I held tighter to his hand and tried to pull him to face me. “You’ve never hidden anything from me before, don’t start now.”
The sadness in his eyes made my whole body tense, intensifying the pain.
“It’s bad,” he finally said. “The doctor can explain it better.”
Frustrated that even my dad was hiding something, I reached down to the buttons on the side of the bed and pressed to call the nurse. It was time for the truth—no matter how bad it was. The rest had done me a world of good, but as I sat waiting for someone to come and update me, a number of memories returned, none of them pleasant.
A few moments later, a nurse walked in.
“Sgt. Maj. Dunham, it’s good to see you awake again.”
“How long have I been out?” My throat was still tender, but my voice came out much clearer than before.
She checked my vitals. “A little over a day and a half. With the trauma your body received, I’m surprised it wasn’t longer.”
“How bad is it?”
Her fingers wrapped around the pulse point at my wrist. “I think Capt. Palmer will be better at explaining everything.”
I closed my eyes, trying to hold onto my patience. I had a feeling she was simply following protocol, but protocol wasn’t very comforting when you’d been out of it for a while.
The nurse’s face gentled. “I can tell you’re frustrated, but with the multiple procedures you’ve had over the last month, I can guarantee that he’ll be able to answer your questions better than I can. And I’m pretty sure you’re going to have a lot of them.”
A brief conversation flitted through my head. “You said Sgt. Brant visited me before she was sent back to the States?”
“I did. I actually brought her down myself.” She smiled. “She was very worried about you—especially when she couldn’t see you when you were in the ICU.”
That was the first bit of good news since I’d opened my eyes.
“Sgt. Dunham?”
I looked up at the nurse watching me.
“I’m going to get Capt. Palmer for you. My name is Cpl. West—in case you need anything else.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She nodded and left the room.
Multiple procedures. The words filled me with dread. Thankfully, I didn’t have a lot of time for my mind to conjure all kinds of possibilities. Dad jumped right in with his questions. I was tempted to be a complete asshole and not answer him the way he ignored mine, but I was too old to act like a child.
“Is Sgt. Brant a member of your team? Mom said you asked about him yesterday, but neither of us have ever heard of him.”
For a brief moment I wanted to laugh at their assumption that Joey was a he. “Dad, he is a she and no, she’s not part of my unit. I met her before we deployed. She was the pilot of the helicopter.”
Before Dad could respond, the doctor walked in, followed by my mom.
“Sgt. Maj. Dunham. I’m glad to see you awake and alert. I’m Capt. Palmer. I know you have a lot of questions and your mother and I have been discussing your treatment. I’m going to do my best to explain everything. How about I start with what we’ve done so far?”
“As long as we get to the part of how long it’ll be before I can return to active duty, I don’t really care where we start.”
He pulled the chair up to my bed, my chart in hand. “We’ll get to that.”
“Okay.”
“When you arrived, you had a collapsed lung from the bullet wound to your chest. The medics in the field were able to contain the damage enough to get you breathing again. They got you back to the emergency facilities where they reinflated your lung with a chest tube, and stabilized your leg enough to travel because the damage was too extensive to repair in the facilities there.”
“Am I in Germany?”
At least the Army flew my parents here. I couldn’t imagine my mom finding out I was hurt and not being able to get to me.
“You are. As I was saying, the shrapnel not only damaged the muscles and nerves, as well as breaking your femur, you also had a bad infection.” He pulled an X-ray out of the file and placed it on the light board in the room, pointing to the black and white image of my leg. Mom and Dad stood next to each other, neither of them looking directly at me. “Here you can see the cracks, which grew large enough for us to need to cast your leg. Unfortunately, with the infection, that was not an option we could entertain.”
At least the multiple procedures comment was beginning to make sense. Luckily, whatever painkillers they were feeding through my IV were enough to keep the pain away without making me drowsy, so I was able to follow what the doctor was saying. “Then what did you do?”
“In the first round of surgery, we repaired the gunshot wound and set the chest tube. We also placed a few surgical screws to set the bones, and did our best to seal the wound with staples.”
So far, everything made sense. Why the nurse couldn’t have explained any of that to me, I didn’t know. None of his explanations were too difficult to understand. There was a prickling on the back of my neck. I knew that feeling. I was a soldier. I’d spent years training to trust that feeling.
I was missing something.
“Wait, you said my first round of surgeries. There was more than one?”
He gave me a heavy nod. “There were two more. In the few hours after your first surgery, we noticed that the infection was spreading. We went back in to remove some of the damaged tissue, but the infection continued to spread.”
I swallowed hard. For some reason, I knew it would only get worse. “And the last one?”
Even though I could hear Mom crying again, I couldn’t pull my attention away from the doctor.
“The second surgery removed all of the infection, but with all of the trauma, your leg began to swell rapidly. At that point we had two options: amputate right below your pelvis, or add drainage tubes to help alleviate the pressure. We are not in the habit of performing amputations unless absolutely necessary. You were responding well to antibiotics and your pressure was stable so we decided to go ahead and attempt the drainage tubes.”
