Bring Me Home for Christmas
Page 8
She gave him a small, tolerant half smile. “You get the nurse. I need something for the pain and a little help with the bathroom.”
He looked so relieved, and he let out his breath slowly. “Okay. Be right back.”
“You might want to hurry,” she advised.
“Right,” he said, heading out the door.
Very interesting, Becca thought. He’s either sleeping in the chair out of guilt or a feeling of obligation or interest. She would undoubtedly find out which before too long. What she would do about it was one of the great mysteries of the universe.
The doctor offered to call Becca’s parents before the surgery, but she said it was unnecessary. She was twenty-five, with her own medical coverage. She blessed her luck! She could deal with her mother later. Her mother was going to have a very strong reaction to Becca spending the holiday with Denny rather than Doug. Maybe a little time on the beach in Cabo san Lucas would mellow her out. Or maybe she could tell her mother when they were all back in San Diego and the whole thing was resolved.
“You don’t want your fiancé to help you to the bathroom?” the night nurse asked her.
“No,” she said. “He’s not that kind of fiancé.”
“Oh?” the nurse asked.
“We’ve been separated for a while,” Becca said. “By…by the Marines. He did a tour in Afghanistan.”
“Oh, honey.”
“I’d just prefer to be at my best,” Becca said.
So Denny stood outside the hospital room while Becca had a pain pill, a bathroom break, a new ice pack applied and a midnight snack brought to her, because she’d been more interested in sleep than food following her surgical procedure. It was nearly 1:00 a.m. when Denny came back into the room. “Denny, you can go home. This isn’t necessary.”
“You never know,” he said. “You might just need me.”
I needed you so much, she thought. But you were so far away!
“They give you this little call button in case you need anyone,” she told him.
“I’m here, just the same,” he said. And then he retreated to his chair. It looked like a comfortable chair for sitting, but not for spending the night. And then she thought how he might have slept in Afghanistan, on the rocky desert floor, with no love at home to look forward to. Why he would choose that over her was so far beyond her understanding.
She watched him out of the slits of her sleepy eyes for a few moments before her pain pill took over, then she came awake to the sounds of morning.
About the time breakfast was delivered, Denny stretched and stood from his chair. “How’re you feeling?” he asked her.
He had that early-morning, scruffy growth of brown beard, sleepy eyes and the body of a Greek god. If I didn’t have a broken ankle, I could so jump your bones! Her next thought was, What is the matter with me? He dumped me and Doug wants me! And she couldn’t really say that Denny was that much more hot than Doug. Doug was hot in a totally sophisticated Cape Cod kind of way…. She looked at him and wondered, is the pain pill exaggerating his handsomeness? But she said, “I’m doing okay. I had a pain pill. I might be a little loopy.”
“That’s probably good.”
“Want a bite of my French toast?”
“Nah, that’s okay. Maybe I’ll walk down to the cafeteria and grab some coffee, if you think you’ll be okay.”
“I’m okay. Go.” And she almost said, But don’t shave.
Before her breakfast was done, the orthopedist was there. It was barely seven. He tossed off the ice pack. “You’re good to go. I’ll have the ortho tech fit you with crutches and show you how to use them. The nurse will brief you on instructions and problem signs and I’ll see you in ten days to get the stitches out. Call me if you have pain. Aside from some aching and throbbing now and then, your discomfort should be minimal. Most important things—no weight on it and keep it elevated as much as possible for a week to ten days.”
“Um, I don’t live here,” she said. “I live in San Diego. I rode up with my brother to do some hunting. Duck hunting.” She rolled her eyes. “Very dangerous sport. We’ll drive back next Sunday—in five days.”
The doctor got a kind of stunned look on his face. “Becca, do you have any friends here? Or family? Because you’re going to be just fine, but you shouldn’t travel. Not right away, anyway. And not that distance.”
“What?” she said, shocked. “What?”
“Just because your ankle is all put back together doesn’t mean the injury’s not serious,” the doctor said. “And San Diego isn’t exactly down the street—San Diego is a long, long drive. It would even be a very long flight! You’d risk dangerous swelling, maybe blood clots, other complications. You have to remain mostly immobile, leg elevated—you don’t want to swell under that splint. I don’t really advise dangling that leg for more than an hour at a time for the rest of the week. Oh, you can get around as necessary on crutches, but you can’t put any weight on this ankle and you can’t sit in a car or plane for hours.”
“But what if I traveled with the leg elevated?” she asked. “Like if I sat in the backseat of the cab with my leg on the console between the front bucket seats?”
“Hmm,” he said. “Well, if you could manage that, it would be better. But not for a week, and even then you shouldn’t travel more than three to four hours a day, and you should stop overnight. The best scenario is for you to stay close and see me in ten days to two weeks to take off the splint and remove the stitches before you head home. The ankle might bother you for a few days—you might need pain medication. I want you to really think about it.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t have anywhere to go. I have no family here….”
“And the young man who was here all night?”
“A…friend… I don’t know. I don’t think that would work out.”
“Think about your options over the next day or two.”
“Okay,” she said.
While she was measured for crutches, she thought hard. It might be best just to take her chances. Or maybe she could tell her mother the truth and have her come to get her. Her mother would want to come and get her—so she could carry on for days about how insane it was to come to Virgin River in search of a solution to the Denny/Doug dilemma.
Didn’t that make her feel nauseous….
By the time the tech wheeled her back to her hospital room, Denny had finally returned with a large paper cup filled with coffee.
“Hey,” he said, standing from his chair. “You’re looking pretty good!”
