by Dale Mayer
“Looks like you made it after all,” Dr. Monroe said, looking at him. “I wondered if I’d need to open the door for you.”
“Apparently not,” he said. “It was close though.”
“Close is good because you still made it,” he said, “and that’s what counts. So, come on in and take a seat up at the desk. Just move that chair over, if it’s in the way.”
“Okay, I’m working on that,” he said, and he wondered why the doctor wasn’t helping him. Then he realized it was probably more testing. If there was ever anything this place appeared to really enjoy, it was testing their patience. He was a little tired of it, but, at the same time, he didn’t want to show impatience because he figured everything he did would be suspect and questioned.
“There. Are you comfy now?”
“Good enough,” Lance said.
“Okay, so now let’s talk about you.”
“Or we could not,” he joked. “It’d be fine with me to just let that slide today.”
“Any particular reason you feel that way?”
Lance smiled, shook his head, and said, “I was joking, and I know perfectly well what this is all about.”
“All about you. It certainly is,” he said, “and lots of it.”
At that, Lance winced and said, “You guys have such a bad name. It makes it all seem intimidating.”
“I don’t think it’s deserved,” the doctor protested. “Honestly, I’m a nice guy.”
“Sure, but, if your job is to figure out what makes us tick and how to make us tick better, nobody really wants to get their head examined.”
The doctor stared at him in fascination. “I like that analogy,” he said, and then he picked up a pen and wrote a note down on the notepad in front of him.
Almost instinctively, Lance could feel his back tensing up. “What did you write down?”
The doctor looked up, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Your clock analogy.”
Lance relaxed a little bit. “Oh, I guess that’s not so bad.”
“What is it that’s so threatening about somebody writing notes for your file?”
“In a scenario like this,” he said, “it’s all about what you’re writing about me.”
At that, the doctor put down his pen, clasped his hands together, set them on his desk, and said, “Okay, so I won’t write anything today. The last thing I want is to make you feel insecure.”
“Too late,” Lance said. “I’m on the opposite side of the desk. You’re a doctor, and I’m not, so I already feel insecure.”
At that, the doctor got up, walked over, shifted things around somewhat so he could face Lance without the desk between them, and sat down. “Well, we removed the desk. What next?”
Lance stared at him in surprise. “Why would you do that?”
“Because it’s not about doctor and patient or notes and files,” he said. “This is just about the two of us. I need to know what I can do to help your sessions here be the most effective they can be.”
Lance didn’t have the slightest idea of what to say to that. Things had already changed from being a formal doctor visit to just two men sitting in chairs. He knew it was different, yet somehow it didn’t feel that different.
“I’m not sure how to do that myself,” he said slowly. “I’ve heard a lot of good things, but I guess I’m already afraid that I’ll be the exception to the rule.”
“Ah,” the doctor said. “And that’s always the worst, isn’t it? I remember trying out for the basketball team in high school. Everybody else was good, and I’d always been told that I was good,” he said. “Yet, when I saw everybody, throwing these shots up there and dribbling like crazy,” he said, “it was just like everything went flying out of my hands, and I couldn’t do anything. I tripped on the floor, if you can believe that. I couldn’t shoot or even pass. I was a complete failure and figured I would be the only one who didn’t make the team.”
“Did you make the team?”
“I did,” he said, “but not in the first tryout. As it was, later I was playing with a bunch of guys, just tossing hoops and having fun. Apparently the coach saw me, called me over, and asked me what had happened at the tryout.”
“So what did you tell him?” Lance asked.
“I told him that I figured I would be the one who didn’t make it. Sixteen of us were there that day, and he was only looking for fifteen. My own insecurity told me that I would be the one who didn’t make it. So it was almost like a foregone conclusion, and I sabotaged my own tryout.”
“That’s an interesting way to look at it too,” Lance said, listening to the words and feeling the shock in his heart. “Do you think I’ve already sabotaged myself being here?”
“I don’t know,” the doctor said with a smile. “Did you?”
“God, I hope not,” he said. “I’ve barely even begun. I know that I’m afraid that I won’t do well here, but I hope I haven’t already started to make that a reality.”
“What were your first few days like?” the doctor asked.
“Basically, a case of trying to hide away for a few days. I found the whole trip and adjustment a little shocking.”
“And now?”
“I think I’ve adjusted,” he said. “I’ve been through several days of testing, and I’m showing up for my meals and my appointments on my own,” he said slowly. “Though we haven’t really done anything yet.”
“That not really having done anything yet, it’s more of a judgment on your part,” he said, “because I’m sure your team is gathering the information they need to put a program together for you. Which means that they’re doing what they need to do.”
“But it seems like I’m not doing anything yet,” Lance said. “So your analogy just makes me feel like I’ve sabotaged myself and not done my part.”
“Well, why don’t we put that analogy off to the side for later, and you think about it as you go through the next few days to see if you’re actually sabotaging yourself or if you’re just waiting for things to get started and taking the time you needed to adjust being here.”
