Finding Hope: A Colorado Veterans Christmas

by Tiffani Lynn

  Once he’s completely situated in the bed again, I sit down in the vinyl reclining chair next to his bed and raise my feet. He watches me silently like he’s trying to figure me out.

  “Why did you come back?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. I just didn’t want you to be alone, I guess.”

  “You don’t have to stay.”

  “I know, but I want to. I’m not sure what you’ve been through, but I get the same look on my face from time to time and I want you to know you’re safe and can rest because I’ve got your back. No one will get near you without getting through me and I can be really tough when I want to be.”

  One of his eyebrows raises like he doesn’t quite believe me. “You’d be surprised at the demons I’ve fought in my lifetime. Now lie back and rest. I have a book by Simone Sayer loaded in my eBook app and I’m dying to finish it.”

  He nods and closes his eyes while I begin reading.

  At five in the morning a nurse’s aide comes in to get his vitals and I turn her around and send her back out the door. Cy appears to sleep soundly through the encounter. About 15 minutes later the dayshift RN comes into the room, ready to force the issue of vitals. As quietly as possible I explain what I’m doing in the room and why I won’t let him be woken up. At first it feels like she’s going to give me some problems about it, but she glances at him and back to me. “Fine, press the call button when he’s awake so we can get them then.”

  “No problem,” I tell her retreating backside as she leaves.

  Relaxing back down in the recliner, my body feels a little heavy with lack of sleep. Cyrus’s sleepy, grumbly voice says, “You’re a good watchdog.”

  “Told you. Now go back to sleep because pretty soon we won’t be able to keep people out of your room if they find out you’re awake.”

  “K,” he mumbles and dozes back off.

  About an hour and a half later he wakes up and needs to use the bathroom. After a bunch of grunts and groans while trying to get out of bed without assistance he turns to me.

  “I think I need help. I’m in worse shape than I thought I was.”

  “The second and third days are usually the worst; you just have to move slowly and be patient.”

  As I’m helping him up I get another whiff of him. “Cy, you have to shower today.”

  That one eyebrow he’s fond of raising shoots up again.

  “Normally I wouldn’t say anything, but you have the opportunity to do it here with help. I can even clean up your clothes. You can start fresh at building your aroma all over again.”

  He chuckles a little before pausing to groan. “Damn, I can’t decide if I should laugh or be offended.”

  “Normally, if I heard someone say that to a homeless person I’d be offended too, but you have the chance to take care of a few things. You might as well do it.”

  He grumbles and closes the door to the bathroom. I lean against the wall by the door and wait while he does his business. When he gets out I press the button for the nurse and wait. Wiggling and squirming around in bed, he complains, “These stupid hospital gowns suck. Whoever invented this stupid thing obviously never had to wear it.”

  “If you shower, they may let you put on regular clean clothes.”

  “Fine, I’ll shower and get on clean clothes but I hate to put you out more than I already have by doing laundry.”

  “I’m a nurse. Helping people is second nature for me. It’s not a big deal. After the nurse comes in I’ll go wash the clothes you are wearing or find you something clean to wear.”

  “Thank you.”

  Within a few minutes a young nurse comes through the door and begins poking and prodding him. It only takes a second to realize she left her bedside manner at home today and her rudeness sets me off.

  “Excuse me,” I make a big deal of looking at her name tag, “Abby. Could we talk in the hallway for a moment, please?”

  “I have things—”

  I cut her off. “I know you’re busy, but either we talk in the hallway or I call the charge nurse. Your choice.”

  Her eyes narrow on me. Don’t piss me off, girl, I tell her in my head as I stare back at her.

  “Fine,” she huffs and strides out the door.

  “I’ll be back in a second, Cy.”

  I don’t wait for his response. Once we’re out in the hallway I tell Abby, “I don’t know why it looks like you’re having the worst day ever, but you need to check that attitude at the door when you go in to see this particular patient.”

  “Why? He’s just some nasty homeless guy. It’s not like the hospital will even get paid for taking care of him.”

