by Joe Cassilly
“I feel like I’m floating and I’m sweating some, which is weird.”
He held a different catheter. “What I have here is a straight catheter. It is different from the one that you have been using because there is no place to inject water into it to hold it in your bladder. How are your hands?”
“I manage,” I said.
“Do you want to try to get this into yourself and drain your bladder?” With the doctor’s instructions, I used some lubricant and got the tube into my bladder and drained it. The doctor looked at the amount of urine. “That’s good. Now what you can do is rinse the catheter out and wrap it in a clean towel. Whenever you feel that bloated feeling, or every three hours or so, use the catheter. Do you want to try that?
“You mean no leg bags or irrigating a catheter?” The doctor nodded. “I’ll try,” I answered. I would regain some control of my body and not need help from an attendant. Pushing back to the ward, I marveled at how something so disgusting could make me feel so happy. I stopped in the hospital store and bought an alarm clock. This was something I did not want to sleep through.
Catheterizing worked all right, but it meant that I had to set the alarm twice during the night. Get out of bed, push down through the dark ward to the bathroom, and put the catheter in. It worked. I was going to the bathroom by myself—most people would not regard that as a thrilling accomplishment.
An invitation for Cathy’s graduation arrived. It was on the 27th of May at 7:00 p.m. On Friday evening, I tried to call Suzie again. The phone in her apartment rang and rang. I did not like to call her at work because she could not take time to talk. Just this once, though, it would not hurt; I had to know when she would be home. The phone was answered on the fist ring. “Ward eleven, Walter Reed Army Medical Center, Specialist Hoskins speaking, sir.”
“Is Lieutenant Staunton there?”
“Lieutenant, it’s for you.”
I had to wait for a few moments. I could hear a woman speaking to someone in the background. The receiver was lifted. “Lieutenant Donovan speaking.”
I stuttered. “I’m sorry I asked for Lieutenant Staunton.”
“Jake!” She screamed into the phone, “Where are you? Are you all right? I called three times last week. Finally, some guy said you weren’t there—that you went home. What happened? Where are you now?” Her non-stop questions had me laughing.
“If you’ll stop for a breath, I’ll fill you in, but first, what’s with Lieutenant Donovan?”
“It’s my maiden name. Now, tell me,” she ordered impatiently,” what happened?”
“I went home for a week on a trial visit.”
“How’d you make out?”
“I’m not telling you until I see you again.”
“Come on, don’t tease me, tell me.”
“It would take too much time.”
“Okay. I have to work Wednesday night, so I’ll be there Thursday evening.”
“I’ll get you a room and you can stay over, all right?”
“Good idea. Goodnight, Jake.”
“Goodnight, Miss Donovan.”
The only thing I could concentrate on was getting ready to leave. I knew I needed more strength so I lifted weights with a purpose. I was standing up for better than an hour at a time. Sam showed me how I could get someone back home to make a frame to stand in. I thought about asking Hank to get the material and make it. That weekend, I took the car to a car wash and spent several hours waxing all the parts I could reach and wiping down the interior.
On Monday, the cluster of doctors and nurses came onto the ward for the weekly tour. I listened as they talked about the new guy that had been put into the bed where Joe White had been. Nothing ever changed. They walked to my bed and picked up my chart.
The first assistant page-turner pointed out something in the chart to the chief-nodder-and-grunter. He looked at me. “There’s a note from the urologist that you are performing intermittent catheterization. How is that working out?”
It occurred to me that if I told them that it was a disaster, they would have a hard time keeping the grins off their faces. “It’s working out fine.” The doctor made a note in the file and they prepared to move on, but I had a question. “What do you have to do to get out of the hospital?”
“You mean you want to go home for the weekend?”
“No, I just got back from a week home. I mean for good.”
The doctor shook his head as if to say, “I have never met such a hardheaded patient.” His chest heaved and he began to explain, “All of the doctors on the spinal cord section will get together with you and review your file and assess where you are in your recovery, and then give you an estimate of when you’ll be ready to leave.”
“Great. When can we all get together?”
“Maybe in a month or so.”
“Too late. I’ll be ready to leave on May twenty-seventh. Can’t we get an earlier date?”
“Well, there doesn’t appear to be any point wasting time getting together with you Mr. uh…” He snapped his fingers and my file was handed back to him. “Scott. You’ve already made up your mind. I do not believe that you will be ready to be discharged then and if you do, I will have your chart marked ‘Discharged A.M.A.’ Do you know what that means?”
“American Medical Association?”
“Against medical advice,” he said with mounting irritation.
“Doc, I don’t care if you have it stamped Paranoid Schizophrenic Lunatic. It ain’t like I can expect a miraculous cure if I stay here. But I’m gonna be on the road on May twenty-seventh.” The chief-grunter-and-nodder snapped the file shut and almost flung it at the nurse. After that, until I left for good, the group just walked past my bed on rounds.