“That sounds like a cop-out.”
“Look. Maybe for the moment a cop-out is okay too,” the doctor said gently. “We can’t always be on, and we can’t always be perfect all the time. So relax and take it one day at a time.”
Chapter 4
For the next several days Jessica watched over Lance subconsciously, until she realized what she was doing. Then she accepted that she was doing it and continued. When she stopped in three mornings later, he was sitting up in bed, still in his pajamas, looking bleary-eyed. “Bad night?”
He gave her a ghost of a smile. “You could say that.”
“If you need help sleeping at night,” she said, “we do have sleeping pills and other sleep aids you could try.”
He nodded slowly. “Maybe I’ll take you up on it,” he said, “but sleeping pills always leave me groggy and ugly in the morning.”
“We could try some different brands,” she suggested.
He gave a slight shrug. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll take that to mean, I don’t want to take your drugs, so go away and leave me alone,” she said with a laugh. “How did I do?”
After a momentary struggle, a smile emerged on his face, and she chose to take that as a success. Lance was definitely a hard person to read, and every time he shared something that was a bit more personal, communicating a little more freely this time than the last time, she felt like she’d been given the world. Somehow she was seriously hung up on this guy and didn’t really even know how it had happened. “Are you coming for breakfast this morning?”
“I’ll make my way to a shower,” he said, “and then I’ll probably come down. I’m feeling a little on the chilled side.”
She looked at him in surprise, then quickly took his temperature and ran through the rest of her checks. “Everything is normal,” she announced, quickly entering the info on her tablet.
“I think I was just sleeping without my covers overnight,” he said, “and woke up feeling a little off.”
As soon as she was done, she stepped back and said, “Okay, go have your shower,” she said, “then get a hot breakfast.”
He nodded and slowly got up, then, with the crutches, made his way to the dresser. Every step looked painful and slow.
She winced and asked, “Can I help?”
He looked at her in surprise, as if he hadn’t realized she was still in the room. “Just getting clean clothes,” he said.
She walked to the doorway and said, “Remember. If you do need anything,” she said, “a button is on the side of your bed there.”
He just nodded, and she knew that it would take an earthquake or another disaster for him to actually push that little button. With a heavy sigh she walked out and kept on with her rounds. By the time she was done, she was also hungry. She headed down to the kitchen and had Dennis make her a nice bacon and mushroom omelet, which she carried out to the deck. There she sat with her orange juice and omelet, relaxing and eating slowly. She heard voices behind her.
When somebody called out to Lance, she stiffened, then took a surreptitious look around to see where he was. He was sitting, hugging a cup of coffee off to the side, not part of the conversation, but there. His body language said that he wasn’t included. He was backing away from everyone, leaning against the wall, as if he were too tired to stand up. She worried about that.
Because this was the first morning he’d been like that. She wondered if Shane had started to put Lance through his paces yet. That would certainly explain Lance being so tuckered out right now. And, if not, maybe it was just that bad night he’d had. When she got up and cleared away her dishes, he was gone. Saddened, yet going back to her office to add a few notes to his file, she wasn’t surprised later when one of the doctors stopped in.
“Any idea what Lance’s condition today was all about?”
“He said he didn’t sleep well,” she said, “but he just looked off.”
“In pain?”
“Every step he took,” she confirmed.
He nodded. “He’s refusing painkillers.”
“More or less declined the idea of sleeping pills too,” she said. “At least when I suggested the idea this morning. And he didn’t look very impressed.”
“A lot of guys don’t like to take their meds,” he said.
“But are they mandatory meds?”
“No,” he said, “but there’s always that concern that, if they aren’t sleeping, they aren’t healing.”
“I was thinking that too,” she said. “I’ll see what he’s like tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah. Good enough,” he said. “But, if there’s no change, this can’t keep going on.”
“Well, maybe he’s up for yoga or some meditation,” she joked.
“And, if that doesn’t work,” he said, “a lot of the guys do well with the hot tub.”
“I don’t think he’s been cleared yet,” she said.
“Doesn’t mean we can’t get him cleared.”
She kept an eye on Lance for the rest of the day, just checking in on his schedule and then walking past when she knew he would be back in his room. Once when she came, she got no answer when she tapped on the door. The second time the door was open, but he was sound asleep on his bed. Then it was dinnertime, and she was already off shift. She went back to her room, quickly changed, and headed back up for dinner. She was going into town this evening with some friends, a group from the center who would catch a movie.
After she was done with dinner, they met out front and went together in the same vehicle. She thoroughly enjoyed herself. One of the nicest things about working at Hathaway was making friends with the patients, but it was also nice to leave them and to not feel guilty about getting away. As health care professionals, they all experienced the same thing because it was doubly a problem when you lived and worked in the same space. They tried not to talk shop when they were out, but sometimes it was inevitable too. By the time she got home, she quickly had a shower and fell into bed with a smile on her face.
