Glenn reached out next to him but felt nothing. He opened his eyes, but couldn’t see anything in the darkness. It was the middle of the night but he couldn’t feel or see Carol Jean anywhere. He rolled out of bed and walked quietly down the hall. He saw no lights on to indicate where she had gone. Jenny’s door was slightly ajar, so he reached out and gently pushed it open a little further to peer inside. There lay Carol Jean, cradling their sleeping seven-year-old in her arms.

“What are you doing?” Glenn whispered.

Carol Jean looked up, her face pallid, her eyes red and swollen. She seemed to cling to Jenny’s sleeping form as she stared at nothing in particular.

“Carol Jean?”

She still didn’t respond. She continued to stare into the darkness, numb with grief. Glenn moved forward and tried to lift Jenny from her, but Carol Jean pulled away.

“I can’t let my baby go,” she finally whispered.

“She’s asleep. Do you want me to put her back in bed for you?”

Carol Jean didn’t seem to hear him, or she chose not to respond. “How am I supposed to keep my babies safe?”

Glenn finally seemed to understand. This wasn’t about Jenny.

“Why Bryan, my only son? I was even there. I could have stopped him.”

“No, you couldn’t have done anything. Even if you had told Bryan what was going to happen to him, he would have jumped anyway, just to see for himself. That’s how he’s always been.” Glenn knelt on the floor beside Carol Jean, placing a hand on her leg.

“But how do I keep my babies safe from things like this?” Carol Jean buried her face in Jenny’s neck. “How do I keep this from happening again? How am I going to take care of him?” Carol Jean seemed to be asking herself these questions as she held Jenny and rocked her.

Glenn took her hand and tried to pull her to standing. “You need some sleep. Please, put Jenny back in bed and get some rest.”

“I’ll never sleep again.” Even as she spoke the words, Carol Jean obliged. She carefully laid Jenny back on her bed and tucked the covers around her. She kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment, fearful of what might happen if she left.

“Jenny will be fine,” Glenn assured her as he guided Carol Jean back to their room.

They climbed into bed and continued to lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

***

“All right, I’m going to wrap your fingers around this cone now, and then I’ll tighten the straps around your wrists,” the nurse explained.

“Thanks, Margie,” Bryan said quietly.

It had been a couple of weeks since Bryan’s accident. Everything seemed to be going smoothly and the doctor felt he was recovered enough for the cone splints now. His sores had healed, and he was finally out of that stupid rocking bed.

The blue foam cone, as Margie called it, reminded Bryan of the spongy handles on exercise equipment. Margie carefully wrapped each of Bryan’s fingers around it, spacing them evenly. She tightened the Velcro straps across his hand and around his wrist to keep the splint in place. It looked like the type of brace someone would wear to heal a sprained wrist, only this one had a handle for the patient to clutch, rather than the hand remaining straight.

Jana got up from her seat to get a better view of what Margie was doing. She placed a gentle hand on Bryan’s shoulder and leaned in.

“How long does he need to wear those?” she asked.

“A few weeks.”

“And then he’ll never be able to straighten his fingers again?”

“He will still have the ability to straighten them, if someone pulls them out, but they will return to the curled shape on their own after this.”

She continued to watch curiously as Margie put his other hand in a similar splint. Jana had been by Bryan’s side every single day for the last couple of weeks. Bryan was grateful his accident happened during the summer. With the steady stream of visitors, it made the long days in the hospital far more enjoyable. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do once school started up again and everyone returned to their busy schedules.

“All set,” Margie said. “Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, Jana climbed on top of Bryan’s bed, snuggling into him with her head resting under his chin.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” she said. Jana sat up and reached for something. “I brought you a present.”

Bryan smiled as she pulled a long, rolled up poster out from under his bed. She unrolled it and held up a large blue poster with the cutest puppy he’d ever seen. At the top in black, curly letters it read: A hug would make my day. Jana lowered the poster, beaming at Bryan.

He laughed. “That’s great!”

“I knew you’d love it,” she said, climbing down from the bed. Jana reached into her purse and pulled out some tape. She hung the poster on his wall, directly opposite the bed so he could see it right in front of him. “Now when I’m not here, you can still think of me.” Jana sat back against Bryan’s bed, examining the poster from his point of view. When she was satisfied with how it looked, she sat down beside Bryan again and kissed him passionately. Bryan was caught off guard for a moment, but it didn’t take long for him to recover and respond.

Grandpa Carroll came into the room a few minutes later, carrying a magazine under his arm. When he saw the two of them kissing, he cleared his throat loudly.

“Oh, did I miss them putting the splints on?”

“They just finished,” Jana said, jumping up.

