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It sounded like a song being sung. Some weird, spastic, jazzy tune with no real beat, but instead a confusing scat of gibberish—almost like the babblings of a baby. Who was playing the noise? Wherever it came from, Brenda found it annoying.
Gradually, she blinked her eyes open. It felt like lead weights had been attached to them, making them difficult to pry apart. Had someone glued them shut? What had happened and where was she?
She opened her eyes wider. The light seemed unnaturally bright. Was she staring at the sun? Was she dead?
Then a wave of pain rose up and came crashing into her head. No. She couldn’t be dead. If she were dead, she wouldn’t feel this excruciating pounding in her head. It was awful. The more she thought about the pain, the more it rushed in, like water flooding a basement. Brenda tried to fight the nauseating pain by distracting her mind. But as it gained momentum, there was nothing she could do to stop it.
With an effort, she forced her eyes to focus. There were white walls and a television mounted on the one across from her. She was lying on her back, and she recognized her mother standing near the end of the bed, her father, and her brother, Peter. They were whispering together, not facing her, but the noise reverberated through her head like a gong at a Chinese temple. The pain caused tears to spring to her eyes.
“Mama,” she whispered.
I feel awful. What happened to me, and why am I in so much pain? I have no idea what’s happening to me, and I’m scared. Oh, God, why does my head hurt so badly?
She couldn’t push the words past her lips. All she could say was Mama. Finally, Mrs. Wagner glanced in her direction. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying and rimmed with black from smudged mascara.
“Brenda, Brenda, my baby. You’re all right now.” She kissed Brenda’s hand, which she clasped between hers and held to her tear-soaked cheek.
“Hey, champ,” Mr. Wagner said in a hushed voice, coming close to Brenda and touching her cheek lightly. He brushed her hair from her forehead, and she winced in pain. Even the slightest movement of her hair made her head throb. “You sure made one heck of an exit at the rink.”
It was like her father to be funny and lighthearted. But why? The rink? What was he talking about, and why was everyone crying?
Mr. Wagner placed his other hand on his wife’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I’ll go get the nurse,” he said.
It seemed to Brenda that he was ignoring her questions on purpose, but she was unaware that she hadn’t asked him any.
“So,” Peter said as the look of worry on his face quickly faded into his trademark deadpan expression. “Was this all part of your routine? Because if it was, you nailed it.”
What in the world was he talking about, and why was her mother still crying?
“Mama. What happened?”
Mrs. Wagner’s shoulders shook with a new wave of emotion. Nervously, she patted her daughter’s hand, squeezing and rubbing it like it was a worry stone.
“You had an accident, honey. A bad one.”
Brenda held her breath. She tried to sit up, but nothing seemed to be working right. Her head wouldn’t stop torturing her. It was like someone had inserted a tennis ball-sized lump of hot lava that kept rolling around in her skull. Brenda focused on getting her muscles to cooperate, but she couldn’t get her body to sit up. And now her mother was choking out something about a terrible accident.
“You were unconscious on the ice. They couldn’t revive you. They said ...” More tears. More gulps of air. Her mother covered her mouth with her hand and broke off the words. The doctor had said he wasn’t sure how bad Brenda’s head injury was or even if she’d regain consciousness. And, if she did, she might not be the same. Mrs. Wagner stared at her daughter, and the words just wouldn’t come out.
“My head hurts so bad.” Brenda pressed her hand against her forehead.
“Yes. Yes, you really cracked yourself,” Mrs. Wagner finally said, smiling softly. She pushed more of Brenda’s hair from the side of her face, revealing the long pink scratches on her cheek from where her face had slid against the ice. Neither Brenda nor Mrs. Wagner could see the goose-egg-sized lump at the side of her skull that throbbed like a creature trying to burst its way out. Most of her head was covered in bandages that looked like a turban.
“Well, I’m glad to see you’re awake.”
A small man in a white coat waddled his way into the room wearing a stethoscope around his neck, followed by Mr. Wagner and Peter. He smiled broadly, folding his hands in front of him.
He was short and balding, with skin like golden honey. Dark freckles peppered the bridge of his nose, and Brenda could see the gentle smile in his eyes as he stood there.
