Accidental Hero Ch. 09-12

It was some time before anyone came to see me. A man I assumed to be my doctor appeared and, without bothering to introduce himself, began checking me out. There was the light-in-the-eye thing and getting me to follow his finger thing and a couple of simple questions like my name and birth date and address. I assumed I passed the test.

"So, what happened to me?" I asked the mystery doctor.

"You don't remember?" He seemed only mildly surprised.

"Would I ask you if I did?" It was a smart-aleck remark, but since he didn't believe in the niceties of doctor-patient relationships, I thought it was justified.

"Do you remember being at a restaurant yesterday evening?"

"No. Which restaurant?"

"I don't know. I understand that you were at a restaurant with your parents and friends and a gust of wind caught a wooden sign and it hit you. You have a cut that took fifteen stitches to close on your right temple, a mild concussion, and a damaged anterior cruciate ligament in your knee. That's the short version, but it will do for now. What is your most recent memory?"

"I don't know? I mean, I know my name and where I work and the usual things, but I don't know what the last thing I was doing before I woke up here."

"Well, we'll get to the bottom of this, but don't be too upset at what you can and can't remember. This isn't an unusual circumstance in head trauma cases. You'll likely begin to remember things soon enough. In the meantime, we're keeping you here under observation until we think it's safe for you to go home."

"What about my leg?"

"It will be some time healing and you'll need crutches for a start. You won't be able to put any weight on it. Once the healing begins, we'll set you up with a physiotherapist to bring you back to full use of the leg."

"Have my parents and my boss been notified?"

"Yes. Your parents were with you at the time of the accident, so I'm sure all the responsible parties are aware of you situation."

"When can I have visitors? I want them to know that I'm going to be okay."

"Well, you've just regained consciousness, so assuming there is no relapse, I'd say tomorrow."

"Okay ... thanks. Can I get something for this headache?"

"I'll have the nurse give you something," he said nonchalantly.

I was tired and yet I'd been unconscious almost a day. I assumed it must be the effects of the concussion.

The nurse returned a couple of minutes later with a couple of pills and more water.

"So, what's the name of my doctor?" I asked her. "He didn't see the need to introduce himself."

She stifled a laugh and gave me a smile. "It's Doctor Fitzhugh ... lah-de-dah," she said. "We call him Doctor Personality."

"Fits," I said, about to chuckle at my unintended pun when I felt the pain in my temple increase. "Is this where I got hit?" I asked, lightly touching my right temple.

"Yes. These pills will help, but they will likely make you drowsy. They'll also help you with your leg pain. You can't have any more until ten this evening."

"Okay ... and thanks. Drowsy is where I'm already at," I said, smiling at her.

"I'll be back before I go off shift. You get a real cutie pie as your night nurse. Have fun," she chuckled as she left the room.

I must have fallen asleep not long after I took the pills because when I awoke it was dark and the lights in the room had been turned off except for one near my bed. The hospital was quiet, although I could hear the odd person moving in the corridor along with some coughing now and then. My headache was much less, but still there. The big clock on the wall said it was almost ten o'clock, so I assumed I would be seeing the night nurse soon. In fact, it was almost ten-thirty before she appeared.

The "real cutie pie" was at least fifty and looked like she might be more at home in a studded leather motorcycle jacket. I pressed the button to raise the bed up and she passed me the water and two more pills.

"Any problems?" she asked in a disinterested voice.

"No ... none that I don't already have."

That was enough conversation for her and she nodded and left the room without another word. A two word conversation. Amazing. She must have taken her bedside manner training from Doctor Fitzwilly ... or whatever his name was. My day nurse was looking better all the time.

I was sure I was going to get bored to death with nothing to do but lie about and wait for staff or visitors. However, I was drowsy and it seemed easiest to close my eyes and will myself into a relaxed state. That was how my parents found me later the next afternoon.

"Ian ... how are you?" my mother said, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Getting better, Mom. Mostly just a headache. I don't remember anything about what happened, though."

"A gust of wind took a sign and propelled it at your mother," Dad said. "You tried to grab it, but it sailed and hit you in the head and then took out your legs. You saved your mother from a very bad situation."

