It was five-thirty AM as Bill, using crutches, made his way to the nurses’ station.
“I’m heading to rehab for a workout, Walt.”
“You sure you’re okay if no one is there? It’s early.”
“I can’t take this inactivity. I need to do something with myself.”
“Hey, man, I understand. Just don’t tear yourself up, okay?”
Bill nodded. Last night, in pain, Bill had pushed the call button. Walt came right in and gave him two pills, watching quietly for a minute, then asking Bill if he wanted anything else. They had talked a bit. The guy was an avid Dodgers fan and knew most of Bills baseball stats, and the names of many of the team members. When Walt asked for an autograph Bill was happy to oblige. His visit had taken Bill’s mind off his troubles for a few minutes until he dozed off.
Bill made his way downstairs to the on-site physical therapy room.
He didn’t like the way he smelled, and his hair was a greasy mess. He was going to sweat and would need to bathe somehow after the workout. He did not want visitors or to see Eric without cleaning up. He wanted a long shower.
His mood shifted. Eric would be going into surgery soon, certainly within an hour or so.
I hope he comes through alright, thought Bill, his face troubled over the little boy’s plight. He remembered the dream, where Eric walked over the edge of the snow ledge.
I have no idea what that is supposed to symbolize but it doesn’t seem good, at least for Eric.
Transferring to a therapy walker Bill started across the room. It was about forty feet by thirty and had various weight equipment, benches and tables scattered about.
The pain level rose but was not as intense as the day before, and overall, he felt stronger. He knew this was going to hurt and there was only one way to deal with it.
He picked up the pace, shuffling along, making sure to support himself well. The doctors did not want him to put much weight on his right foot.
Bill had lost weight and his cheeks were drawn. It was not a healthy man that had greeted him in the mirror this morning. He went back and forth, trying for a little extra range of motion. Sweat was pouring down his face and his hair was soaked. His nostrils flared, and he was soon breathing through his mouth.
Steel was buried in his leg, which felt like red hot rebar, and his back was often in agony. That pain was slightly different. He imagined it must be like a blast from a Taser, instantaneous high voltage electrical shocks that made him gasp and almost pass out. Several times he needed to stop and let pain spasms pass, so he could see clearly before continuing.
He put a little more weight on the injured leg. He was shaking slightly from the strain on his arms, weight loss and weakness. But his back started to settle down, a welcome relief. He made sure he did not put himself in danger of tearing anything, but the agony was intense.
Back and forth he went.
“I will make it back,” he affirmed, quivering.
I’ll check out steroids, human growth hormones, Chinese medicine, magnets, and acupuncture.
“Whatever it takes,” he mumbled.
He made another trip back and forth.
Raw eggs, powdered cow bones, dandelion roots, and homeopathic medicines. I don’t care.
His body shook and sweat ran in rivulets down his back as he visualized winding up and throwing pitches. For an hour he only slowed for water.
Finally forced to stop because he was lightheaded, Bill hobbled, using the walker, to the freezer for an ice pack. He wanted to scream when he placed it on his over-heated skin.
His version of rehab would be more intense than what his doctor was suggesting. Bill needed his computer tablet, so he could research names of sports rehabilitation doctors, the best ones. Right now, he needed to eat and get some sleep, then some information with Jake’s help.