Grandpa Carroll looked disappointed.

“What did you bring, Grandpa?” Bryan asked, trying to pull the focus away from Jana’s red face.

Grandpa’s eyes lit up. He lifted the magazine out from under his arm, holding it up for Bryan to see. “The newest issue of Car Craft. I thought you might like it if I read to you.”

Bryan’s smile broadened. Jana took the car talk as her cue to leave. “Well, I better get to work,” she said, bending down to kiss Bryan. “Do you need a ride home, Grandpa?”

“Oh no, I took the bus here and Donna is picking me up later. Thank you, dear.”

She smiled sweetly and slipped out the door.

Grandpa sat down in the chair Jana had just occupied and cracked the magazine open. It made a satisfying crinkling sound as he folded the cover back, cleared his throat, and began to read.

***

“Morning, Bryan!” The chipper blonde nurse entered his room and opened the blinds to let in some sunlight. Bryan squinted at the light change. “You ready for some stretches?” she asked.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

Margie straightened his legs carefully, pulling down on his foot and then pushing it up again to stretch Bryan’s muscles. When she was done moving his legs around, she went on with his arms. She pulled his left arm straight and then, as he was doing the up and down motions with her, suddenly Bryan’s hand jerked out of hers and hung in the air on its own.

“Muscle spasm?” Margie asked.

Bryan’s mouth opened wide, his eyes growing wider to match. “No,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I did that. I wanted to lift up by myself, and I concentrated really hard on my hand and it just lifted up on its own.”

Margie stood silent for a moment, her mouth hanging open like a hungry fish. She clapped her hands while jumping up and down. “You did that?” she shrieked. “Do you feel anything?”

Bryan lifted his limp arm so that it barely raised above the bed. It fell back down again with a soft thud. “I don’t feel anything, no. Just a little pressure here and there, but I couldn’t tell you how soft the sheets on the bed are.”

“I’ve got to tell Christine,” she said, dashing from the room. She was back minutes later, the grinning therapist by her side.

“Fantastic!” Christine exclaimed. “This is exactly what we’ve been hoping for.”

“So will I get full mobility back?” Bryan asked, more out of curiosity than hope.

“No, probably not. Based on where your break was located, it’s very unlikely you will ever feel anything again. And the amount of things you can do with your hand will be limited. However,” she added, “it never hurts to try.” She winked at Bryan.

After they left him alone, Bryan stared down at his left hand. He concentrated all of his thoughts on lifting it again. This time he began shaking from exertion before the hand even budged. He was able to roll it back and forth very slowly on the bed, but he must have worn himself out from lifting earlier. Oh well, he thought to himself. I’ll get it tomorrow.

***

“Are you ready for this?” Dr. Jensen asked, smiling. Bryan gave him an incredulous look and the doctor chuckled.

“I know, I know,” he said, putting his hands up in defense.

Several people snickered at the doctor’s attempt to lighten the mood. Everyone had gathered around Bryan’s bed for this momentous occasion. Jenny even carried a big Mylar balloon with her that said congratulations in neon green. After six long weeks of being in traction and not even being able to turn his head, the doctor was finally loosening the screws and removing the traction bar.

“So still no surgery?” Glenn asked.

“No,” the doctor said as he and Christine prepared for the removal. “We did another set of X-rays and everything seems to be healing up nicely without it.” Dr. Jensen looked to Christine and once she nodded her ready, he began.

Carol Jean made Jana and Grandpa Carroll sit behind her (not that they fought her) as she sat close by Bryan’s side and held tightly to his curled fingers. Bryan squeezed his eyes shut as the doctor started unscrewing the large metal screws from his skull. The grinding sound made Carol Jean’s stomach churn, but she held strong and remained unflinching by his side.

Once the device was off, Bryan felt a huge release of pressure. Dr. Jensen slipped a foam collar around his neck for added support. Bryan stretched his jaw wide and with encouragement from Christine, tried moving his head to one side. The reaction was not what he had expected. He immediately felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He started to have tunnel vision and feared he was going to pass out.

“It’s okay, just take it slow,” the therapist coached him.

Bryan kept his eyes shut and lay still. He gradually sucked in a breath and then let the air flow out again, concentrating on his breathing instead of the pounding headache that threatened to overtake him. After several more long, deep breaths, he swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat and opened his eyes again slowly. The room seemed ridiculously bright. As he looked around at the nine faces staring into his own, he forced himself to smile.

“Whew! That’s worse than getting high,” he joked.

“Oh, Bryan,” his mom said. The other adults laughed. Glenda and Jenny soon joined in, though they weren’t sure why.