"Oh ... so that's how I got hurt. I'm glad you're okay, Mom. I've got a hard head, so less damage," I smiled.

"Please don't joke about this, Ian. It was a horrible accident. You have a big cut on your head and the doctor said you've damaged your knee. You might have been killed."

"It would have been worse for you, Mom. I'm just glad you're okay."

She leaned down and kissed me. "Thank you, Ian. You are a good son. The best," she sniffled.

~*~

The next three days were boring in the extreme. I couldn't concentrate to read, and couldn't move very well. They got me out of bed to hobble to the bathroom on crutches twice a day. I had visitors, of course. Mom and Dad were regulars in the afternoon, while Bud Fosdick and others from the office came in the evening. I got a lot of comment about how my crazy acts of heroism had finally caught up with me. When I thought about it, they were probably right.

It was Wednesday morning when they finally let me go home. I was given strict instructions on do's and don'ts regarding my injuries. When in bed, I continued to have my knee propped up a few inches to keep it flexed and not locked straight. Dad rigged up a plastic sleeve to use to cover my leg in the shower while Mom loaned me a little used shower cap of hers. Just as well, since I was getting a little gamey by then. Sponge baths just weren't enough.

Dad had picked up some aluminum crutches, a walker, and a raised toilet seat from the Red Cross to make life easier for me. Oh ... and I was living at home once more since there were no stairs in my parents' home. I called the office a couple of times a day to get updates on our status. Bud told me that I didn't need to worry about that, but I explained that it at least gave me something to do other watch daytime television. My memory had returned to normal, so I was able to remember how the accident came about. Some birthday present!

Chapter 12 The Rehabilitation Program

One week after my release, I was called back to the hospital for an examination to see how I was progressing. The stitches in my head were fine with no sign of infection. I was assured that my hair would grow back and cover the scar to the point where it wouldn't be noticeable. The leg was another matter.

"We want you to start physiotherapy tomorrow, Ian," the doctor said, finally showing a slightly human side. "Our facilities are quite modern and trained therapists are there to guide you through the restoration of your knee. I won't kid you and tell you that it will be easy. While the ligaments weren't badly torn, they were severely crushed by the blow from a heavy, blunt object ... the sign I assume. I expect you are in for at least four to six weeks of therapy. You'll need to arrange a schedule for yourself with your therapist. I assume you can return to work as I understand it is an office job. I leave that up to you to arrange. Surgically, we've done all we can for you. The rest is in the hands of you and your therapist."

I nodded. "Okay. If I can go back to work, I'll be happy. I'm getting used to the crutches and the walker. I can get around okay if I take my time."

"Good. Good luck," he said, almost with a smile.

I was about to leave when a young girl approached me. "Hi, I'm Cindy. I can lead you to the physio room and you can register. They'll assign you to a therapist. Okay?"

"Sure ... lead the way," I smiled. At least I was beginning to make some progress.

In the physiotherapy room, I signed the forms and gave them my details. I was to work with Pete Ogden for my therapy. Good, one more thing in place.

I called Bud Fosdick at the office and let him know that I would be in the office on Friday morning and we could figure out a schedule that would allow me to go to physio three times a week and still be on the job. Dad volunteered to drive me to work and home when it was an office-only day. Mom would pick me up at the hospital when my physio session was done. Bud was happy to have me back and my parents were happy to see me out of the house again. My emotional state had been very down for a few days, and the start of physio as well as returning to work had really reinvigorated me. I had something to look forward to.

I got a nice welcome when I hobbled into the office early Friday morning. Bud was there to greet me and several of the girls wished me well. A few of them had visited me when I was in the hospital and I thanked all of them with some flowers after I got sent home. I didn't have to get up to get a coffee. One of the ladies would ask if I wanted one and delivered it to my desk.

I found I wasn't far behind, so catching up was pretty straightforward. I couldn't leave the office to check on a particular job or site, so that had to be taken care of by others. However, it didn't present any problems and gave some of the other staff some experience. Dan Chung was the most likely person to be sent out since he was the most senior.