I was getting bored and had to look for some new trouble to get into. Several times, I had seen a sign pointing to a swimming pool, but I hadn’t followed the arrow and no one had offered to make it available. One night, well after lights out, I got out of bed. I quietly rolled down the aisle and passed the row of electric wheelchairs that were recharging their batteries. They were plugged into every socket on the ward and into the hall. I pushed through the halls to the sign and through the doors. The huge indoor pool glimmered in the green glow of the exit signs. The sound of the door latching behind me echoed from the high ceilings. I rolled along looking and thinking how I was going to manage this.
There was a ramp going down into the water at the shallow end of the pool. I did not want to roll down in my own chair. I could imagine the effect on the bearings and axels of chlorinated water. There was a hospital chair parked to the side. I positioned it so that the back wheels were against the wall and I locked its brakes. I positioned my own chair and transferred. I took off the T-shirt I was wearing and threw it on my chair. I rolled to the top of the ramp. Was I going to be able to push back up once I was down there?
What the hell, the worst that could happen is that I would have to spend the night in the pool until the staff came in the morning. So they would probably kick me out, who cared. I let the chair drift down the ramp and I slid my hands on the railings on either side of the ramp. The water came up over my thighs. I moved the footrests out of the way and slipped into the water. When the water hit my shoulders, it was much colder than I expected.
Without warning, I had strong spasms in the muscles in my stomach and thighs, which caused me to double up. My face was pulled under water. I panicked. I thrashed out with my arms to pull my face up, but the spasming muscles were too strong. I sank to the bottom of the pool. I put my hands on my knees and tried to straighten my body, but the muscles fought me even harder. I pushed off the bottom as hard as I could but still could not get my head out of water. I was going to drown in four feet of water. My hand hit something. I moved my hand back in that direction. It was the wheelchair footrest. I threw my other hand upward and caught the seat and pulled my head out of the water. I sucked a quick breath and went under again. I rolled my body around, hooked my hands on the f
rame of the chair, and pulled up so my head came out of the water.
I was coughing, blowing water out of my nose, and shuddering with fear. I could feel my heart pounding. Finally, the spasming muscles relaxed. I let go of the chair and reached for the side of the pool. I grew accustomed to the water temperature. I took a deep breath and let go of the wall. I was floating face down. I looked down the length of my body suspended in the water. I grabbed the side and pushed off, floating on my back.
Cautiously, I put my arms back over my head and then, pulling as hard as I could, brought them to my side. My body slid through the water. I did it again and again. The thrill was tremendous. I was moving—no wheelchairs, no obstructions, no frustrations.
“Ow, shit,” I hollered as I swam head first into the wall in the deep end. I hung onto the wall, rubbing my head. I let go and was able to tread water. I looked down at my body hanging below the water. I rolled over and swam back, but I slowed down when I neared the chair. When I got to the chair, I rolled over, face in the water, and swam into the chair. With my shoulders lying in the seat of the chair, I put my arm over the back. I pulled and twisted so that I could get my hands on the arms of the chair and I pulled my butt in. I looked down at myself.
I had lost the blue pajama pants that I had been wearing. I looked around but the blue pants blended with the unlit blue pool. I pushed against the handrails and I began moving backwards up the ramp. I was already tired by the swim and this was a long, slow process. I only make a few inches with each push. Several times, I locked the brakes and rested my head on the rail. By the time I got to the top, I had no strength left in my arms. I rolled back against the wall and leaned forward and put my head between my knees.
I rested there for ten minutes and then pulled my own chair over. I dragged myself from one chair to the other. I spread my T-shirt over my crotch and started back to the ward. I could only push twenty to thirty feet before I had to stop and rest. I was grateful that I didn’t meet any staff in the hall. I finally reached the ward just as Miss Adams was crossing from one side to the other. We startled each other. She looked at me—wet hair, shivering, naked, and she burst out laughing.
“Scott, boy, you been skinny dipping in the pool?”
“Well it didn’t start out that way, but I swam out of my pants.”
She laughed again. “Come on.” She took the handles of my chair and pushed me back to my bed. I put my arm through the strap on the trapeze above the bed and she grabbed under my knees and we swung me into the bed. In the process, I lost my shirt. She walked to a cart and brought me fresh pajamas. I put the shirt on but I was too tired to do more and I fell asleep.
38
Lt. Donovan
I was sitting in the parking lot when Suzie drove in. I pushed out to the car and was sitting by her door before she got out. She looked at me. “You have changed in the last month.”
“How so?”
“For one thing, you have enough hair for a part. You’ve gotten rid of that hospital pallor. You have a tan on your arms and face and you’ve built up your muscles. I flexed my triceps and a pretty smile blossomed across her face that made me smile. She got out and gave me a peck on the cheek. “All these weeks apart and that’s all I get?” I took her hand between my palms and pulled her toward me. She turned and sat on my lap. I kissed her to make up for all the lost opportunities. I moved my lips off of hers and brushed them across her cheek and down her neck to the open collar of her shirt. My breath went down her neck and she squirmed closer. I moved my mouth to her ear and whispered, “Suzie, I missed you so much. I thought of you everyday. I love you.”
She put her hands on either side of my face and pulled me nose to nose. “I love you,” she paused, “but I’m going to be careful and go slowly.” I did not understand her, but I let it pass.