I let out a deep breath. “So I’ll keep my leg?”
“I didn’t say that.”
My hands fisted in the sheets and my chest tightened as panic crawled its way through my body. “Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that’s a question I can’t answer yet. We’ve kept you an induced coma to allow your lung to finish healing and to keep your leg stationary for as long as possible. It seems to be working, but with this type of injury, only time will tell. If things continue down this path, I’m confident that you’ll be able to keep your leg and we’ll be able to transfer you easily to civilian life.”
“What the fuck do you mean civilian life?” Cpt. Palmer’s eyes went to the heart monitor as the beeping picked up speed. He proceeded, thankfully, choosing to ignore my tone.
“Colin, calm down,” my dad said in a low voice.
“Sgt. Dunham, your blood pressure needs to stay balanced for the drainage tubes to work properly. It’s why we threatened to put you under. If you don’t get yourself under control, you’ll leave me no choice. I won’t have you risking your one chance because you can’t keep calm.”
“How in the hell do you expect me to stay calm when you just told me that my life in the Army is over?”
“Colin, please,” Mom cried.
Two nurses came barreling into the room; one holding a syringe, most likely containing the medication to force sleep once again. She stepped up to the IV and waited for instructions.
His tone was soothing and calm when he continued. “The chance of you returning to the Army is not impossible . . . but it is slim. You have about a twenty percent chance of regaining complete mobility in your leg. And that’s with months of physical therapy.”
My breathing slowed. I didn’t care if the odds were low. I’d put in as much work as it took to return to my unit. “So I don’t have
to leave my unit?”
“That’s not a promise I can make.”
The pulsing on the monitor continued at above average speed. Capt. Palmer nodded to the nurse who pushed the needle into the line of the IV.
“No,” I said, frustration leaking into my tone. “I have more questions.”
I felt a cool wave crash over me. The room became blurry.
Mom’s hand caressed my face. “Sleep, my boy. We’ll be here when you wake.”
Her tear stained face moved in and out of focus.
“Get some rest, Sgt. Dunham. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
***
A voice sounded over the radio. “We’re en route and we have Sam Adams with us.”
“Did you—”
A hand covered my mouth, long enough for me to hear the vehicle pull up outside the wreck, probably there to salvage anything that still worked. I shook Joey’s hand from my face and looked into the blue depths of her eyes. Fear warred with determination. There was no way I would let her stay in harm’s way.
“Run out the back,” I ordered her in a whisper, not wanting to attract attention.
“I’m not leaving you,” she whispered back.
I clenched my teeth and forced myself to stand. I knew what she was thinking because Joey was stubborn, like me. The only way she was leaving the craft was if I went with her.
A helicopter sounded in the distance. Before I had a chance to do anything else, gunfire exploded all around me and I watched in horror as Joey dove in front of me, her body bucking once . . . twice . . . before sliding to the floor.
Where she stayed.
More gunfire sounded while I waited for a death sentence that didn’t come. The two men beside me hit the dirt, struck down by the guns from the helicopter. I dropped to the floor, crouching down next to Joey, my hands running over her fatigues to see how badly she was wounded. I reached for her shoulder and pulled her toward me. In the middle of her chest was a large gaping hole, and her eyes, filled with spark only moments before, now looked dull and lifeless. A sob tore through me.
“Joey. No!”
Chapter 14
Colin
My eyes snapped open at the sound of the door slamming into the wall. Sucking in a breath that burned my lungs, I tried to get my bearings.
“Sgt. Dunham, are you okay?”
A nurse was standing by my bed, a syringe in her hand—exactly like the day before.
“Please, don’t,” I begged, still trying to wake up. The drugs they’d given me weren’t helping.
“Sergeant, you need to relax,” she protested.
“I know. But that’s not helping.”
She looked at the needle tip, poised and ready at the IV tube, then back at me as my breathing calmed and the noises coming from the machine slowed.
“It was only a dream,” I explained. “But the drugs are making it hard for me to focus on calming down.”
Everyone’s attention turned to the heart rate monitor. When the nurse was satisfied I wasn’t going to get worked up again, she pulled the syringe away. All but one of them left the room.
“It’s only about four in the morning, would you like to go back to sleep?”
The dream was still fresh. I didn’t want to close my eyes and see it pick up where it left off. “No, I think I’ve slept enough for a while.”
The first thing I noticed was that the room was empty. “Where are my parents?”
“Capt. Palmer convinced them to go and get some rest. He knew it would be hours before you woke up again. And they’ve been here almost twenty-four seven for the last two weeks.”
“Good. They both need to rest.”
“So do you,” she admonished.
I shook my head, knowing that sleep was not an option. Thankfully the nurse didn’t push for more answers.
All the furniture had an odd light around it, no doubt from the drugs. I wanted them out of my system sooner rather than later. I was having a hard enough time grasping reality as it was.