My physiotherapy sessions were scheduled as late as possible in the afternoon, 3pm. Bud arranged for volunteers to drive me to the hospital instead of my calling a cab. I protested, thinking that this wasn't very productive and besides, the insurance would pay for the cab, but he waved me off and one or another of the staff would get an early afternoon off driving the twenty minutes to the hospital. I was amazed at how tight our group was.

Our group secretary, Wendy Simmons, dropped me off at the entrance to the hospital and I thanked her for the service. I hobbled into the reception area, taking a quick detour to the physiotherapy section. I signed in just before 3 o'clock and went looking for Pete Ogden.

"Oh, Mr. Ogden isn't available, Mr. Dunlop," the young girl who had registered me last week informed me. "We've assigned you to another therapist. She'll be along shortly. Please have a seat."

"Well, not off to a great start," I thought.

"However, at least someone is here to help me."

I was looking out the window at the nice weather I was missing when I was approached by someone from behind. I couldn't easily turn around in my seat, so I waited for the person to come around in front of me. Instead, I felt two soft, warm hands on my shoulders.

"Hello, stranger," came a familiar voice.

"Shelly?" I immediately exclaimed, my heart rate now accelerating.

She came around in front of me with a big smile and then the unexpected; a kiss.

"Hi Ian. Sorry for the unprofessional greeting," she smiled shyly. "It's been a long time," she said with a sad smile before sitting beside me.

"Yeah ... it has. What are you doing here?" I asked, too surprised to figure out the obvious.

"I swapped patients with Pete. When I saw your name, I was pretty sure it was you. I looked at the program and knew I could handle it. Aside from your injuries, how are you, Ian?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "You've caught me completely by surprise." I looked around the waiting room and saw several people nearby. "This probably isn't the best place to have a conversation. But ... I would like to talk to you. Maybe after the session?"

She smiled again. "Sure. Come on. Let's get you started on the road to recovery."

I wasn't prepared for the stress and discomfort of my first session. To begin with, I was lying on a long table with a little electric machine that raised and lowered my knee very slowly. The idea was to see how much flex I could stand before it became too painful. I was warned not to push too far, but to keep Shelly informed of just how much pain I was experiencing. The answer was: quite a lot. I was still taking some pain killers, so that was taken into account as well.

Shelly was very professional as she went about her business. We took a break after fifteen minutes and she showed me an illustration of the muscles and ligaments of the knee, then showed me an x-ray of my knee after the accident.

"You can see the damage here and here," she said, pointing to some dark areas along side the knee joint. "You also have a cracked patella ... that's your kneecap. It will heal normally, but you don't want to be on your hands and knees for some time. You will find it unbearably painful.

"We'll take more x-rays in three weeks to see what progress we're making. In the meantime, I'm going to give you some exercises you can do at home. The big thing we're trying to accomplish in the beginning is to restore some flexibility to the knee so that it doesn't atrophy or stiffen up with disuse."

"Okay. I already have to sleep on my back with a little prop under my knee. The doctor warned me about letting my knee lock up for now."

"Yes. When you do your suggested exercises, always have something under the knee to give the joint a little elevation. Even three of four inches will help."

"Sure. So ... Shelly ... how long have you been here?"

"Two years next month," she smiled. "I'm really enjoying it, too. I feel for some of the older people who aren't in very good condition and can't do a lot of the exercises. Their chances of full recovery are always going to be less than someone fit and healthy like you. But I can help, so I do what I can for them."

"Good for you. I'm proud of you, Shelly. You've kept your dream and you're living it now. Your parents must be very proud of you."

She nodded. "Yes, they are," she said, turning back to her work.

We spent the hour going over the equipment and exercises I was expected to do. If my flexibility was up to it, I would begin to spend some time on the stationary bike by Friday. That was going to be the main instrument of torture, she told me.

"How are you getting home?" Shelly asked as our first session neared its end.

"Mom is picking me up. She's the designated driver for these sessions. Some of the staff have volunteered to bring me here from work each day."

"You're back to work then? That's good. Just don't overdo it," she warned.

"Don't worry. They won't let me. I'm even getting coffee and lunch service," I chuckled.

