Finn

by Dale Mayer

  Thankfully it wasn’t Finn. Although she was pretty sad to see the way his body had reacted to the physical therapy, with Shane on it now, she knew that Finn’s assigned therapist, Nicole, would have her methods questioned, and Finn’s medical team would have further consultations to make sure that Finn wasn’t going through unnecessary pain. A certain amount of pain in order to push through limits and break through barriers was one thing, but pain afterward to the point of cramping up and down his legs and his back was something else. He should have been given medication to help relax the muscles too. Then again Finn was stubborn and might have refused. She heard a voice and looked out across the field to see somebody in a wheelchair waving up at her. She waved back at Finn.

  She hopped off her rock and walked slowly down the hill, the animals once again following her. As she got to the fence, she smiled at him. “What are you doing?”

  “Did you knock on my door?” he asked. “I thought I heard somebody, and I came and checked and kept on going until I was already up and outside. I saw you in the field here when I was grabbing a cup of coffee,” he said, “and it looked too nice to leave you alone.” He apologized, saying, “I’m sorry if you wanted the alone time though.”

  She smiled, shook her head and said, “Time with you is always welcome.”

  “I hope you mean that,” he said. “It’s hard enough being in a place like this, but, when you find somebody you truly connect with, that makes it very special. But it’s easy to overstep the bounds and misunderstand what that relationship truly is.”

  That stopped her for a moment. She tilted her head to the side and asked, “Do you need to analyze it?” She could see him hesitate, and she nodded. “You do.”

  She sat on the top of the fence, stared down at him and said, “The least you could have done was brought a second coffee,” she complained good-naturedly.

  “True,” he said. “I could have. Didn’t think of it. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” She waited a second and then said, “And I can tell that you’re avoiding the conversation.”

  He nodded. “So I guess that’s my answer.”

  “Nope,” she said, “it isn’t your answer. You surprised me, but I shouldn’t have been surprised because I could see something was between us, but again I have to be a little more careful, being a nurse. I mean, I’m your medical caregiver. One of many, true, but it’s something that we’re always much more aware of.”

  “Are relationships not allowed here?” he asked lightly.

  “Well, if that were the case, a lot of people would be in trouble,” she said, chuckling. “And Dani started it anyway. Aaron was one of the patients here.”

  “Right,” he said. “I guess in my mind I hadn’t put that two and two together, but, of course, if she says it’s okay …”

  “It’s frowned on in most centers just because it’s easy to misunderstand the boundaries of where patient medical care stops and gratitude, emotional dependency starts with a personal relationship.”

  “Got it,” he said.

  “However, on my side,” she said, “I’m quite happy to see you after work hours.”

  “Which is right now, correct?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “Besides, I have a present for you.”

  That stopped him for a moment. “I can’t remember the last time I had a present,” he said, in surprise.

  “Well, it’s from both me and Dani,” she said. “Come on. We can go to my place, and I’ll give it to you.”

  “If I can roll over to your place,” he said, “that would be fine. I’m still dealing with the aftereffects of all the cramping earlier.”

  “Did you take the muscle relaxants I left on your night table?”

  “I found them, yes, thanks. And the note.”

  “If you need more, tell me,” she said. “Plus, I’m sure some changes will be made to your PT schedule after this.”

  “Well, there’ll definitely be some changes on the exercises,” he said. “I’m not sure how much value any of this is doing to my back, as it seems like we help one body part and the next part screams.”

  “And I think that’s what Shane was talking about regarding your structural integrity,” she said. “Because, if your skeleton itself isn’t standing straight, everything else is working to compensate. In your case, because you’re missing so many back muscles and you’re missing part of a leg, all along your right side, then your body is forced to compensate a lot. Shane will likely add in some extra stuff for you.”

  “My schedule is pretty booked as it is,” he said with a bit of life in his voice. “It’s hard to find time for anything else in the day.”

  “This is your job right now,” she said, her voice serious. “Everything to do with you and your health is your job and your hobby.”

  “Got it. But afterward,” he said, “when therapy’s over, it’s nice to step away and to spend some time outside, forgetting that this is why I’m here.”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “And, if we get to do it with a friend, it’s even better.” She smiled and tousled his hair. When he laughed, she stepped away and said, “Come on, this way.” And she picked up the pace. She knew he was forced to wheel a little faster, but she wouldn’t totally compensate for his injuries. Once you started doing that, there was no end to it.

  At her place, she left the door open so he could wheel in, and she walked to the couch, picked up the art supplies and turned around. His gaze went to the sketchbooks, and his eyebrows shot up.

  “I know you don’t think you can draw anymore, but sometimes in the evening, sometimes in the morning, maybe when you just want something different to do,” she said, “I think it might be good for your soul if you try it again. Besides, we made a deal.” She held out the two sketchbooks.

