Into Each Life

by Shelia E. Bell

  Again, he heard, “eh, eh.” Then he saw a spotted puppy crouched in a corner of the burning room. He reached out toward the puppy but the terrified pup ran out of his reach and out of sight.

  His heart said he needed to save ‘em. But the heat was telling him he had to go. I hate to leave you little fellow, but I have to get out of here, Prodigal said to himself. Flames licked hungrily at the tail of Prodigal’s coat. It wouldn’t be much longer before he would be the one trapped. Groping in the darkness, Prodigal tried to go back to the window where he’d let the girl down to safety. But he couldn’t find it. The darkness outside had gelled with the darkness inside the smoke filled building.

  Trying to drop to the floor so he could see, Prodigal made a sudden move. His breathing apparatus got caught on something and hurled him to the floor, causing him to lose air. He removed his air mask to keep from choking to death. Huddling as low to the ground as he could so he could breathe, Prodigal landed on the hot, melting floor. Flames eagerly raced toward him. The blaze intensified, hurling huge plans of metal. Prodigal screamed in pain as one of the flaming hot pieces of metal bored deep into his leg, rendering him unable to move.

  Glen saw that the girl had made it to safety but there was no sign of Prodigal. He alerted the other firefighters. Two of them, including Glen went back inside to rescue Prodigal.

  “Is somebody calling me?” Prodigal couldn’t tell any more. His thoughts jumbled in a sea of confusion as his eyes closed.

  With a vengeance, Glen fought back racing flames, falling chunks of wood and steel beams until he made it to where an unconscious Prodigal lay in a twisted fetal position. He was near one of the exits.

  “Prodigal, take my hand,” Glen yelled when he saw Prodigal. Prodigal didn’t respond. The firefighter prayed that he wasn’t dead. Calling his name again, he began to shake Prodigal savagely. As he was about to give up, Prodigal slowly opened his eyes. “Prodigal. Come on, man. We’ve gotta get outta here.”

  “No, leave me. Save yourself.” Prodigal screamed in between the stabbing pain shooting through his body. “Get those kids out of here. This place is going to blow any second,” Prodigal demanded.

  “Are you crazy? I'm not leaving you, and the kids are safe, remember? You got them out of here. Now come on. You have to help me, man.”

  “I can’t. I’m going to be with Faith. This is my chance.”

  He shook Prodigal harder. “What about Kevin and Kaleb? Faith wouldn’t want this, man. You can’t run out on them like this. Now get up,” he yelled in anger.

  Like an electric jolt suddenly hitting him, Prodigal tried to move. “God, I want to live,” he pleaded, and tried to move his badly injured body. Just as he shifted his legs to hoist himself up, indescribable pain traveled unmercifully up the length of his right leg. It felt like something was trying to squeeze the life out of it. He didn’t know what was happening. Screaming in agony, again he tried to pull his body to freedom. Several other firefighters raced to save Prodigal.

  They screamed, “Prodigal!” The fire raged totally out of control. Colossal splinters of wood fell, scathing the firefighters’ bodies at will.

  “My leg is stuck. Ohhh,” Prodigal wailed like a wounded animal.

  “Hold on, we’re getting you out of here,” Glen yelled. They pried and pulled at the debris that held on to the lower half of Prodigal’s body like vice grips. Moving with expert precision, they managed to free his mangled body before gigantic balls of fire hurled down around them.

  They dragged him out of the apartment complex just before the flames exploded wildly. Within minutes the three-story complex was reduced to a pile of smoking rubble.

  Distressed, they wheeled Prodigal into the waiting ambulance. What was supposed to be his arms and legs were now encased in a thick gooey reddish-purple substance. At first he didn’t remember what had transpired. Then his mind began to slowly come back into focus. The deep purple concoction was his own blood. A mist of smoke rose from his scorched clothes and his lungs felt like they were about to burst. As he gasped for air, he was met with a fresh burst of air from the oxygen mask placed over his parched lips and nose. His eyes closed in unconsciousness and he dreamed of Faith.