“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked. He shined a light in Bryan’s eyes and felt around his neck and face carefully.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” he answered, closing his eyes again to prevent the room from spinning.

“Well, that’s to be expected when you haven’t had any neck movement in several weeks. Despite the dizziness, does it feel good to stretch your neck muscles?”

Bryan had to really concentrate on looking past the dizzy feelings he was experiencing to feel the stiffness in his neck as he tried to turn his head. His muscles burned with lack of use. He wished he could reach his hands up to soothe the aching pain and rub some of the tight knots out. As if reading his mind, or perhaps from watching him struggle, Jana stepped forward and began rubbing his neck and tops of his shoulders very gently and cautiously.

“You seem to be doing pretty well,” Christine nodded.

Bryan wasn’t sure if she was joking or not, but he didn’t see a smile on her face.

“It’s not going to be a quick or an easy transition. You haven’t passed out yet, which is a really good sign. Just continue taking slow, deep breaths and we’ll hopefully be able to move you down to your new room in the next few weeks.”

The quiet chatter in the room died down. “A new room? So he’ll be ready for rehab in just a few of weeks?” Glenn asked.

“Yeah, he’ll be ready to leave the ICU just as soon as we’ve got him used to sitting up and settled into a wheelchair,” Christine answered, smiling. “Then he’ll start physical therapy shortly after, depending on how he’s doing.”

Jenny clapped. “Does that mean he can come home?” she asked, bouncing up and down.

“Oh, sweetie, not yet,” Carol Jean soothed. “Bryan will be leaving the ICU, not the hospital, in a couple of weeks.”

Jenny looked confused and disappointed.

“How much longer will he be in the hospital?” Carol Jean asked, turning to the doctor.

“It’s too hard to say. It depends on how he’s healing. Once he’s moved into a regular room he can start rehabilitation and physical therapy, but that can be a slow process, especially with spinal injuries. He’ll probably be here for at least four to six more months.”

Carol Jean’s face fell. She knew he’d be in the hospital for a long time, but six more months seemed like an eternity.

“Wait,” Bryan spoke up, “so you aren’t going to be my therapist anymore?”

Christine smiled. “I’ll miss you, too.” She patted Bryan’s hand. “I’ll stop in and check on you from time to time to see how you’re progressing, but no, sadly, I am an ICU occupational therapist. I have to stay here and pass you on to my rehabilitation colleagues. You’re in good hands though, I promise.”

Christine didn’t waste any time. She allowed Bryan the night to rest, but bright and early the next morning she was standing by his bedside, smiling.

“Our goal is to get you sitting up today,” Christine said. “I know this might not seem like much, but after lying down for over a month and being in traction for most of that time, sitting up is really going to be a feat. Are you ready to try?”

Bryan nodded. “What do I need to do?”

“Try and keep your head up.”

That sounded simple enough. A four-week-old baby can hold up his head. The blonde nurse who had been there for his first arm movement stood on the other side of the bed. She and Christine each took one of his legs and wrapped them tightly with ace bandages.

“What’s that for?” Bryan asked.

“We’re trying to force the blood out of your legs and into your head, so you don’t pass out.”

Once they were done wrapping him, Margie helped Christine roll Bryan from his bed onto the table they wheeled in.

“I’m going to count to three and we’ll start cranking the table up a little at a time.”

“You tell us if we’re going too fast,” Margie added.

Christine continued, “Then Margie here will help me put on this brace to support you in the sitting position.” She held up a rather intense-looking contraption that consisted of two pieces: a plastic shell backing piece that went from his waist to the top of his head and a metal breastplate which strapped to the front and came up under the chin to support his neck. “It’s called a turtle shell brace,” she explained. “You’ll have to wear this whenever you are sitting up in bed or going to be in a wheelchair.” Christine showed him a thick black band. “And this is your abdominal binder. It’s used to help keep the blood from pooling in your abdomen so you don’t faint when sitting up.”

Bryan’s eyes widened as she described all the things he had to wear just to sit up. “Okay,” Bryan said. “Let’s do this.”

“One, two, three!”

Bryan felt pressure on his biceps as the two of them held his arms steady and Margie turned the crank. She continued to move him upwards slowly, about half an inch at a time. Once he was almost completely sitting up straight, a severe headache slammed him immediately, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut. When he opened them again just seconds later, he could see blackness creeping in from the corners of his eyes. Bryan’s head rolled back and he passed out.

“All right, lay him back down,” Christine ordered. “That was pretty typical. When he wakes up we’ll try again.” Margie cranked the table back down until Bryan was lying flat once more.