“Have you eaten dinner?” I asked. She pointed into her car at a bag of popcorn and a soda. “Come on,” I said, “I haven’t eaten. I’m going to buy you with a real dinner.”
“Is it far? I don’t really feel like driving any more.”
“You don’t have to drive at all. Follow me.” I started across the parking lot.
“Hey is that a new chair?”
“Yup.” By then, I reached the LeMans. I pulled the keys from my pocket and unlocked the door. I looked back.
She was standing by the front of the car with her mouth hanging open. “What’s this?”
“This, my dear, is called a car.”
“Yours?”
“How’d you think I got home for the week?”
“I thought maybe your mother had come down and picked you up. You mean you can drive?”
“No, actually I push it.”
“Oh, you smart-ass.”
I got in and pulled the chair in. She was still standing at the front of the car watching me. I leaned over and unlocked the passenger door and pointed to it. She came to my window. “Why don’t you follow me to the motel and I’ll change into something nicer and leave my car there?” I nodded. We drove to the motel and she pulled to the side. She took a bag from the car and went inside. In fifteen minutes, she was back wearing a black dress. For the first time, I noticed she was wearing her hair loose and it fell over her shoulders. The dress clung flatteringly to her body. When she sat in my car, I spent several moments staring at her legs.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking at your legs. This is the first time that I’ve seen you in a dress without white stockings.”
She put her hand gently under my chin and pushed my head around so that I was looking out of the windshield. “Drive.”
I pulled onto the highway and headed toward a restaurant I had found near the state capitol building. The table was near the window. As the sky outside grew dark, the waiter came and lit a candle. She watched the waiter until he left and began to speak when another waiter appeared with a pitcher to fill our water glasses. She started to arrange her silverware and adjust the spacing between her plates. She opened her mouth when they brought rolls and butter to the table. Finally, when it appeared we might have a moment to ourselves, she got out her question. “So tell me why you suddenly decided to go home.”
I could not tell her then about Levassuer and maybe that was not the reason I went home. I loved her and I wanted this to be a special evening. “I thought that it was time to see if I could get the hell out of there.”
“And how did it go?” She was becoming exasperated at having to pry every detail from me.
“It went okay. I could get around the house, I took a bath, and I practiced some new tricks. I did some cooking, some shopping, saw some old friends.”
“Old girlfriends?”
“One.”
“How did you get along?”
The waiter came back to take a drink order and she ordered two scotches and glared at him as if to say, “when we want you back here, we’ll call.”
“About the same way we’re getting along.”
She gave me an arched eyebrow look but didn’t pursue it. “What else?”
“I drove up and back. Last night, I almost drowned myself.” Now, the eyebrow came down into a scowl. “I went swimming in the hospital pool.”
“Jake, you’re doing terrific.”
“Does that mean that your mental health session is about over?”
She glared. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I was in danger of ruining the mood. I held up my hand. “Take it easy.” I put my hand across the table over hers. “You know what I mean. I thought that maybe once I was better and you were better, we could work on a normal relationship like normal people.”
The waiter came back and sat both scotches in front of her and she growled, “Thank you.” He backed away and disappeared.
I reached over and took one of the scotches and asked, “Can I have one of these?” I could see her clench her teeth, so I continued, “When I was home, I did not want to explain what happened in Vietnam, how I hurt, and
how I feel. But they can’t understand. They see what it did to my body but not to my soul. You do though. You are someone special—I don’t have to explain it to you. Don’t you feel that way about me?”
She looked out the window. I was afraid I had intruded too far, uninvited, into her secrets. The waiter had dared to approach the table. I ordered a steak. “Would you like a steak?” I asked her. She nodded so I told the waiter two of what I ordered. When he started asking about extras, I told him just what I had already ordered with an impatient voice. He slunk away.
“Suzie, I don’t think anyone knows how the war changed you as well as I do.” She still did not answer. She pulled her hand away from mine, picked up her napkin, and dabbed at her eyes. She did not speak. The waiter quickly brought the food; I think he was anxious to get rid of us. She was polite when I asked her how the food was. She watched me wrestle my steak around the plate for a while and offered to cut it for me. Rather than embarrass myself further, I accepted. I kept hoping she would say something. I was angry with myself. You idiot! You moved too fast. You ran your big mouth. You blew it.
On the drive back to the motel, she told me to pull into a liquor store. I watched her through the front window, thinking, “Great, she wants me to drop her off so she can go in and get drunk.” She came out with a bag. I drove to the motel and she pointed to the space beside her car. My heart sank. I felt for sure she was going to drive back. She pulled a bottle of chilled champagne from the bag and a package of plastic cups. “Open these, please,” she said, handing me the cups. She twisted the cork out of the champagne and filled two cups.
She raised her cup. “Here’s to getting well.”
“To getting well,” I replied and we tapped cups. I emptied the cup. She filled it again. I collected my courage. “Could we go into your room?”
“Would you like to sleep with me?” The champagne I was sipping came out my nose and she started slapping me on the back to keep me from choking to death.