  ♦

  Prodigal woke up to his head pounding and his legs aching. He forced his heavy eyelids open to the blur of a pristine white room. Am I dead?

  A burly auburn-haired nurse walked into his room. “Mr. Runsome, you finally decided to wake up from your beauty sleep, huh?” she asked.

  Before she could place the thermometer in his mouth, Prodigal asked, “Where, where am I?” He mumbled with more than a hint of curiosity. Fear saturated his mind and spirit. Something was wrong; terribly wrong. “Where are my sons? What am I doing here?” He panicked. ‘What’s going on?”

  “Hold on, Mr. Runsome, one question at a time,” the nurse said. You’re in the Critical Care Unit of Mercy Trauma Center. You were injured while rescuing two very lucky children from an apartment fire several days ago. You’ve been hovering in and out of consciousness since then. As for your sons, they’re doing just fine. They’re with your neighbors.

  “Mr. Runsome. It’s good to see that you’re awake,” the short, stubby faced doctor said as he entered the room

  “How bad am I hurt, doctor?” Prodigal tried pulling himself up to a sitting position, but the pain in his legs was so excruciating that he was forced to lay back. “Ahh!” he screamed while at the same time looking down at the lower half of his body. The echo of his deafening shrill was heard throughout the hospital corridor.

  “Mr. Runsome, please. Let me explain what has happened.”

  “Explain what’s happened. Hell, you don’t have to explain what’s happened. I can very well see what’s happened. You’ve butchered me; that’s what’s happened. Why did you do this? Why didn’t you just let me die?” Prodigal was hysterical and became more uncontrollable as each second passed.

  “Please, try to settle down and I’ll explain,” the doctor urged. “You had life threatening complications from the accident. First, you gave us quite a scare with all of the smoke you inhaled. After finally getting you stable, we went to work to try and save your leg.”

  “No, oh, God nooo!”

  The doctor looked up at the nurse still standing on the other side of Prodigal’s bed. “Nurse, get a sedative in her, STAT,” he ordered before continuing. “Mr. Runsome, we did everything we could. But the fact of the matter is, unfortunately your right leg was almost torn in half when it went through the floor of the building. By the time you made it to the Trauma Center, infection was already spreading into your blood stream. The nerves in your leg had begun to die out. There wasn’t enough blood circulating to keep your leg alive. I’m sorry, but there was no possible way for us to improve your blood supply or fight the infection. The only alternative was amputation.”

  Prodigal felt a tiny prick in his arm as he retreated into his own private dream world; a world void of pain. He drifted, drifted, drifted. Into each life - some pain is going to fall.

  Six weeks after the fire, Prodigal was being fitted with his first artificial limb so that he could be sent home.

  Home was one place Prodigal longed to return to. Day after day, lying in the hospital bed, he sunk deeper and deeper into a state of depression. His mother flew to Bonsai Bay as soon as she received the terrible news from the Bonsai Bay Fire Department. Ruth, having been a nurse herself, visited him at the hospital every day. She understood the reason he had to have the amputation. This time the duty of telling her grandsons about their father, fell on her. She explained to them how he was deemed a hero for saving the lives of two children. “In the process,” she told them, “your father was badly injured. Doctors did everything to make your father better. And they did. But there’s one thing they had to do so that he would get better.”

  Kaleb spoke up, “What did they do to Daddy, Grandma Ruth?”

  “Well, your daddy hurt his right leg really, really bad. So bad that t
he doctor had to remove the part of his leg that was making him sick.”

  “Remove it how?” Kevin asked.

  Ruth was quiet. Looking at her grandsons, she saw features of both Prodigal and Faith. “They had to remove your father’s leg below the knee,” she began talking again. “He’ll have to wear an artificial leg from now on to help him walk. But the good thing about it is your daddy will be coming home real soon. He’s going to be just fine. I’ll even take you to the hospital to see him in a few days. Would you like that?” she asked them.

  “Yea, I would,” Kevin spoke out first.

  “Me too,” followed Kaleb.

  Knowing their father was going to be coming home soon was enough for Kevin and Kaleb not to be bothered by what Ruth had told them concerning their father’s leg. Daddy was coming home. That’s all that mattered.

