.
“Some lady in the parking lot lost control of her car on the ice and hit you, sweetie, but Dr Ambrose is getting ready to take you upstairs to surgery in a few minutes.”
Dr Phillip Ambrose? Chief of neurosurgery? No, not him. He never worked nights except in an emergency. “Sunny?”
“Right here, sweetie.”
Sunny’s face was finally coming into focus. So were those of a couple other nurses and Bonsi. Was he crying, too? “I was getting into my car and—” Anna stopped abruptly. “My car! Damaged?”
Sunny tried to nod, and her trickle of tears turned into choking sobs. Covering her face with her hands, she turned and ran from the room, leaving Dr Ambrose to respond in her place. “You’ve got more important things to worry about than your car, Anna. We’re sending you upstairs for a few more tests, then on to surgery, and we’ll know more later.”
Know more about what? She didn’t feel that bad. Her mind was clearing up a little. So, what more did they need to know? “Why the tests?” she asked.
Dr Ambrose, a distinguished African-American with soft eyes and softer hands, took both Anna’s hands in his. His face contorted into a look Anna recognized, one she hated when she saw it offered to other patients. One from which she always tried to look away.
“Oh, no,” she whispered, her lips beginning to tremble. Her hands trembled, too. And she tried to jiggle the body parts that didn’t hurt at all, only to discover why there was no pain.
As the avalanche of her own medical knowledge slammed into her, Anna began assessing her damage the way she would assess the damage to any other patient. Movement above the waist normal. Movement below the waist…
The brutal shock seized Anna as a single tear slipped down her cheek.
Paralyzed!
July
“I’m not going to let some stranger come into my home on the pretext of fixing me. What you’ve been doing is fine, and what’s not already fixed isn’t going to be fixed.” She was angry today, as she’d been every day for the past six months but, damn it, it was her life, what was left of it anyway. And they didn’t get it. None of them did. “For months, all you’ve done is tell me what’s best for me, what I can do, what I can’t. And I’m sick of it. Now that I’m home, I’m in charge of my life, and that goes for hiring the people who will take care of me. And this Mitch whatever his name is…I don’t want him. I don’t want anybody else!”
Anna spun her wheelchair around to face the window, then folded her arms defiantly across her chest. “My legs may not work anymore, but the rest of me does, and that includes the part that’s perfectly capable of making decisions. And my decision today is that I want to be left alone.” They all meant well—her father, Sunny, Lanli Liu, her physical therapist and second-best friend—but she was tired of their well-meant intentions, and pretty much tired of them, with their expressions of sympathy on the edge of every glance and gaze. Then there was the way they were always treading on eggshells, and, oh, how they trod ever so lightly around her. On days like this, when she was bitchy as all get out, they should have yelled back at her, defended themselves, told her to shut up then walked away. Heaven knew, she would have, but they never did. And she hated that. Hated everything, most of all what she was doing to the people who loved her, to the people she loved.
“I don’t mean to be like this…so disagreeable,” she said, her voice softening, “but I just want to be included in my life. Except for this thing…” she slapped the wheels of her chair “…I’m the same person I was before the accident, and that person resents being treated like a baby.”
“But you’re not the same person, Anna, and that’s the problem.” Lanli paced back and forth in the dining room turned makeshift exercise room, then stopped. Her back to Anna, she gripped the waist-high therapy table and blew out a sharp-edged huff of irritation. Anna’s slow and unsteady progress over months of physical therapy came with exhausting and usually unwilling effort, and it was taking its toll everywhere. These last few weeks, Anna’s irritability level had increased about a hundred percent, and her willingness to work had decreased likewise. “Look, I know you’re frustrated…” She spun around to face Anna, extending her hand, palm side out, to stop Anna from arguing. “And before you tell me I don’t know what it’s like to be you, you’re right, I don’t. But most of the people I work with do know firsthand, which gives me some pretty good insight. So maybe you’re tired of being treated like a baby, but when you act like one, what do you expect?”
“I expect to be left alone. That’s what.” Anna backed away from the window, rolled into a small magazine table in her path, then punched it with her fist, sending it skidding across the hardwood floor until it hit the wall, crashed and fell over. The damned hardwood floor—before she’d even made the last payment on her barely trodden-on plush carpet, her dad had ripped it out to facilitate her wheelchair, and she hated the bare wood. Hated the ramp at the front door. Hated the handrails in the bathroom. “I expect to get on with my life as it is, thank you. And I expect people to quit nagging me.”