The nurse helped me sit up in bed and then left the room, promising she’d be back to check on me later but to call if I needed anything. And I did need something.
What I needed was time.
Time to process all I’d learned the day before.
Glancing down at my leg, wrapped in bandages, I noticed for the first time two long tubes running from inside the bandages and down to the floor. The restrictions on my chest kept me from leaning over the bed.
My chest constricted as I thought about the possibility of losing my leg. Even scarier was the thought of keeping my leg, but being forced from the military. I never had other plans in life. When I joined the Army, that was it for me.
The thought of losing everything I’d ever worked for? Everything I’d ever dreamed about? My entire life seemed to disappear in a blink.
I sat and thought through all the possibilities, wallowing in my own self-pity. The sun rose slowly outside the windows, bathing the room in light, and yet my fists remained clenched as I fought back the desire to throw things across the room.
Fuck no.
That wasn’t the man I was, or was going to be. Capt. Palmer had said there was a good chance I could keep my leg if my progress continued. And even though the chance of returning to active duty was small, there was still a chance—one that I would grab with both hands and hold onto for dear life.
A little while later the door opened and my parents poked their heads around the corner; both happy to see that I was awake and not freaking out.
At least, not yet.
Almost right after that the doctor followed a woman carrying a tray of food. It didn’t look so bad, and my stomach rumbled in response. Not surprising since I hadn’t actually eaten anything since leaving for the mission over a month ago.
Capt. Palmer looked at the tray then back at me. “I was hoping we could talk about your options after I do a quick examination of your leg.”
Even though it wasn’t exactly comfortable with the bandages covering my torso, I crossed my arms over my chest. “As long as the discussion includes me returning to active duty, I’m good.”
“Colin, don’t be stubborn,” Dad said. He’d been less than impressed after hearing about my temper tantrum yesterday. But I was staring down the barrel of losing my leg and my career. That was a lot to deal with and I wasn’t going to sugarcoat anything.
I had a feeling he wasn’t going to be impressed today either.
“You know being a soldier is all I’ve ever wanted to do. If that’s not part of the conversation, then we need to figure out a game plan to make it part of the conversation.”
Capt. Palmer nodded and pushed the tray with the food in front of me. “Eat and we’ll talk.”
I picked up the fork and absently put the food into my mouth. All the while, I watched him. He stood straight, like any soldier would, his fingers absently tapping on the chart in his hands. Was he planning the words to use to convince me that he had the right plan? Because only one path would be the right one for me: the one that led me back to my troops.
He pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and lowered my leg to the bed. The tingles in my foot increased. “Please keep your leg as still as possible until I lift the splint again.”
“Okay.”
Mom stepped back and out of the way, clearly not interested in seeing the wound. I couldn’t help but watch when he pulled back the bandages covering my thigh and it was hard to hold back the wince as I took in the damage.
It looked as if the top of my leg had been inflated with air. The skin was stretched taut, pulling on the edges of the wound. The sight was grisly. Even more disturbing were the two tubes, inserted just above my knee. Each clear tube contained a pinkish liquid.
Capt. Palmer glanced up at me during his inspection. “The swelling has gone down.”
“It’s gone down?” My leg was fucking huge.
“This is about half of what it was.”
My mouth dropped open but h
e ignored my reaction. “It’s a good sign. The drainage tubes are working.”
“How long will it before we know if it’s successful?”
“Unfortunately there isn’t a time line. We just have to wait and see. The more reduction in swelling and a reduced amount of discharge in the tubes the better.”
He finished what he was doing and replaced the bandages. “One of the nurses will be in later to change those.” The sling was lifted again. He moved to the end of the bed and ran some type of tool up the base of my foot. The tingles increased.
“Does that hurt?”
I shook my head. “Not exactly. It feels a lot like my foot has fallen asleep. Only the prickling is sharper.”
He sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
My head snapped to his. “What does that mean exactly?”
I wanted to groan in frustration. The cryptic bullshit was starting to push my patience limits.
“It means that I’m concerned about nerve damage from not only your initial injury, but from the resulting infection and swelling too.”
“Nerve damage? You never said anything about nerve damage.”
My head began to throb under the weight of information. Nerve damage was bad and hard to recover from. Whatever I had put in my stomach threatened to reappear as I came to realize that the possibility of leaving the Army was becoming a reality.
“That’s because the only way to know for sure how much damage has been done is to examine you while you’re awake and able to respond. But this isn’t conclusive. It could be a product of the swelling. We won’t know the extent of the nerve damage until the swelling—”
“And you didn’t think to mention this before?” My voice rose with each word.
“We’ll figure it out,” my mom said soothingly.
I bit my lip and tasted blood, swilling it around my mouth along with every single curse word I could think of. Even as a doctor, the man was still my superior, and insubordination was not in my character. Besides, yelling would just piss my parents off even more.
“Sergeant, I know this is frustrating for you and I wish I could give you more information, but it’s your body fighting against itself.”
Just Once Page 11