“Hello, Brenda.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m Dr. Grayson. You took a very nasty spill on the ice. Tell me how you’re feeling.” His voice was gentle yet direct, and Brenda gathered he was the kind of man who didn’t waste his breath in useless banter.
“I feel okay. My head hurts really bad. The light ... the noise ... and everything moving makes it hurt so bad. I can even feel it in my fillings.”
“Yes. That’s what I expected.” He sucked in a breath before continuing. “Miss Wagner, I’m going to be blunt with you. You suffered severe trauma to your head, legs, and hip. No different from a car accident at thirty miles per hour. Do you understand?”
Brenda nodded her head slowly as she stared into Dr. Grayson’s eyes.
“Except you were flying at top speed on the ice without the protection of a seatbelt or airbag.”
Brenda took a deep breath. “What does that mean?” Her mouth felt dry, and her tongue was thick and uncooperative.
Dr. Grayson sat on the edge of the bed beside Brenda and produced a small penlight from his breast pocket. “Follow the light, please.” He watched Brenda’s eyes follow the light up, down, side to side. “Because of the location of the impact, you’ve damaged nerves that affect your vision.” Pulling the light away from Brenda’s eyes, he regarded her, and then folding his hands neatly in his lap, he cleared his throat. “At best, you’ll suffer severe headaches and trouble moving your eyes. This will affect the way you walk.” His voice dropped slightly. “If you walk.”
Brenda stared at the doctor, waiting for the punch line. She turned to her mother and father, seeing their trembling jaws and the redness in their eyes. She looked at her brother, expecting to see a smirk on his face indicating this was all a joke. Any second now, guys. She waited for the doctor to break into a wide smile and yell, “April Fools! Just joking!” But everyone in the room remained deathly silent.
“If I walk?”
“You’ve fractured your hip and the tibia in your right leg. That’s going to take almost a year to heal completely As for your head injury, you may experience blackouts, seizures, and blind spots, especially in your peripheral vision. This will make it nearly impossible for you to walk normally without the aid of a walker or cane. I’m sorry, Miss Wagner.”
Dr. Grayson studied Brenda’s expression and waited for the information to sink in. He’d delivered this kind of devastating news many times in the past, and it often took several minutes for his patients to absorb everything. Even though it weighed heavily upon his heart, he always made a point of being totally honest with his patients. It wouldn’t have been fair to get her hopes up with a pitiful 5% possibility of regaining the use of her legs. She was young and had plenty of time to develop a plan for her future. In his mind, Doctor Grayson felt he was doing the woman a favor by being brutally honest with her. Yet, in his heart, he always hoped the news would bring out his patient’s natural instinct to fight the odds. Sometimes it would surface immediately, and his patient would yell and cuss and tell him he could go straight to the Devil, and that they’d not only walk but dance on his grave.
Some of his patients would calmly tell him he’d be proven wrong. That they believed in miracles and that anything was possible. That his opinion was only one of hundreds of other doctors. Dr. Grayson would let their comments roll off his back. There were a dozen ways for his patients to pull out their claws and fight to survive, and Dr. Grayson would secretly say to himself, “that one will beat the odds” or, “this one isn’t going to give up.”
But as he looked at Brenda, he didn’t get that feeling. He was afraid she’d already given up, and there was no denying the fact he felt sorry for the lovely woman who suffered a major tragedy in the prime of her life.
“Do you have any questions for me, Miss Wagner?”
There was silence in the room except for the ticking clock on the wall.
Dr. Grayson nodded his head, patted her limp arm, and stood up from the bed. He slipped his hand around Mr. Wagner’s thick arm and led him out of the room to talk in the hallway.
“Bren, honey, are you alright?” Mrs. Wagner asked, doing her best to stop the flow of tears. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream and call that doctor every name in the book. How could he be so cruel to her daughter? To just blurt out bad news like that and then walk out of the room? She couldn’t help thinking the doctor must have skipped out on the lecture about bedside manners while attending medical school.