“You need upper-body strength, Anna, if you ever intend to haul yourself up on crutches, which I think you can. And Mitch will be better for you than I am, since all we seem to do is fight and I’m not getting through to you anymore. I’ll stay on for some of the basics, but he’s a sports rehab doctor—at least he used to be, he’s taking a break right now—and he’ll have some special insights I don’t. I hope so, anyway, because I’ve got to tell you, Anna, what I’m trying to do for you isn’t working, and I’m getting frustrated, too. Real frustrated.” Lanli picked up the small table and carried it back to its place. “If you expect to get on with your life, you’ll have to learn how to take care of yourself, and apparently I’m the not the right person to teach you how. And Mitch…” Lanli smiled, a wicked glint coming to her dark eyes. “Well, he has a special touch.”
“So when that sports rehab burnout doctor and his special touch teach me to get up on crutches, then what? Will I run a marathon, maybe go skiing?” Anna snapped. “Or can I go back to my job? You know, the one where I’m on my feet ten or twelve hours a day.”
Lanli grabbed the wheelchair handles and spun Anna around to face her. “What you’ll do on crutches is make yourself a little more independent. You’ll be able to get your own butt out of that wheelchair, maybe even perform simple tasks around the house. And, no, no marathon. And, no, not your old job. But there’s a place for you in nursing if you want it—once you get rid of that god-awful attitude.”
“Yeah, right…teaching! Those who can’t do, teach.” Anna hissed a contemptuous breath, and her eyes sparked defiance at Lanli. “So tell me. Can I teach Kyle to look at me the way he did before this?” She picked up her right leg, then let it drop. “Really attractive, don’t you think? Something any man would want in his bed. Did you know that, except for an occasional peck on the forehead, he hasn’t even kissed me since this happened? Hasn’t held my hand. Hasn’t even looked me in the eye.”
Turning back to face the large picture window, Anna’s sigh was mixed with sadness and frustration. She wanted to be part of the beautiful July day outside. She wanted to go out there all by herself and take a walk, be free of the grind that had dictated every minute of every day of her past half-year. But reality kept her anchored not only to her chair, her house, her keepers, but to a big cloud of uncertainty hovering over everything.
And she wanted desperately to be more than a watcher from the window.
“There’s nothing wrong with teaching, Anna, and that’s just my point. The old Anna would have been grateful there was still a place for her in nursing—any place at all, because she loved it so much. But you…” She shrugged. “You don’t love nursing enough now to fight your way back into it. And as far as Kyle’s concerned, if he can’t look at you the way he should, like a man who’s in love with you, it’s his problem. Not yours.” Lanli went to stand by her friend, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’ve been dumped a time or two, and it hurts. I really thought he’d be more supportive about this. It’s too bad he can’t.”
“I haven’t been dumped,” Anna protested. “Kyle’s busy at work, and he hasn’t had enough time to adjust.” The words were utterly unconvincing, even to her ears, because everyone knew that Kyle’s workload was an excuse at a time when he should have been standing by her. He was still adjusting, she’d kept telling herself all those long, lonely nights when his phone calls had had to suffice. And then even those phone calls had grown shorter and shorter, more and more infrequent. “He’ll do better when there’s not so much pressure on him.” She said it, but that didn’t mean she believed it. Not anymore.
“I know this is difficult for Kyle, too,” Lanli said, “but I’m sorry his insensitivity has to come back to bite you, because you don’t deserve it.”
“The only thing that’s difficult for that bastard is the few minutes he spends with my Anna once or twice a week,” a deep voice boomed from the hallway. Frank Wells—seventy, tall, stately, bushy gray hair, sad green eyes—strolled into the living room and plopped down into his well-used recliner, the only piece of furniture he hadn’t put into storage when he’d moved in with Anna. “I always said he wasn’t good enough for my daughter, and now the look that comes over him when he visits her makes me want to kill the bum.”
Anna wouldn’t look at her father. Looking at him would provoke an argument about Kyle she didn’t want to have, an argument that had started months ago and had found a perpetual life. “Be fair, Dad,” she said impassively. “Kyle’s dealing with my situation the best way he can.” That much was true, but there was nothing to say that his best way also had to be good. It wasn’t, but she wouldn’t admit it. Not to them, and not even to herself.
“He’s dealing with it the best way he can?” Frank laughed bitterly. “Well, so am I, and so are a whole lot of other people who really do care for you, Anna. And you don’t see any of us trying to avoid you like your so-called fiancé is doing, do you?” He sighed wistfully. “You’re a beautiful girl, sweetheart, so much like your mother. And he can’t stand the sight of you. It shows.”
Anna laced her hands tightly in her lap, shutting her eyes. So like her mother…blond hair to the shoulders, blue eyes, slender frame, delicate hands. Yes, in the mirror, when the reflection stopped at her waist, she did look like her mother. But when the mirror was full length, none of her mother was reflected. Everything turned into a hideous facsimile. These days Anna avoided all mirrors.