We were silent for a few moments before I spoke. "I'm really glad to see you again, Shelly. I wish we had parted under better circumstances, but it's good to be here with you."

"It's good to see you again too, Ian. I hope you make a full recovery. I'll do my best to help you."

"Yeah, I know you will," I smiled.

My mother arrived and stopped dead when she saw Shelly with me.

"Michelle? How are you?" she said beaming. "It's so good to see you again. Are you working here?" Mom asked, all the while approaching Shelly before hugging her enthusiastically.

"Yes ... I'm Ian's physiotherapist. We'll be working together to help him recover from his injuries."

"That's wonderful," Mom gushed. "It's so good to see you two back together again. Won't you come to dinner on Sunday? Rick will be so happy to see you again."

I could see the red face of embarrassment on Shelly and I was about to say something when she spoke.

"That would be very nice. I really enjoyed our Sundays. Thank you for inviting me."

I shook my head. Was I hearing her right? Did she just agree to come to my parents' house? Apparently she did. This afternoon was adding question after question in my mind.

"Wonderful," Mom said, hugging her once more. "I'll prepare something special for the occasion."

As my hour was finished, I said goodbye to Shelly, promising I'd be on time on Wednesday for our next session. The look on her face was something to behold. It was like this was all planned and I was the only one who wasn't in on it.

"Did you know Shelly was working here, Mom?" I asked as I levered myself into the back seat of her car.

"No, I didn't. But isn't that amazing, Ian. She's going to be your therapist and you'll be seeing her every week. You wait, you two will be back together before you know it."

"I wonder," I mumbled, more to myself than to mother.

~*~

Shelly was nothing but professional during our sessions that week. No stolen kisses or over-familiarity - strictly business. But I couldn't help but pick up on the undertones of our time together. There was something going on with her and I felt as though she was putting more into our one hour than just my rehabilitation. What that "something" was I hadn't yet figured out.

Sunday dinner was special. The roast of beef wasn't a big surprise, but the Yorkshire pudding and roasted vegetables were a great addition, not to mention the dessert: one of mom's great apple pies.

Dad and I had a chance to talk about the change in Shelly while we were left to our own devices in the living room.

"She's changed, Ian. I can't put my finger on just how, but she's definitely changed. I've always thought she was attractive, but there's more now. She's definitely more mature. What do you see?"

"Pretty much what you do, Dad. I can't get over how easily she greeted me and slipped back into her old self. When we parted, she was very uptight, and frustrated with me. But now ... I don't see that. I wonder what's different."

"There's only one way to find out. You'll be spending some time with her during your therapy sessions. She may loosen up and tell you. Otherwise, try and find some private time to talk to her. Ask her how she feels today compared to when you parted. I have a feeling the answer may surprise you."

I nodded. "I think that's a good idea."

~*~

The physiotherapy sessions continued three times weekly with my making slow but steady progress toward recovery. Shelly and I talked during the sessions. We weren't the only people in the room, of course, so that meant a personal conversation was not possible. But her behaviour had me feeling optimistic. It was a lot like when we first met and worked out together at the fitness center. She would talk about her family and some of our mutual acquaintances. She had never met Chug or Pigpen, and was fascinated when I talked about them. I thought I would be fun to have her meet Chug if the opportunity arose.

I had progressed on the stationary bike to being able to sustain a good rate of RPM for twenty minutes. It was the last thing I did during each hour of therapy. It didn't just help with my knee, but helped with my cardio fitness as well. By the end of most sessions I was dripping in sweat and ready for a shower. Mom was none too pleased with my condition and aroma when I limped out to her car. I still rode in the back seat, but more for her comfort than necessity.

The Sunday dinner invitation became a standing one and by the third time, Shelly and I had some private time to talk. Dad had conveniently forgotten something at the store, and while Mom was busy in the kitchen, Shell and I sat in the living room, side by side on the sofa.

"You've changed, Shelly. I don't know exactly what's different ... but you are changed from the last time I saw you."

"I'm older, Ian. I've finished school and I'm a licensed physiotherapist. I have a career and I'm on my own now."