  My palm itches to slap her. What a brat.

  “He’s a United States Marine. You have no idea what he’s seen or even done, and you have no right to judge the way he lives.”

  “You don’t have to smell or touch him so you have no say,” she snaps back.

  Damn, this little girl is a bitch.

  “I’ve been a nurse for a lot longer than you, so I’ve touched, seen and smelled a lot of unpleasant things, definitely much worse than him. I’m telling you right now, if you can’t treat him with the respect he deserves as a human being, you better keep your snotty little butt out of his room.”

  “I don’t have a choice, he’s an assigned patient for the day.”

  “I’ll be sure to get that corrected. I hope you grow up and learn some empathy and bedside manners.”

  I turn and march back into the room still fuming. Why are people such jerks and why would a spoiled brat like that ever go into nursing? Maybe she’s looking for a doctor husband to take her out of this life. I hope they’re all too smart to fall for her bullshit.

  When the door closes behind me, Cy watches me with that damn lifted eyebrow. How can that one weird expression mean so many different things?

  “Abby won’t be back today.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve relieved her of her duties,” I tell him without making eye contact as I fuss with his blankets.

  “You know I’m awake, I can take care of myself now.”

  “I know, but I didn’t like how she was treating you. She makes all nurses look bad with that kind of attitude.”

  With his uninjured hand he grips my wrist to stop me from adjusting the covers right off the bed with my over-obsessive fussing.

  “No one will ever be as kind as you are. Besides, I’m used to it. People take one look, or one sniff, and say shitty things. It’s part of living a homeless lifestyle.”

  “I’ll never be okay with that.”

  His eyes soften and he releases my hand. “So you scared away Nurse Ratched, which means no shower.” He smiles smugly.

  I feel the pressure on my chest lighten a little and smile. “Not so fast. If I can’t get a nurse’s assistant in here to do it, I will do it myself. You’re not getting out of it.”

  4

  Cy

  It’s official, I’m a sick puppy. As soon as she said she would shower me if there wasn’t a nursing assistant to do it, the blood rushed between my legs for the first time in forever and I popped a hard-on. What is wrong with me? I was beaten with a baseball bat less than 24 hours ago, I hurt all over and I had surgery, for God’s sake. How can sex end up on my brain at a time like this?

  There’s only one answer. Rosie. She’s incredibly beautiful with all of that thick chocolate-colored hair—even pulled back in a ponytail—and dark soulful eyes. She’s the kind of woman whose heart is so beautiful that it shines through, making incredible outer beauty somehow...more. To know that she understands me like no one has in a long time, even without me telling her what’s going on, is a gift I never thought I’d receive. But I don’t need to allow my thoughts to go there with her or anyone. I’m a bum.

  I let my life spiral so far out of control that I live on the streets. Let’s be honest, what I do is not living, it’s surviving. I probably should have gotten help when I came home, but the VA only wanted to give
me drugs and send me to group therapy. I wasn’t willing to hide in chemicals, and group therapy doesn’t work for people who don’t want to be in rooms with closed doors and strangers. I tried once. I bolted so fast no one could catch me.

  I knew I was breaking Ariel’s heart, but I couldn’t stop myself. We were engaged and she wanted me to come back from war, get married, get a job, buy a house, go to church every Sunday and raise two point five kids like nothing ever happened. She never once tried to understand the hell I was facing. She couldn’t quite grasp what was going on with me and didn’t want to listen. Instead, she just wanted me to be the same person I was before I deployed the first time. I couldn’t be that guy. Too many fire fights, too many of my friends’ lives lost in front of me, too many enemies killed at my hands, and too many times being trapped in situations I thought I’d never get out of. That kind of stress and pressure changes a man.

  My family couldn’t understand it either, so I felt it best to take off. I broke things off with Ariel in-person, but I was too cowardly to see my mom’s face when I told her I was leaving. I left them a letter and said goodbye. Now, I call twice a year to check in––on my mom’s birthday and my dad’s birthday. I don’t call on any other holidays because it just seems cruel to ruin special days for them, but I feel like I need to check in at least those two times.