  He took them slowly. “You know what? There’s something very special about having a clean page in front of you.” He opened the big pad, pulling the cover piece back and folding it under his hands, gently stroking across the slightly rough surface. “And this paper is perfect.”

  “Is there a difference in paper?” she asked curiously.

  “A lot of difference,” he said. “I’ll have to find some pencils.”

  Immediately she held out the case that she had in her hand.

  He looked at it, smiled and asked, “Dani is behind this, isn’t she?”

  “I was behind it, and then Dani went to town, brought everything, and I’m delivering. According to Dani, pencils aren’t created equal either,” she said.

  “No,” he said, “they definitely aren’t.” He opened the box and shook a few out into his hand. He smiled and said, “This is the best thing anybody could have gotten me. I don’t guarantee to create anything worth keeping, and I certainly am not promising any finished prints,” he said, “but it would be nice to see what my fingers can create. Just maybe doodle a little bit.”

  “And that’s all that’s asked of you,” she said. “They’re gifts. They don’t come with strings.”

  “And that’s the best kind of gift,” he said.

  “It’s the only kind of gift,” she said. “Everything else then becomes a barter. So, why don’t we take this back to your room, and then we can go get dinner together.”

  “Is that like a date?” he teased, waggling his eyebrows.

  She chuckled. “Absolutely,” she said, “as much of a date as we can have, considering we both live here.”

  “But it’s about making every day and every meeting special,” he said. “Dates don’t have to be anything more than a cup of coffee in a field. It’s just an appointed time to spend our moments together.”

  “I like that,” she said, thinking about it. “It’s a nice definition. And, in that case, yes,” she said. “This is definitely a date. We get to have a meal together where we can talk.”

  “Good,” he said, “but please, not about muscle cramps anymore. I’m so over those.”

  After stopping by his room, she headed int
o the cafeteria with him at her side, laughing cheerfully. “At least you have a sense of humor,” she said smiling.

  “I do have that,” he said. “And honestly, I’ve needed it.”

  Finn went to bed with a smile on his face and woke up in the middle of the night, almost screaming in agony. He tried to stifle his cries, but it was hard. Very quickly, muted lights were turned on as people came running in. He tried to tell them he was okay, but he could only gasp in pain. It was his back, not his legs this time, as his back muscles were coming alive and were working harder than they ever had before.

  Now they screamed with pain and cramped from an overwhelming amount of built-up acid. He lay here, desperately trying not to bawl as warm hands laid hot cloths on his back, trying to calm the agonizing muscle spasms. That eased the immediate pain. Hands coated in cream gently massaged the insertion point of each of the muscle bands, then smoothed down their lengths, trying to relax the knots.

  Finally, when he could, he gasped out, “Thank you.”

  “Do you want anything for the pain?” a woman asked.

  He twisted his head. “Fiona, is that you?”

  “Yes,” she said, “I’m doing a nightshift to help out a friend.”

  “Lucky you,” he said. And then he groaned as she worked on one muscle deep in his back.

  “Yes,” she said, “lucky me.” She gently worked his back muscles, her tone even and calm, as she helped reduce the stress on his system until finally, he could straighten again, and he rolled over onto his back.

  “This isn’t exactly how I would want my night to be with you,” he said.

  “Me either,” she said cheerfully. “We had dinner and a lovely evening, and now you’re having a rough night. Did you expect me not to come help?”

  “I just wish there wasn’t the need for it,” he said softly. In all honesty, the sheet was soaked underneath him too, but he wouldn’t mention that to her. Finally, she gently stretched out his calves, pulling them up tight against his chest and doing several exercises to try to relax the rest of his body that had tensed with the initial shocking pain. After he’d done those, he lay here, shaking, but it was mostly a slight tremor now. He whispered, “That’s much better, thank you.”

  “No problem,” she said. “Now I’ll get you to sit in your wheelchair, and I’ll quickly change your bedding.”

  “No,” he said, embarrassed. “Just leave it.”

  “Of course, I’m not leaving it,” she said. “Come on. Get up and into the chair with you.” He sat up and then realized that he hadn’t made any attempt to hide his colostomy bag. He stared down at it suddenly, but his silence had already alerted her. She looked at it and smiled and said, “Prissy, one of the nurses here, has purple and pink polka-dot bags.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “One of the staff has one of these?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Why wouldn’t they? Depending on the health issues, this is a hell of an answer.” She helped him gently sit in the chair.

  He said, “It’s located in an odd space. My belt fits underneath it, but I want it to be below that.”

  “Then your pants won’t fit,” she said. “I think they put it where it worked the best for your particular issues.”

  “I know,” he said. “It’s just …” And his voice petered out.

  “You’re worrying too much,” she said, “but I can get you a hot pink and purple one, if you’d rather.”

  At that, he burst out laughing. “That’ll dent my manhood even more,” he said.

  She stopped, walked around in front of him and said, “You’re not really afraid that that colostomy bag will affect how women view you, are you?” Her ominous tone made him realize she took offense on behalf of all womankind.