“I didn’t hear him right, Mama. I think there’s something wrong with my hearing because I thought he said I wouldn’t walk.” Brenda began to choke out the words with a flood of tears. “He didn’t say that, did he? Why would God give me this gift if He was just going to yank it away? Why would He give me this passion of skating morning, noon, and night if it was only temporary? God doesn’t play cruel jokes, right?”
Brenda began to sob hysterically as she tried to shift her position in the bed. But it felt like she’d been tied down like a lunatic. Her legs wouldn’t move, and her head felt like it was being crushed. Brenda began flailing her arms wildly, hoping that one last valiant effort would release her from her uncooperative body. But instead, she knocked the phone off the table next to her bed.
“Brenda, please! Everything will be okay,” Mrs. Wagner cried out as she tried to hold Brenda still, but her daughter kept pulling her arms away.
“How could this happen to me? That man is a liar!” she yelled.
Mr. Wagner came rushing in and tried to console her, but nothing seemed to help. With the calmness of a surgeon, Dr. Grayson ordered the nurse to get Brenda a sedative. Mrs. Wagner tried to sooth her daughter as Peter poured her a cup of water, but Brenda refused to be comforted and threw the cup across the room. After what seemed like hours, Brenda finally collapsed into her pillow and covered her face with her hands. Her family watched in silence as her chest heaved in and out as she continued to cry hysterically. She grabbed her mother’s hand and clutched it tightly against her body.
“Mama, what am I going to do?” was all she could say over and over.
The nurse made her way carefully into the room and quietly ushered Mr. Wagner and Peter out. Mrs. Wagner stayed, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding and rocking Brenda like she’d done hundreds of times when she was a little girl. The nurse slowly injected the sedative into the I.V. drip in Brenda’s hand and, within minutes, Brenda drifted off to sleep in her mother’s arms. She entered into a dark, shadowy sleep with no peaceful ending in sight.
Brenda’s mind was awake before she opened her eyes. Within seconds of regaining consciousness, she remembered where she was and felt the wet sensation of tears already filling the tiny space between her eyeballs and eyelids. Her head was still pounding, but she couldn’t miss the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat next to her. The noise startled her, and she slowly willed her eyes to open.
“Here. Wait. Don’t move too much,” Scott said. He slid out of the chair he’d been dozing in and stood next to the bed. Quickly and a little clumsily, he poured a cup of water, slipped a straw in it, and offered it to Brenda.
Without moving a muscle, she watched Scott suspiciously. His face looked familiar, but her mind felt groggy and cottony, so the name was slow to surface. The cool water felt good in her mouth. Thank you, Scott, she silently said to herself. Scott Logan. Yes, that was his name. He’d been her fiancé at one time. Yes, now she knew who he was.
What was he doing here? How long had he been sitting there, watching her? It felt like Brenda’s brain had been bundled tightly into a thick, cozy blanket, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to climb out from under it. At that moment, she had no thoughts of hopelessness or the fear she’d never be the same again. All Brenda knew was that her world was floating on a sea of clouds, and she didn’t want the happy feeling to end.
“Do you know what happened to me?” she asked, her voice slurred.
Of course, I do, Scott wanted to say. I saw the whole thing. I ran to your side and held your hand. I rode with you in the back of the ambulance, praying to God that you’d be all right. I just wanted you to open your eyes and see me.
But the only word that came out was a faint, “Yes.”
“They said I won’t walk again, let alone skate.” Her eyelids raised and lowered lazily as she looked at him. “What am I going to do if I can’t skate? Who am I if I can’t skate?”
Scott carefully eased himself onto the bed. He slid his hand gently underneath hers. It seemed the strong and free-willed Brenda he used to know had been suddenly transformed into a piece of fragile vintage china, and the slightest jolt or sudden movement would make her crack. He squeezed her hand gently, afraid of causing further injury. It took every ounce of strength for him to keep from crying, to remain brave for the woman he still held so dear to his heart after their botched wedding years ago.
It seemed like an eternity had passed since that fateful day, and even though Scott took full responsibility for what had happened, deep down he couldn’t help feeling angry at the hand that fate had dealt him. Or was it a sign from God telling him it wasn’t the right time for them to get married? A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he gazed longingly into Brenda’s sleepy eyes. He hoped that someday, God would reveal the true reason why they couldn’t get married. For now, he could only concentrate on helping the woman in front of him get better, and he made a silent vow never to let Brenda down again. Scott formed an encouraging smile as he gently patted her delicate, limp hand.