Bryan’s head swam. He felt tired and dizzy and nauseous all at the same time. Sweat broke out all over his forehead and dripped down his neck and face. The room felt alarmingly hot. He peeked one eye open to find his therapist and nurse leaning over him.

“How did that feel?” Christine asked.

“Great,” Bryan mumbled, opening his other eye. “Can we do it again?”

“As soon as you’re ready,” Margie responded. “Don’t push it.”

Bryan took several slow, deep breaths. “Let’s try again,” he said, despite his pounding headache.

“All right.” They both got back in position and waited for the count. “One, two, three.”

Bryan felt the same pressure and head rush once he was sitting up, but this time he felt more prepared for it. When the blackness threatened to overtake him again, Bryan closed his eyes and breathed slowly in and out. He focused on his breaths and soon was able to open his eyes again. The brace had been placed around him for support.

“You did it.” Christine gave him a genuine smile. “How is your head? Are you feeling dizzy?”

“Yes, but not as bad as the first time,” Bryan said. His body began to tremble and the sweat continued to pour down his face. They allowed him to stay sitting up for about twenty minutes before Christine declared they had pushed him enough for one day. Bryan wanted to argue and tell them he could do more, but he felt so exhausted. The thought of laying back down and napping was far too appealing.

With their arms around him for support, Margie and Christine slowly moved his body back onto his bed again.

“Well, Bryan, you did great for your first day,” she enthused. “I’ll be back to practice some more tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Bryan whispered, closing his eyes.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Christine said.

This time Bryan didn’t respond. He was already asleep.

***

Glenn sat in his cubicle at work, his fingers poised at the computer, yet he wasn’t typing anything. He stared right beside his computer at the family picture they took at Bryan’s graduation, just weeks before the accident. He looked at his son’s bright, hopeful smile. He couldn’t understand why this had to happen to them. He was angry, confused, and sad all at the same time.

“You all right, Glenn?” one of his coworkers asked.

Glenn didn’t notice the man until he asked again. “What? Oh yeah, sorry,” he said. “I’m fabulous, marvelous, and wonderful.” Forcing a smile, he glanced back at his family picture and jumped to his feet. “I’m taking an early lunch,” he said. “I gotta go.” He brushed past the startled coworker and left the building. He didn’t have a plan, and he wasn’t really thinking. He just got in his car and drove. Soon he found himself in the hospital parking lot, so he decided to go in.

Glenn sat beside Grandpa Carroll while Christine stood behind Bryan, helping him turn his neck from side to side.

“It’s good to see you sitting up,” Glenn said.

Bryan was focusing too hard to respond. Christine had been to his room every day, helping him become comfortable with sitting up and moving his head around again. Bryan was amazed at how much energy and concentration it took to do something as simple as sit up in bed. It truly felt like he was an infant, starting from scratch to learn how to control his body on his own.

As Christine moved on to muscle strength, she placed a thin, white tube in Bryan’s curled fingers. He raised his arms until they were perpendicular to his body. Bryan held it there for a full minute, Bryan’s best time to date, until his arms shook and his hands became sweaty.

“Excellent,” Christine praised. “You’re coming along very quickly, Bryan. I suspect we’ll have you cruising around here in a wheelchair in no time.”

Bryan looked at Grandpa Carroll and they shared a smile. He glanced at the two canes Grandpa used to help him walk and said, “You can get a chair next, and then we’ll race down the hall.”

Grandpa chuckled. “You’re on.”

“All right.” Christine removed Bryan’s turtle shell brace and helped lower him back down on the bed. She then carefully stretched his arms, legs, and neck.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bryan. I think you’re almost ready to sit in a wheelchair, and then you’ll be ready to move down to rehab.”

Bryan smiled. “Really?”

“Oh, yes, you’re improving rather quickly. It’s about time we see if we can get any use out of those,” she said, nudging Bryan’s arms.

“I’m ready,” Bryan said.

“I know you are,” the therapist replied. “You definitely are.”

As Bryan and Grandpa continued to visit, Glenn walked over to where Christine washed her hands.

“How is he doing?” Glenn whispered.

Christine turned to face him and smiled. “He is doing amazingly well!” she said. “Most patients with breaks lesser than Bryan go through the five stages of grief. They are in denial about what has happened to them, unable to cope with the reality of never being able to walk again. And in Bryan’s case, never be able to fully use his hands either. Once the reality finally does sink in, it’s quickly followed by anger. The patient then goes through a stage of bargaining, followed closely by depression. Correct me if I’m wrong, but Bryan doesn’t seem to have experienced any of these. He’s skipped straight over the first four steps and gone straight to acceptance. He’s just ready to face his new life straight on.”