  The physiotherapist insisted that he start walking with help.

  “Mr. Runsome, this isn’t your permanent prosthesis. After you heal a little more, you’ll be fitted with a permanent below knee prosthesis. The prosthetic leg will be barely noticeable with your clothes on,” the therapist explained.

  Prodigal didn’t have much to say. Depression had set in. He didn’t care to hear about a temporary this or a permanent that. He wanted his leg back. My life is over, he thought. What good will I be to anyone now? How are my sons going to deal with this? How am I going to deal with this?

  The therapist continued rambling, but Prodigal didn’t hear a word that was being said.

  At night he kept reaching for his leg. What’s wrong with me? Crazy or something. How can I reach for something and feel a leg that isn't there. I must be loony. How could he tell Doctor Walker about the itching and funny sensation he was having in the very area where his leg was amputated?

  As if on cue, he carefully reached his right hand over toward the left side of the hospital bed, until his long, cold fingers hugged the railing. He managed to turn his body until he faced the table next to the bed. Immediately his eyes met up with the brochure peeking out from under the water pitcher. He reached slowly toward the stand, barely able to grab hold of it.

  Phantom Sensation Is Real the front of the brochure read. Prodigal opened it and began reading. “Fifty percent to a high of ninety percent of amputees experience what has come to be known as phantom sensation. For most patients this ‘sensation’ is nothing more than a minor distraction such as an itching, warm and tingly sensation, much like that found in an intact limb,” the article read. “For others there can be pain that requires treatment. The pain can range from cramping to burning and a shooting or stabbing pain. This is then known as phantom pain. Phantom pain can occur anytime and can be experienced periodically by the amputee for the rest of his/her life. Stress, fatigue, temperature and humidity can contribute to this pain as well.” The pamphlet listed several things an amputee could do to help relieve phantom pain without medication. Prodigal read the entire brochure before breaking down in sobs.

  Chapter 35

  Missing You

  Teary went outside to empty the litter boxes. She inhaled the fresh smell of spring flowers in the air. I can’t believe I haven’t heard from that old knucklehead, she thought to herself. That joker hasn’t answered my e-mails either. She stooped down and rubbed her weimaraner, Rocco, on the head. She spoke in a baby voice to her dog. “Hey, Mommy’s sweet baby,” she said as Rocco rolled over on his belly for a tummy massage. “And I guess he must be screening his daggone calls too, huh Rocco. Sorry we can’t take your call right now, but leave a message after the tone, and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible,” she mimicked.

  Teary wondered who the “we” was that Prodigal was talking about. Could it be that he had remarried? Maybe he had someone living with him. Surely he would have told her something as important as that.

  “Since I can’t reach him, I guess I’ll call Fantasia and find out what’s up”, she told Rocco. She picked up the clean litter boxes and the two of them headed into the house. Diamond and Sassy met her at the door and purred around her feet. “Okay, okay. I know what you girls want. I’ve got something for you. Be patient and I’ll get it as soon as I fill your litter boxes.” She carried the litter boxes to the small space near the utility room. Sitting the litter boxes down, she filled them with fresh litter before returning to the kitchen and her purring cats. Teary went to the panty, pulled kitty treats from the bottom cabinet, scattered almost half of the can on the floor before she proceeded to her bedroom.

  She looked in her telephone directory until she ran across the number to Trinity Three. “Hello, may I speak with Miss Runsome?” she asked after dialing the number.

  “Which one – Fantasia or Ruth?” the voice on the other end of the line asked in return.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Fantasia please.”

  “May I tell her who’s calling?” the polite voice over the phone asked.

  “Yes, tell her it’s Teary Fullalove.”

  “Hold on please while I put your call through, Miss Fullalove.” A few seconds later, Fantasia answered.

  “Hi, Teary, what’s going on girl?”

  “Hi, Fantasia, nothing much. Just the same old, same old. What about with you? How’s the art business going?”

  “Business is booming hard and heavy. I'm not complaining one bit,” she laughed.

  “How is Miss Ruth?” asked Teary.