“You are Brenda Wagner. You’re beautiful, smart, and determined and ... I don’t know what God has planned for you, but I’m sure He’ll work everything out. Right now, you need to hold onto your faith. You’re so much more than just a skater. You’ve got so many other great qualities ...” His voice trailed off.
“Maybe. But none were good enough to make me Brenda Logan.” She smirked as her eyes began to close again. The medication swept her into a surreal realm where she wasn’t sure if she was awake or asleep.
“Why did you leave me there alone, Scott? You dumped me like some bad date, leaving me with all those guests staring at me as I tried to sneak out of the church. Why wasn’t I good enough to marry?” Her face twisted with pain. “Oh, my head hurts so bad.” For a few seconds, there were wrinkles on her forehead as she squeezed her eyes tight, hoping it would make the pain disappear. Then, seconds later, her face relaxed as she drifted into a deep asleep.
Scott didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath. Her words felt like a sharp slap in the face. He hadn’t expected Brenda to bring up the past—at least not while she was lying helpless in the hospital. After that fateful day, they rarely spoke to each other, but not by his choice.
They’d set a date of September 14 three years ago. Brenda had planned almost everything herself. Unlike some brides, she wasn’t concerned with having an extravagant affair that put her parents in debt. Instead, she wanted it to be simple and elegant. Scott had truly been looking forward to making her his wife. At that moment, she loved him completely, with her whole heart. He knew this without a shadow of a doubt. And he loved her the same.
But after everything went wrong on their wedding day, that all changed.
It was a toss-up over which was worse. The cold, businesslike attitude Brenda gave him when she’d asked him to reimburse her father for half the money he’d doled out for the reception hall and food, or the way she quickly accepted his excuse without argument.
Judging by the way she nodded her head in silence and crossed her arms tightly across her chest, Scott knew she didn’t believe him. But what he’d told her was the honest truth, at least what he could divulge of it.
He’d told her there was an emergency. A relative was dying. He had to go. It was horrible and couldn’t have come at a worse time, but he couldn’t say no. It wasn’t like he had any choice. He had to leave immediately and left a note with his best man to give to Brenda and her father.
When he returned from his “relative’s” side, Brenda didn’t lecture or attack him with a million questions about why he’d disappeared. She spoke calmly but firmly with him regarding the money. From then on, if they approached each other on the sidewalk, she’d make it a point to cross the street. If he were getting coffee at Agee’s Coffee Shop on Main Street when she walked in, she’d turn around and leave. She never spoke an unkind word about Scott to anyone—she simply never said anything. When people pried or nudged her to reveal her true feelings, she’d change the subject or excuse herself from the conversation. It was obvious to everyone, including Scott, that she was hurt and not interested in mending fences.
Of course, after the dust had settled, Scott thought of a dozen different ways he could have handled the situation. He could have rushed the vows and explained to Brenda why he had to leave the reception, but he knew that idea wouldn’t go over well with Brenda, especially after all the months of preparation they’d suffered through. He could have taken her with him to Montana and tied the knot out there after he handled the urgent matter, but few, if any, family members would be present to witness their ceremony.
Or he could have been completely honest with her right from the start. He knew Brenda wasn’t the type to gossip. Any secret shared with her would never leave her lips. That much Scott knew about his ex-fiancé. But he couldn’t take the chance of putting the most important woman in his life in danger.
Sadness spread over his face as he watched Brenda sleeping. The idea of waking her so he could spill his heart out crossed his mind. But this, too, was a bad time. Not only was she under heavy sedation, but her heart had been broken a second time. Leaning in closer to her, Scott inhaled the scent of her skin.
He gently stroked the top of her hand. “I’m so sorry Brenda. I really wanted to marry you. I still do. But I made a promise to keep a secret. You’ll never know how much it kills me that I can’t share it with you, at least not now. I never wanted to hurt you.”
The words drifted into Brenda’s ear but were lost in the darkness of her sleep, never to be heard.
