by K. D. Mattis
“Having a good morning, Commander Gibbs?”
The commander grunted and rolled over to the edge of the bed. He managed to move his legs a bit, but he couldn’t muster enough force to swing them over toward the ground. After positioning his body a few times for leverage, he gave up and looked to the nurse. She took the hint and grabbed his legs, manipulating them into the right position. She then moved the wheelchair beside the bed and placed her shoulder under the commander’s arm.
“Ready?” she asked.
Gibbs nodded and pushed off as best he could. He succeeded and hovered over the edge of the bed. His feet danced below him, trying to grab hold on the ground. As much as he tried, he couldn’t feel enough to tell when they were in a position to hold him, so he shifted his weight back onto the nurse to avoid falling. She struggled to breathe under the additional load, but she didn’t complain as she eased the commander into the wheelchair.
He nodded his thanks and rotated the wheels. With a few quick flicks of his wrists, his chair shot out the communal room and down the hall to the bathroom. He pushed his way in and came out a few minutes later with a look of contentment over his face.
“Better?” the nurse asked.
Once more, Gibbs smiled and nodded before wheeling himself to the cafeteria.
“I think you’ll agree that it’s pretty amazing,” Wilson said. His enthusiasm carried him down the hall so quickly that he left his companion behind. Only when he didn’t hear the burdened breathing beside him did he realize the mistake. He turned on his heel and returned to his companion without a word.
Gibbs couldn’t stop his hands from trembling. He stuck out the cane and pulled himself forward, using it to carry some of the burden of his weight. With every step, he grimaced, but he didn’t complain.
“Doctor,” Gibbs said, “I know it’s early. Probably too early to tell, but has there been any progress in determining why he’s improving so quickly?”
The doctor smiled and shook his head, watching the commander’s feet and attempting to match pace. “Not yet. There are theories, but the lab works slowly. With only one patient, we don’t have much to compare him to. Blood samples, stimuli tests. I’m sure it all looks pretty banal from the outside, but for me, it’s incredible.”
“Why?”
“Well, think about it, Commander. How often do we have to deal with a patient in recovery, like you, to whom we can only say it takes time? It’s frustrating for you, I’m sure, and there’s a real risk of demoralization with the kinds of timelines we see. If we can improve recovery time, we’d see improvements across the board, particularly in quality of life in the short term. Mental health matters.”
Dr. Wilson grabbed at his badge and stuck it out to a sensor on the wall, opening a door. He and the commander turned inside and continued down another corridor.
“We can’t go much further because of the quarantine, but I want you to see this. It’s incredible.”
The pair continued to a large pane of frosted glass. The doctor flipped a switch, and the glass became clear. They looked through to see Robert Harris on the other side. He pumped his arms and held his head high while running on a treadmill.
Several tubes ran from a machine to a mask covering Harris’s mouth and nose. His eyes stared straight forward to the wall. An attendant in the room took a few notes on a tablet before reaching over and increasing the speed. Harris took the change in stride and picked up the pace. After a few minutes, the attendant made more notes and slowed the treadmill to a stop.
They couldn’t hear what was being said in the room, but Gibbs and the doctor watched as Harris removed his mask and stared cautiously at the attendant.
“I’m surprised. He seems so eager,” Gibbs said.
“That he does. He’s been like that since he got here. No matter what we ask of him, no matter how impossible it may seem, he jumps in and does it. His therapist expressed concerns early on that he was pushing himself too hard. It took a while for them to see that this wasn’t just a case of a soldier refusing to accept his limitations. He really doesn’t seem to have any.”
“Doctor, maybe you can’t answer this, but—”
“About the patient?” Dr. Wilson asked. “This isn’t a civilian facility, Commander. From a legal standpoint, Harris isn’t even a patient. He’s an experiment.”
“I see,” Gibbs whispered. He turned to his friend behind the glass. “He spoke to himself. Well, not exactly to himself. It looked like he was talking to someone else. Like someone else was in his head and he could have a real conversation with that person. Is that still happening?”
The doctor shook his head. “Not that we’ve seen. If he’s experiencing hallucinations, he’s suppressing them or just ignoring them.”
For the first time in weeks, Gibbs woke up before his alarm clock or his bladder had any say in the matter. Even the artificial lights behind the fake window had yet to kick on. He lay there for a moment with his hands resting across his chest. A glimmer of light from beneath the door lit up the room just enough for him to make out his surroundings. He focused on the textures of the wall above him. As he stared, he imagined a series of pictures. In one corner, he saw a depressed man sitting awkwardly in a chair. Directly above him, he saw a mountain range with a river running through the center.
Gibbs sighed.
Forcing himself into a seated position, he ran his hands down his legs. He felt the touch, but he couldn’t feel the warmth of his hands. As he massaged his legs, the muscle fibers twitched, but he could barely feel the change in pressure as he squeezed. Finally, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and let them dangle.
The button beside the bed called to him, reminding him how easy it would be to hit the red button and make a request for a wheelchair. With a grimace, he pushed the idea out of his head and eased himself onto his feet. Once firmly planted, he ignored the shaking in his legs and gritted his teeth before pushing off.
For a moment, he didn’t know if his body would stop the forward motion. He swung his arms out to the side and moved them in a circle until he looked down, triumphant. With a few shaky steps, he walked out the door.
A nurse in the hall recognized the commander. Startled, she pushed her cart against the wall and ran to his side. The commander forced a smile and waved her away while using every ounce of his remaining focus to keep taking the next step.
“I’m here if you need me,” the nurse called out with joy in her voice, staying in place as she watched.
The commander pushed his hand back and stuck his thumb up to show his appreciation. A few more minutes of quiet struggle between himself and his doubts took him to his target: the bathroom.
From the author
Thank you for joining me on this journey. I hope to see you again in the next installment, coming soon.
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