Glenn nodded. He was all too familiar with the grief and anger she described.

***

 

“So what do you think of this bad boy?” Christine asked the following morning.

Bryan glanced away from the TV to see Christine pushing a large, black wheelchair through the open door to his room.

“Is that for me?”

“All yours!”

“Wow,” Bryan whispered. He was too shocked and excited to think of anything smart-alecky to say. After two long months of being confined to a bed, Bryan had finally done well enough to earn himself a ride.

Bryan stared at the chair, his eyes glowing with excitement. “I can’t believe I finally get to be out of this bed!” he exclaimed.

“You earned it,” Christine responded. “I’ve never seen someone work so hard.”

Bryan spent most of the day convincing nurses to push him around the hospital so he could see something other than his TV screen, and actually explore.

The following morning after breakfast, Christine entered Bryan’s room with another man and woman he didn’t recognize. They both looked stern and foreboding.

“What, am I in trouble?” Bryan whispered.

Christine looked at them and then back at Bryan. “Why, you scared?” she smiled. “No, this is Dr. Estrada, and this is Mary Knight. She’s a resident who will be assisting him. Dr. Estrada is the head of rehab. They’re here to evaluate you for physical therapy and rehabilitation.”

Bryan perked up at those words. His stomach jumped and his heartbeat quickened. Finally! The day he had been waiting for was here. He wished he could sit up to hear what the physical therapists were saying. Since that wasn’t an option, he strained his ears and tried to catch a word or two. It sounded like the doctor was explaining to Mary how to help him sit up. Nothing too exciting or mysterious.

“All right, Bryan, are you ready to begin?”

“Boy, am I!”

The doctor tried to smile, but on his severe face it looked more like a grimace.

Christine parked the chair up against Bryan’s bed and pulled his sheets down. “Oh, good,” she said. “It looks like the nurse already put the belly band on for you this morning.” She stepped back and watched as the other two performed their evaluation.

Mary moved to the opposite side of the bed. Together, she and Dr. Estrada lifted him into a sitting position, just like Christine had done the previous day. She strapped him back into the giant turtle shell brace and transferred Bryan into his new wheelchair.

“How does that feel?” Dr. Estrada asked.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” Bryan said with a smirk.

“Bryan here is a bit of a smart aleck, if you couldn’t tell,” Christine piped in.

“Yes, I gathered that,” Dr. Estrada responded. “Poor choice of words on my part.”

Doesn’t this guy crack a smile for anything? Bryan wondered. “I knew what you meant,” Bryan said. “Everything seems to be normal. I don’t feel too dizzy or anything.”

“Good. Okay then, first can you show me what you are able to do already?”

Bryan raised his arms above the bed and then lowered them again. He had gotten much smoother at performing that skill, almost completely jerk free. He had also been practicing a lot since there wasn’t much else he could do while lying in bed. He watched TV and he raised and lowered his arms. That was about it.

“If you put a spoon in my hand, I can usually get it to my face, too.”

Dr. Estrada picked up a spoon from his breakfast tray and placed the handle in Bryan’s curled fingers. Very slowly and very carefully, Bryan raised the tip of the spoon until it touched his lips. The spoon tilted slightly as it raised higher and higher. If there had been any food on the spoon, it most likely would have fallen off.

“Can you feed yourself soup?” the doctor asked.

Bryan chuckled. “Not even close. I’m pretty good with pudding or peanut butter though, you know, things like that.” Bryan let the spoon drop back onto his lap as he lowered his left arm again.

“Are you left handed?”

“No,” Bryan said, “That’s just my stronger arm. I don’t have enough control over the right one to get a spoon that high.”

“It looks like you have adequate movement. We just need to concentrate on building strength. Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Bryan said. “If I could get to the point of transferring myself from the bed to my own chair, that would be awesome.”

“Well, that would be our ultimate goal. Hopefully we can get you there. The first step is muscle strength. If your hand shakes from the weight of a spoon, imagine how much harder it would be to lift your entire body off the bed.”

Bryan nodded. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

“Practice, practice, and more practice,” the doctor said while he continued to jot notes on his clipboard.

Bryan was starting to feel like a circus monkey as the doctor asked him to complete one task after another. Dr. Estrada took thorough notes after each one. Once he and Mary were satisfied, they bid him farewell and Bryan was finally able to rest once again.

“Does this mean I’m moving soon?” Bryan asked once they were both out of earshot.

“The rehabilitation physical therapists always come up and evaluate patients who are getting ready to transfer downstairs. That way they know where you need to start in physical therapy. So, yeah, with them being up here, I’d guess you’re getting moved in the next day or two.”