Over the next few days, Brenda’s room filled with flowers, cards, and stuffed animals from her family and friends. The town considered her a local celebrity and ran articles about her in the papers and sent her telegrams to get well soon. Her teammates paid her visits, but Brenda didn’t want to talk to anyone other than her mother and father. She saw a bouquet of a dozen red roses delivered from Scott but asked her mother to take them to the nurses’ station as a gift. The last slap in the face was the card from Stacy Richards that read, “Wish You Were Here.”
“She’s just too dumb to realize what she wrote,” Mrs. Wagner said.
“I think she knew exactly what she was saying,” Brenda retorted, feeling a rage building inside, one that she’d never known. She felt life was so unfair. She hated Stacy Richards at that moment. She hated everyone who sent her some stupid card with rainbows and flowers on it. She hated the blank stares from all the stuffed animals. And who was the genius that sent her a fern? It needed to be tended to and watered regularly. How was that going to happen when she couldn’t get out of bed? Did the person actually think she could drag her body across the floor to the sink and get water for it? It seemed everything was a bad joke, and she was the butt of it.
“You get to come home in a few more days. Aren’t you excited about that?” Mrs. Wagner asked, desperately trying to keep her daughter’s spirits up. “We’ve got your room all ready. The doctor suggested just a few minor changes. You know, adjustments until you get back on your feet.”
Brenda looked at her mother as if she’d just announced that the world was really flat. “Get back on my feet?”
“I meant figuratively, ” her mother said, shrugging her shoulders. “Or literally.” Mrs. Wagner tried to smooth over her poor choice of words.
Brenda gave her mother a scowl.
“Look, Brenda, we can’t tiptoe around this. You’ve got to make some changes, and so do we. Life is going to continue to go on.”
Mrs. Wagner looked at her daughter, who indicated she was listening. “What do you want us to do? Not talk about it? Ignore the fact that you may never walk again?” She saw her daughter’s body shake at her words. “We can’t do that, Brenda. We have to face the fact that this is a real possibility. But how well you recover from this injury is up to you. Now, your father, Peter, and I love you so much. If there were anything we could do to take this burden from you, we would. But we can’t, Brenda. And your shutting us out, shutting everyone out, isn’t going to help.”
Brenda couldn’t find the will to speak. No one seemed to understand how she was feeling. What was worse was the fact they didn’t seem to care. Just pull yourself up by your bootstraps, Brenda. You can’t walk in those boots, but pull them up nonetheless. It was such a sick joke.
“Well, you’ve got about three more days to sit and sulk. Then you’re coming home and will start physical therapy next week.” Mrs. Wagner stood up from the bed and straightened her blouse. “I’ll expect to see a little more of my daughter then. You can’t expect to feel better in a hospital, anyway. There’s nothing but sick people in here.”
Brenda had heard that joke from both her parents at least half a dozen times since she’d been conscious. It wasn’t funny to her the first time and still wasn’t. There was a war of wills brewing, and even though deep down inside, Brenda knew her mother was right, she wasn’t going to let her win.
No one had any idea how truly terrified she felt. The idea of therapy seemed wrong on so many levels. She knew if she could just practice on her own, she’d be on her feet in no time. Just the thought of some stranger bending her legs for her, holding her under the arms to lift her, and calling out instructions and orders made her stomach turn.
But that wasn’t what she was most afraid of. Growing up, Brenda had never been the touchy-feely type. She rarely gave hugs; once in a blue moon, she might pat someone on the back. When it came to her body, she loathed having her shoulders rubbed and thought the idea of therapeutic massage was gross. Knowing a therapist was going to manipulate her legs in any way was going to cause big problems for her. But the one fear she dreaded the most was—what if nothing happened? What if she willed her legs to move and they dangled there, lifeless?
But Brenda believed God wouldn’t let that happen to her. He was a loving God, who cared about his children, right? After all, she could have sworn she’d felt her legs move in bed while she was sleeping. It seemed more often than not she’d wake up throughout the night and notice her legs in a slightly different position than they’d been before.