  Rosie’s watching me, waiting to see what I have to say. My eyebrow rises again and I respond. “See if you can find an aide.”

  She nods and leaves the room. Within a few minutes she returns. “The CNA will be in shortly to scrub you down.”

  I nod, trying not to think too hard about it, but the expression on my face must reflect my inner turmoil because she sits in the chair next to me and twists her body to face me. “Does the idea of a shower bother you that much?”

  Lying would be less embarrassing, but for some reason I can’t seem to do that with her. “It’s not the shower. Truth is, I know I need one. I’ve needed one for a while, but living on the street doesn’t give you many options for those, and if you look clean it brings unwanted attention. My problem is more about being in a small, closed room with someone I don’t know when I’m naked and completely vulnerable.”

  Rosie nods like she understands. “Well, how about if we leave the bathroom door open and I sit outside the door. If you start to get spooked you can send her out and I’ll come in and finish. If not, then I’m right outside to make sure you’re safe.”

  My shoulders sag in relief. I don’t have to say anything though; she gets it.

  Her voice is quiet. “That’s what we’ll do. No one will come in there other than the aide, and I’ll be right outside.”

  I nod a little and swallow, my mind heavy with emotion. Someone finally gets me and instead of making me feel nuts, she works with me. How do I ever thank her for this? I can’t right now. If I open my mouth to even attempt to share my feelings with her I’ll cry like a little girl. Not cool.

  She stands and crosses the room to the closet that is holding my personal belongings. She grabs the clear plastic bag that appears to have the clothes I came to the hospital wearing and roots around inside before she looks up at me, her nose wrinkled. “What size clothes do you wear?” she asks.

  “Why?”

  “Because you are not getting back into the clothes you wore in here.”

  “I don’t want you going to any trouble.”

  “I’m not. It’s no big deal. You’ve trusted me this far.” She tilts her head and shrugs her shoulders as if to say, “Don’t stop now.”

  “Large shirt, 32 waist, 32 length pants.”

  She grins at me. “See how easy that was?

  “Ugh.” I close my eyes and lay my head back, wishing the throbbing in my arm would go away.

  Rosie’s voice drags me out of my quiet place. I open my eyes to find her on the phone. “Hey, it’s me. Can you grab a few things for me and bring them up to the hospital?” There’s a pause and then she says, “Yes, that’s the one. Tell Dex I’m fine. His name is Cy.” After another pause on her end of the conversation, she says, “Yeah, I can text it to you. The sooner the better. They have him in one of those hospital gowns and he’s really uncomfortable. Yes, he’s going to be fine. Thanks, sis.”

  She hits end and types what I’m assuming are my sizes into a text and then places the phone in her lap.

  “Thanks. Tell your sister thanks too. I hate putting anyone out,” I remind her.

  “If you’re awake when Mari comes, you’ll figure out quickly that she loves to help people. Besides, she has twins and sometimes she just needs to get out of the house. Dex can watch the kids while she comes up here. He’s off for a couple of days.”

  I nod again, not knowing what to say. I’m not used to this kind of help from strangers.

  I must doze off because I’m a little startled when a rotund, noisy nurse’s aide comes through the door. Her name tag reads Dorothy.

  “Alright, Mr. McMullen. Time for your shower,” she announces with a big smile on her face.

  For some strange reason I glance over at Rosie, who is smiling at the woman.

  She turns to me and says, “Okay, up you go.” She moves her focus to Dorothy and informs her, “The door to the bathroom needs to stay open. Mr. McMullen has some PTSD issues to work through and that will help. If he can’t cope, I’ll come in and relieve you.”

  Dorothy squints and nods. “Okay. My granddaddy has some of those same issues, so I can handle that. You just tell me when you’re having a problem and we’ll work it out.”

  “Your granddaddy?” I ask, wondering out loud.