  “She’s doing fine too. She’s still seeing William Phillips. He treats her like a queen. And what about you? Met anyone? Gotten married or anything?” asked Fantasia.

  “Naw, I’m still playing the singles game. Finally I can say that I believe I’m beginning to enjoy my singleness.”

  “I’ve been like that all along really. I don’t think I can adjust to having a man in my life full time, you know. I mean, I date every now and then. I’ve even had a couple of short-term relationships. But nothing that lasted past the six-month mark which is definitely okay with me,” Fantasia remarked.

  “I heard that.” countered Teary.

  “Well, enough of the small talk. I know you must be calling about my brother. Maybe you can help him out because none of us can get through to him.”

  “What do you mean by get through to him?”

  “You know how he is, Teary. You know better than any of us.”

  “Yeah, I know he can be a butt hole at times, but he doesn’t have to shut me out. I haven’t heard from him in months. His email is full, and when I call him, all I get is his corny answering machine. Can you believe that?”

  “Yea, I can. Every since they amputated his leg, he’s shut himself off from just about everybody. Shucks, we can barely get him to answer our calls. He’s become mean, irritable and withdrawn. But, really, I can’t say I blame him. He had to deal with Faith’s death, and almost a year to the day of her death, he loses his leg; can’t work; can’t run and play with the boys like he used to. Hell, can you blame him?”

  Teary didn’t respond and Fantasia kept right on talking.

  “My brother’s in a bad way. He’s in a deep state of depression and rightfully so. Girl, my goodness, talking about tragedy. Prodigal has had more than his share. And folks wonder why I refuse to believe in some so called higher power. Not me, honey. This chick is definitely too smart for that,” Fantasia boasted.

  At this point, Teary could care less about Fantasia’s beliefs. Not after what she’d just heard. “Fantasia,” Teary said, finally able to get a word in.

  “Huh.”

  “Did you say Prodigal’s leg was amputated? I don’t believe what I just heard,” she screamed.

  “I thought you knew. I thought that’s why you were calling. To check up on him. To see if we had talked to him.”

  “I was calling to check up on him because he hadn’t answered any of my emails or phone calls. I thought he had gotten himself married again or something. Oh, my God. I can’t believe this.” Teary could barely control her tears.

  “Well, unfortunately it’s true.”<
br />
  “How did it happen?”

  “He was trapped in a really bad fire.”

  “What?”

  “It was caused by a space heater. Prodigal always hated those things. The good thing that came out of the whole ordeal is that he saved the lives of two children. But that’s my brother for you.” Fantasia kept chattering nervously. “I’ve gone to see him a couple of times. So has Mother. When it first happened she flew out there. She stayed for a few weeks, helping with the boys until Prodigal was able to come home. But he’s just not himself anymore. It’s like he’s lost his will to live.”

  Too shocked to interrupt, Teary continued to listen.

  “Kevin and Kaleb spend most of their time with the Richards or some of the other church members. You remember the Richards, don’t you? They’re the elderly couple who live across the street from Prodigal.”

  “Yeah, sure, I remember them,” Teary stammered.

  “Not long after he was discharged from the hospital, I flew to Bonsai Bay on my way to an art convention in Nevada. I was only able to stay with him over night. But while I was there, all he did was sit in front of the television, flipping the remote. Kevin and Kaleb barely said a word either. They looked like they had lost both parents. Poor babies. When Momma was getting ready to come back home, she offered to bring the boys with her to stay here for a while. You know, until Prodigal was able to care for them like before. Of course, Prodigal wouldn’t entertain that suggestion, not for one second. So she had no choice but to leave them in Bonsai Bay. Prodigal is just so stubborn. He even refuses to wear the prosthesis they made for him. If he would go to therapy, he could learn how to use it and do a lot of the things he used to do. He’ll never be a firefighter again, but shucks, he received a nice sum of money from his insurance since he was on the job when he lost his leg though. I know that doesn’t take the place of him losing his leg. That’s not what I’m trying to insinuate at all, but he can make the most of a terrible situation if he would allow himself to.”