When she informed Doctor Grayson of her observations, he smiled kindly and told her it was normal to regain limited movement in her legs. It would seem like her legs would fully recover, but, in reality, once she stood on her feet and actually started walking, she’d experience dizziness and have a hard time balancing herself. The damage to her brain might have been minimal compared to other head injury patients—and maybe even temporary—but the doctors said it was too soon to tell. As far as Brenda was concerned, she refused to accept the fact that she’d never regain full control of her body, that she’d never walk again.
“I’ve seen injuries much worse than yours, Brenda, and I can tell you from experience that your body can compensate for the injuries you’ve suffered. But the process will take some time. No matter how badly you want your body to return to normal, it will get there in its own good time.”
Brenda wasn’t sure if she liked Doctor Grayson’s tough-love tactics. There had to be another, more compassionate, way to break the news, no matter how devastating it might be. At least no one could accuse him of being unclear. But Brenda knew that at night when her thoughts weren’t getting in the way, she could feel a tingling sensation in her legs as if her legs were trying to heal themselves. Maybe she imagined things. Maybe it was the damage to her bones. All Brenda knew was that something was happening with her legs.
Over the next three days, it became painfully clear to Brenda how serious her situation was. She’d frequently wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares or the commotion outside her room. Nights in a hospital were anything but peaceful. It seemed patients were coming in and out every hour, nurses checking the patients’ charts and IVs, and making notes for the next round of nurses and doctors to see. The bright hallway lights stayed on all the time and cast a big, white, slice of light along the white tile floor like a super nightlight, which Brenda had eventually gotten used to. On this particular night, Brenda could see the full moon through her window. She admired its snow-white color and how close to the earth it seemed. She couldn’t help but think how small she was in comparison to the immense universe.
Somewhere out there, God was looking down at her lying in the small hospital room. She’d poured her heart out to God, asking for a miracle—to be able to walk and skate again. While she’d never witnessed an actual healing, she’d heard of several healing miracles at the church she used to attend. A part of her couldn’t help but hope that maybe God would heal her injuries to glorify His name. After all, nothing was impossible with God, right?
Brenda focused on her legs. A part of her couldn’t help wondering how bad her injuries were. She scanned the floor from her bed to the bathroom. How far was it? Maybe six feet from one end to the other?
As Brenda pulled the covers off, the cool air touched her legs and her body shook. But that didn’t stop her from testing them. She knew it was risky, and that she hadn’t taken a single step in the hospital without her mother or an army of nurses around. Suddenly she felt like a kid contemplating stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. She wasn’t sure what was more intimidating, the act or thinking about committing the act.
With a deep breath, Brenda used her hands to move her legs off the side of the bed and slowly lowered herself just enough to feel her feet on the floor. The tile was cold and hard. Looking down, she thought her toes looked odd. It was as if someone else’s feet were attached to her body. Perhaps that was why they didn’t seem to work, right? Maybe both legs had been replaced, and that’s what was causing all her problems? Brenda heaved a heavy sigh. If only it were that easy, she thought to herself.
Easing her butt off the mattress, she stood to her feet while holding on to the guardrail that surrounded much of the bed. The bones of her legs felt weak and fragile.
As she pulled her left leg a few inches to the right, she felt a jolt of electricity run down the other, causing her to catch her breath as her hands tightened on the rail. But Brenda refused to give up. She bit her lower lip and placed pressure on her right leg. Her palms became sweaty and heat radiated throughout her body as she struggled to balance herself. She pushed her right leg in front of the left, and beads of sweat began to form on her forehead and her cheeks flushed a bright pink.
Not bad, Brenda. You can do this.
But her immediate problem wasn’t trying to walk along the side of the bed. That she could do. Sort of. The problem was trying to navigate the three feet from the bed to the bathroom door because there was nothing for her to hold on to. Brenda swallowed hard.
“C’mon, Brend. How are you going to skate if you can’t even get to the bathroom?” She clenched her teeth and sucked in a big breath as she let go of the rail at the end of the bed. Standing still for a moment, she balanced her sore body on her wobbly feet. With her arms outstretched like a tightrope walker, Brenda mustered every ounce of energy to shuffle her left leg forward.
She stood still for a moment with her arms outstretched and tried to catch her breath. Her next challenge was to shift her body weight and shuffle the other foot forward. Brenda took another deep breath and tried to pull her right leg forward, but it wouldn’t budge.