She hoped that, over the next couple days, Lance would have an easier time of it. But chances were, he would be stubborn and would not get along with the prescription drug program as it was. It’s not that she was a huge proponent of drugs; she was a nurse after all, so she’d seen the benefits, but she also seen that some people didn’t do so well with them. Still, it was always about trying to find out what worked for the individual patient, and that was something she needed to find for him.
When she got up the next morning, while doing her rounds, she headed to his room, but his door was shut. She knocked gently, but there was no answer. She went past, finished her rounds, and came back. The door was still closed, and again there was no answer. Frowning, she made a notation, then went in and had her breakfast. When she came back out, she walked past his door again. This time when she knocked, there was a muffled voice. She opened the door ever-so-slightly and poked her head in.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” she said, studying him as he lay curled up on his side. He had a sheet up over his shoulders, but the blankets were on the ground. “Do you sleep so roughly all the time?” she asked, walking in and picking up the blanket.
“Only sometimes,” he said, but his voice was groggy and his eyes only half awake.
“Breakfast is over, and you still have maybe half an hour before you start your schedule today,” she said with concern. “I’m not sure who your first appointment is with.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll make it for food though.”
“Tell me what you want,” she said, “and I’ll go get you something before it’s too late.”
He looked briefly interested in that and then sagged back and said, “I don’t know. Whatever you think is fine.”
She frowned at him and said, “You need to wake up and to get up,” she said.
“I will,” he said, “otherwise Shane will come in here and chase me out.”
She laughed. “So, get yourself awake, and I’ll go get you some food and some coffee.” Not giving him a chance to argue, she headed to the kitchen. When she explained to Dennis what she was after, he gave her a plate of potatoes, with scrambled eggs and sausages. She placed everything on the tray, added some juice and coffee, then slowly made her way back to his room. He was at least awake when she got back.
He looked at her and the food with surprise. “I thought I had dreamed you talking to me,” he said.
“Well, if I would be in your dreams,” she said, “I’d like to think it’s doing something better than delivering food.” He flushed at that, but she just smiled, teasing him. “We were talking about you not having enough time before your appointment with Shane.”
“I won’t have time to eat all this either,” he said, but he picked up a whole sausage on his fork and started munching. She turned and walked away. As she left, he called out, “Thanks.”
She lifted a hand in recognition and laughed. But she was happy that at least he was eating. Now, if only she could understand what was going on with his sleeping problem.
Lance watched as Jessica left, quite surprised that she had gone over and above for his comfort yet again. But then what he’d found was that she was one of those special few who seemed to really care about her patients. He was lucky that way. When he only had five minutes to go, he still had half a plate of food left. He pushed back his tray, got up, and got dressed awkwardly. Then he sat back down on the bed, had a few more bites of sausage and eggs. With a sigh, he realized he was good to go, plopped himself in the wheelchair, and slowly moved out. He heard another voice in the back of his head, saying, Keep an eye on yourself over the next few days. See if you’re self-sabotaging.
He was sure he was doing this one thing: keeping an eye on himself. Yet he didn’t know how to determine if he was self-sabotaging or not. Or was it he was afraid to hope? To hope for the one thing he wa
nted back in his life—music. Something he hadn’t shared with anyone yet. Preoccupied, he went into the gym, where he was meeting Shane.
Shane looked up, saw the look on his face, and asked, “Heavy thoughts?”
“How do you tell if you’re sabotaging yourself?” he asked quietly.
Shane lowered the tablet in his hand and turned to look at him. “Now that’s an interesting question,” he said. “Are you concerned?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe? Have you seen anything yet to say that I am?”
Shane grinned. “Nope, not yet,” he said. “But I will be the first to tell you if I do.”
“Good,” he said. “I know Dr. Monroe asked me about it. Or rather, I brought it up, and then he told me to keep an eye on it for myself.”
“In what way could you have been sabotaging yourself?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not sleeping for one thing.”
At that, Shane frowned. “That’s not good,” he said. “Your body needs rest, and I need you to be awake and to be alert to do the work that we have to do.”
“I just don’t sleep,” he said. “I’m tired. I go to bed, and then it’s like my mind is wide awake.”
“And I suppose you don’t want to take sleeping pills.”
“They don’t agree with me,” he said. “They knock me out, and then I wake up feeling heavy and lethargic the next day.”
“Melatonin? Or other herbal supplements?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I was thinking about getting up and having a hot shower, wondering if that might help me get to sleep.”
“That would be an interesting one,” he said, “because, if it works, I’ll have to make sure you have somebody with you. But there is a hot tub.”
“For the evening?”
“Again, you must have an orderly with you,” Shane said, “but it’s not an impossibility. It’s just not where we usually start.”
“Right, so you’ll ask me to do meditation and yoga and listen to tapes and things like that, right?”