  “Yeah, Vietnam. I lived with my grandparents when I was little and he had flashbacks and everything else with me in the house. I do pretty well with it. It’s not a big deal to work around as long as you understand it, and I do. You’re safe with me. Now, let’s go see if we can get you smelling human again. I brought you a clean gown, but Ms. Rosie here told me you’ll be getting clean clothes later.”

  I nod, surprised at this whole scenario. This isn’t how I expected any of this to happen; I thought it would be a struggle. Rosie steps up next to the bed to help me up and we follow the CNA to the shower. Just inside the door she backs away. “We will leave the door open and I’ll be right here.” I pull in a deep breath through my nose and repeat to myself over and over, “This is fine. This is fine. This is fine.”

  It seems to take forever, between how filthy I am and the awkwardness of keeping my arm out of the water, but we finally get it done. As she’s helping me dry off, Dorothy asks, “You gonna let me shave that electrocuted squirrel off of your face?” This woman is too much. I actually laugh a little at her and the sound is so foreign to my ears that it shocks me and dies down quickly. She helps me get into the stupid gown and arranges me to sit on the toilet. “You want to shave or you want me to shave for you?”

  Letting someone close to my throat with a razor is not on my list of things to do today or in the near future, but I shave with my right hand and since that’s the injured side I can’t do it. I look down at my screwed-up arm and then into the mirror, deciding if I really want to do this.

  Dorothy takes a step backward to give me space. “What if your friend does it? You seem to trust her.”

  I’m conflicted. I don’t want anyone near me with that thing, but it would feel good to get a nice shave, and if I have to choose between the two, I would choose Rosie. Dorothy was good with me in the shower, never moving to a position where I couldn’t see her, even when she was washing my backside, but giving her a razor is a different thing.

  “I think I want Rosie to help me.” My heart pounds in my chest at that admission. What if she doesn’t want to do it? What if it’s the wrong choice to give her something that leaves me so vulnerable?

  “Yeah, I’ll do it. I’m good at shaving,” Rosie says as she peeks her head around the door.

  “Okay, just call me when you’re out and I’ll bring you a food tray. You have to be hu
ngry by now.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her with as much sincerity as I can.

  “You’re welcome,” Dorothy says as she slips out of sight.

  I hear the door open. Now Rosie stands in front of me, holding the razor at her side. “Ready?”

  I nod and she turns and grabs the shaving cream. Gently she lathers my face and her touch makes me ache a little bit. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched so sweetly. She shows me the razor before she begins.

  “I used to do this for Uriah,” she tells me after she makes a pass over my skin with the razor and I let out the breath I was holding.

  “Who is Uriah?” Sounds like a grandpa’s name.

  She’s quiet for a moment as she continues, and I get the feeling she’s trying to decide if she’s going to tell me who he is. Finally she answers, “The man who saved my life. He bought me from Jose Guiterriez-Lopez, the Mexican drug lord my stepdad sold me to.”

  I grip her wrist to stop her and her eyes meet mine. “Sold you?”

  “Sex trafficking. My mom and stepdad were hooked on drugs. They sold me when I was 14-years old to clear a big debt. Jose was my pimp for seven years. Uriah was the last of my Johns. He paid a lump sum to free me. I lived with him and took care of him for six years until he died of cancer. During the same time I was taking care of him, he paid for me to go back to school.”

  “You were owned like a slave?”

  “Yes and no. Jose was my pimp and he did own me. Once Uriah bought me, he offered to free me, but I had nowhere to go. I would have been on the streets so I went to live with him.”

  “Did you have to sleep with him?”

  “No, I didn’t have to, but I did a couple of times early on. He got sick not long after I started living with him. Uriah was a lot older and took good care of me. When he died, he left everything to me so I’d never have to rely on anyone again. Since I got my degree while I was living with him, I was able to get a job at the local hospital. It worked out good for me.”

  My stomach rolls over to think of what she’s been through. It’s no wonder she understands my issues. She was fighting a different kind of war, but it left similar marks on her soul. I release her hand and allow her to continue shaving me.