  “I don’t know how women will take it,” he said carefully, trying to explain. “I can only tell you how I’m taking it, and, to me, it’s an eyesore. It’s an embarrassment, and it’s something I would prefer not to show anybody.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing that your date tonight was with me, and I’ve already seen that,” she said blithely as she went over to the bed, seemingly now completely unconcerned with his words as she stripped off the bedsheets. She quickly removed the pillowcases as well and, within minutes, had his bed made up for him with crisp clean linens. She took the others out to the hallway and tossed them somewhere that he couldn’t see. When she returned, she asked, “Now can you sleep? Would you like something else, like a hot cup of tea?”

  “Actually,” he said, “that’s not a half-bad idea.” He got up and made his way awkwardly with his crutches to the bathroom, and, when he was done and came back out again, he felt better but now more awake. “Can’t wait to get a prosthetic on this stump again,” he said.

  “You had one before, didn’t you?” she asked, pulling back the sheets and the blankets so he could get into bed. As soon as he lay down, she pulled the covers up to his waist.

  “I did,” he said, “but I kept soring up, and then I got an infection from it. So they changed something on the skin flaps to give me a little bit more cushion and did something to one of the veins that was too close to the surface.”

  “So it was a relatively minor surgery, but hopefully one that, once it’s healed, will make a major difference,” she said.

  He looked up at her. “I like the way you think,” he said. “It was minor surgery, but, of course, no surgery is minor.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “If you’re okay now”—she switched on his bedside lamp, then walked over to turn off the overhead light—“I’ll put the teakettle on. Then I’ll do rounds and will bring you a hot cup of something. A Sleepytime chamomile or a hot lemon. What would you like?”

  “One of my favorites, honestly,” he said, “is a hot lemon. But only half the honey.”

  “You got it,” she said. “Have you got a book to read or something?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got my phone, and I’ll surf the web.”

  “Back in a few minutes then,” she said, and, just like that, she was gone.

  He lay in bed and thought about her reaction to his colostomy and then her comment about having seen it before. And, of course, she had. He hadn’t even thought anything of it because she was a nurse. She’d seen things like this all the time. But, as a girlfriend, or a potential one, it was different. Or he thought it would be. Did that make her one-in-a-million because it didn’t bother her? Or did that just make him an idiot for thinking it would bother everyone? Sure, a lot of women wouldn’t like it. A lot of women would be turned off by it, but, just because a lot of women were, didn’t mean that every woman would be.

  Chapter 8

  Fiona quickly finished her rounds, made him a cup of tea and stopped back in his room. She half expected him to be asleep again, but instead, he lay here, staring through his window at the dark night, his cell phone on his waist, his eyes open as if deep in thought.

  “Penny?”

  His lips twitched. He rolled over, smiled at her and said, “It’s worth a dollar at least.”

  “Watch it,” she teased. “I have a dollar in my wallet.”

  His smile widened. “You’re a really nice person, you know that?”

  “That’s usually a brush-off,” she said. She could see the surprise in his eyes. “It’s what you tell somebody when you don’t want to go out with them. You’re really nice, but …”

  “Except for one thing,” he said. “I never said but.”

  “That’s true,” she said with a smile. “Is that because I didn’t give you a chance?”

  “You’re a really nice person, and I like you a lot,” he said firmly.

  She laughed at that. “Well, in that case, I think you’re a very nice person. I like you too.”

  “See? Now we’ve already said that we like each other, and we’ve already had our first date, and we’ve already met at midnight to do all kinds of things to my body,” he said with a snicker, “so what’s next in our unique relati
onship?”

  She shook her head. “Not sure there’s any preset one-size-fits-all pathway when it comes to relationships.”

  “You’re sure you’re allowed to have them here?” he asked, no longer teasing.

  “Of course,” she said. “As long as there’s no hanky-panky,” she added with a twinkle in her eye, “because that’s definitely not allowed here.”

  “Of course not,” he said, “that would cause all kinds of chaos because everybody’ll want some for themselves.”

  At that, she laughed. “Well, we’re not exactly a brothel,” she said, “and we don’t accommodate families or partners. So it’s definitely not that type of a home.”

  “Understood,” he said, “but you can’t blame a guy for thinking.”

  “Not at all,” she said. She headed toward his sketchbooks and pencils. “If you can’t go to sleep right now, why don’t you do some sketching?”

  It was almost like a switch turned off in him. He nodded slowly and said, “I think I’m tired.”

  She took that as her permission to leave. “Do you want me to turn off your night-light?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said, his tone almost brusque. He slipped down into the bed and reached over and turned off the light.

  “See you in the morning,” she said.

  “Wait, what? You won’t be here in the morning too, will you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ll grab a few hours’ sleep in the meantime. I’m doing a double shift.”

  “I’ve been through enough of those myself. They’re not fun.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, “but, trying to help a friend, well, that makes a difference.”