There was some invisible force holding her foot in place like it was permanently anchored to the floor. Brenda tried to pull her left leg back so she could steady herself, but it, too, was under a spell. It seemed her legs had reached their limit and were refusing to cooperate anymore. Her torso began to twist awkwardly like a drunken hula dancer as she desperately tried to keep her balance. Her arms flailed wildly until gravity took over, pulling her to the hard floor with a thud and a grunt. A rush of air escaped her lungs from the impact.
Brenda’s fall must have caused more noise than she’d thought, because, within seconds, a bulky, dark-skinned woman in white pants and a scrub top with red hearts came rushing in.
“Oh, Lord!” she cried. “What do you think you’re doing?” Her eyes were wide, not with anger but with concern. “Honey, you need to call the nurses’ station if you need to use the restroom. You can’t get there on your own.”
As plump as the woman was, Brenda was amazed at how she bent down with ease.
“Does anything hurt? Lie still until we have someone to help you back into bed. Did you hit your head? Does anything tingle or feel like it’s going numb? Is your vision blurry or are you seeing double?”
Brenda shook her head at each question as she lay on her side on the uncomfortable cold floor. A cool draft of air brushed against her backside from where her gown had come open. “Unless you count pride, nothing is hurt,” she said.
“Oh, jokes won’t get you anywhere with me, honey.” The nurse looked at her like a drill sergeant about to punish her squad. “You can’t do this on Nurse Moline’s shift. Do you understand? You should be using a bedpan, young lady.”
Brenda made a face and shook her head. “Oh, no, I won’t use those. I think they’re disgusting.”
“Well, Ms. Wagner, this isn’t a five-star hotel. This is a hospital. And when you can’t walk, and you need to relieve yourself, that’s what you’re supposed to use.” The woman stared into Brenda’s eyes.
“Now, on the count of three, we’re going to stand up.” Before Brenda knew what was happening, Nurse Moline had slipped her soft, pudgy hands into Brenda’s armpits, counted one, two, three, and hoisted her to her wobbly legs. Then she carefully pulled Brenda’s arm around her sturdy shoulder and they headed for the restroom.
It was three steps to the bathroom. Three pathetic, pitiful, little steps and Brenda couldn’t make them. Steadying herself with the assistance grab next to the toilet, Brenda sat for a moment feeling humiliated, defeated, angry, and relieved, all at the same time. Relieved she’d made it to the bathroom without looking more like a fool. But it was little compensation for the sad fact her legs were no better than those of a toddler just learning to walk.
Once Brenda had done her duty, she stood and inched her way with the help of the sturdy silver bar back to the door where Nurse Moline was waiting. Brenda looked at her briefly with an anxious smile but quickly snapped her eyes away and studied the floor below her feet.
Nurse Moline helped Brenda back into the bed, supporting her as easily as if Brenda were a forty-pound toddler. Once the nurse pulled the blanket up around her, she glared with hardened eyes and lips pursed tightly together. “Miss Brenda, you’re here for two more days. I’m the night nurse on duty those two days. If you get the crazy idea of trying another solo stunt like this again, without your doctor’s written approval, you’ll leave me with no choice but to put an alarm on your bed like we do for the patients with dementia.”
Brenda’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.
“You don’t want me to have to do that, now do you?”
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bother anyone. I just wanted to see how bad my injuries were,” Brenda said, feeling even more ashamed that she’d tried to walk.
“It’s our job to assist you, Miss Brenda, and make sure you don’t hurt yourself. I love my job here, and the last thing I want to happen is to lose it because a patient wants to defy her doctor’s orders.” Seconds later, Nurse Moline’s eyes softened, and she gave Brenda a slight smile. “Now, if you need anything, you just press that call button, and one of us will come running, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Brenda said, nodding her head.
“Good girl. I’d suggest you get plenty of rest. When your therapy starts, you’ll be wishing you were still here relaxing under my watch.”
Then the wide-hipped nurse pivoted around and strolled out of the room without saying good night or looking back. Brenda could only watch in silence with her jaw relaxed as she watched Nurse Moline leave.