“So when is this Dr Durant supposed to be here?” she asked Lanli, hoping the subject of Kyle Lassiter would take a back seat to the has-been doctor she didn’t want anywhere near her.
“Who’s Dr Durant?” Frank piped up.
“He a sports rehab doc who might be able to help Anna build her upper-body strength so she can become functional on crutches. He’s taking some time off from his practice, not doing much of anything lately except a little carpentry around his house, carving bowls and selling them at craft shows.” She smiled. “And he owes me a favor, so I thought, what the heck. He might as well give it a try since no one else can get through that thick skull of hers.” Glancing affectionately at Anna, she added, “So don’t waste this favor, girlfriend, or you’ll be the one owing me.”
“And you think this Mitch can get my Anna out of the chair?” Frank asked, his eyes suddenly glistening with tears. “That would be good.”
Anna saw the tears and turned her head. Peaks and valleys. She’d seen it in so many patients—heartened one minute then in the depths of despair the next. She’d expected it in her own recovery to a degree. But so many peaks and valleys each and every day? That had been a shock, even to the tiny scrap of medical professional still left in her. And the worst part was that her dad suffered quietly through every one of them, always with a hopefulness Anna wished she could feel. That hopefulness was foolish, though, and it broke her heart—for him, for herself—each time it brightened his face, because soon after she always saw the tears.
“That would be very good,” Lanli said reassuringly. “And if anyone can help her, I think it will be Mitch.”
“So you think maybe she’ll walk without the crutches someday?” Frank asked.
“I think the first step is trying to give her some independence. After that?” Lanli shrugged. “I guess it’s up to Anna and what she wants to do.”
“You two talk about me like I’m not here,” Anna cut in. Her eyes were focused on the pickup truck maneuvering to a stop in front of her house.
“Well, face it. Like I’ve been telling you, you haven’t been here for quite a while,” Lanli returned. “Not the real Anna Wells.”
“And what’s the real Anna Wells supposed to be like these days?” Anna barked, the bad mood snapping back as she zoomed in on the man emerging from the truck. He looked like someone who should be driving it. Tall, well muscled, poured into a pair of jeans that accented all the right parts. He carried a toughness that probably tempted every woman who crossed his path. As he moved toward the house, he walked with a confident spring in his step—each stride very fluid, each body movement very masculine. Definitely a man she would have been attracted to before…
“The real Anna Wells is someone who doesn’t back down from a challenge,” Lanli said, “which is all you’ve been doing lately. And the real Anna Wells doesn’t take out her frustration on the people trying to help.”
“Then I guess the real Anna Wells doesn’t exist anymore, does she?” Anna said, her voice muffled in despondency. “Sometimes I think it would have been better if I’d just…” Died. The unspoken word. She hadn’t ever said it, but it had been on the edge of her thoughts, the tip of her tongue, so many times. She wasn’t suicidal, but often, way down deep in her valleys, she’d thought that everyone would have been better off without her, the way she was now. “I’m sorry, Lanli. I don’t mean to hurt anybody—especially you, and Dad and Sunny. But sometimes it just…” She shrugged, shaking her head. “I’m sorry,” she choked. “Next time just roll me into a closet and lock the door until I’m nice again.”
“Since it’s your idea,” Lanli said as the doorbell rang, “maybe I will.”
“I’ll get it,” Frank volunteered, springing from his chair. When he threw open the front door, he extended his hand to the smiling man on the doorstep. “You must be the doctor,” he said.
Mitch Durant took Frank’s hand, asking, “And you are?”
“Frank Wells. Anna’s father. I’m so pleased you’ve come to help my little girl.” Frank leaned toward Mitch, lowering his voice. “She’s in a bad mood today so, please, don’t hold that against her. She’s normally a sweet thing, but I think the reality is beginning to sink in and she’s not dealing with it too well.”
“The reality is that people make decisions for me and don’t bother including me in them. And the reality is, people don’t even have the courtesy to talk about me behind my back. They think that because I can’t walk, I can’t hear, so they talk about me right in front of me.” Back in the black mood, Anna wheeled herself into the hallway and looked into the smiling face of the man in the doorway. It was a crooked, friendly smile that broadened when he strolled past Frank and extended his hand to Anna.
“I’m Mitch Durant,” he said, his voice pure and rich as milk chocolate. “And I’m not into self-pity, so cut the crap or I’m out of here.” That with the smile still plastered to his face.
Ignoring his extended hand, Anna raised her head, leveling a cool, contemptuous stare at Mitch. Her eyes were glacial as she retorted, “You know where the door is.”