“Thanks,” she said somberly.
The tech put the brakes on the wheelchair. “Want me to send the nurse down to help you get into your clothes?” he asked, looking at her face and Denny’s.
“Please,” she said.
When he left the room, Denny sat again so he could be at her eye level. “You in pain, Becca?”
“Oh, just a little uncomfortable. Not as bad as you’d think it would be.”
“Are you so upset? It looks like you’ve been crying.”
“Denny, I’m afraid I’m stuck here for a week at least. The doctor said I shouldn’t travel, especially not a long trip. I have to elevate the leg, I can’t have it dangling during a long car ride or even a long flight. I could get blood clots or other bad things.”
“Then you’ll keep it elevated,” he said.
“Denny, it’s going to be real hard to get around, to get cleaned up and dressed and all that. And I appreciate all you’re doing, but no offense, the idea of sitting in that room above the garage without even a TV while you guys hunt and fish and play poker… It sounds awful.”
He let out a little huff of laughter. “Becca, I won’t do that to you. I’ll help you. I’ll make sure you have everything you need. I won’t leave you all alone. I promise. And when you can travel again, I’ll take you home. Why wouldn’t I do that for you?” He reached out and wiped a little tear off her cheek. “How long did the doctor say before you can travel safely?”
“Ten days or so. He wants to see me again before I go.”
“So I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, and then I’ll take you home.”
While the nurse was helping her into the clothes Denny brought her, Becca started to wonder about a few things—like who would help her bathe and dress once she left the hospital? She couldn’t undress in front of Denny. Not now. Not under these circumstances. What a stupid mess.
“Uh-oh,” the nurse said. “Okay, these jeans won’t work. However, I think I can open the right leg in the seam a little bit, so you can stitch it back up later, when the splint has been taken off. I have a seam-ripper at the nurses’ station for just this thing! Sit tight.”
This is going to be an interesting challenge, Becca thought. A broken ankle grounding her was about the furthest thing from her plans.
When the nurse came back, Becca said, “I bet I’m going to need one of those seam-ripper things. All I brought with me was jeans.”
“You can pick one up anywhere they sell sewing supplies,” she said. “And if you don’t want to sacrifice your jeans, have your boyfriend run by Target or Wal-Mart and grab a couple of loose-fitting sweat suits. After the doctor takes the splint off to remove the stitches, he’ll give you a soft, protective boot or shoe that you can take off for bathing and dressing. No need to rip up all your jeans. Borrow a pair of your boyfriend’s socks—pull one over your splint to cover your toes. It’s winter out there, girl!”
“Right,” Becca said. “Um, exactly how am I supposed to, you know, shower?”
“Well, for the rest of this week, I recommend a sink full of water and a washcloth. That’s really the safest method. Put a towel across the toilet cover, sit down on it, wash up.”
“And my hair?” she asked with a little catch in her voice. She couldn’t believe she was about to cry, but the idea of greasy, flat, smelly hair just about brought her to her knees. She’d always been so fastidious!
“Stick your head in a deep sink and shampoo. Or, kneel beside the tub and use the tub spigot—just don’t stand on the foot. For today, want me to braid it for you?”
“I’ll do it,” she said, taking the offered comb and working it through her long hair. Little bits of mud were still coming off. When she got all the tangles out, she began to work her fingers through her hair, putting it in a quick and neat French braid.
“Wow, you’re good at that,” the nurse said. “You’re going to find that for the next few days, just washing up can wear you out. Some of that’s the effects of anesthesia. You’ve had an injury and your body is spending lots of energy trying to heal. Start with your hair—it doesn’t have to be shampooed every day. Rest a bit, then tackle the sponge bath. Next week, try a bath, hanging your right leg out of the tub. I know you probably prefer a shower but balancing on one leg to keep weight off your injured ankle is not only going to be difficult, it’s risky. Plus, your leg needs to stay completely dry.”
“And if I want to take a shower?”
“You can pull a small trash bag over the splint and tape it to your leg with surgical tape. Or you can wrap a bunch of self-adhesive saran around it. It’s amazing stuff—stick’s right to the skin. But my advice is to take a tub bath and hang your leg out. Trust me about not getting it wet.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not a good idea at all. It’ll itch and stink.”
“Really?”
“Really. This is going to feel clumsy at first, so just remember to take your time and do it in stages. Your balance is going to get better. But, Becca, if you put weight on that ankle, you could do some serious damage. Go slowly.”
He looked so relieved, and he let out his breath slowly. “Okay. Be right back.”
“You might want to hurry,” she advised.
“Right,” he said, heading out the door.
Very interesting, Becca thought. He’s either sleeping in the chair out of guilt or a feeling of obligation or interest. She would undoubtedly find out which before too long. What she would do about it was one of the great mysteries of the universe.
The doctor offered to call Becca’s parents before the surgery, but she said it was unnecessary. She was twenty-five, with her own medical coverage. She blessed her luck! She could deal with her mother later. Her mother was going to have a very strong reaction to Becca spending the holiday with Denny rather than Doug. Maybe a little time on the beach in Cabo san Lucas would mellow her out. Or maybe she could tell her mother when they were all back in San Diego and the whole thing was resolved.
“You don’t want your fiancé to help you to the bathroom?” the night nurse asked her.
“No,” she said. “He’s not that kind of fiancé.”
“Oh?” the nurse asked.
“We’ve been separated for a while,” Becca said. “By…by the Marines. He did a tour in Afghanistan.”
“Oh, honey.”
“I’d just prefer to be at my best,” Becca said.
So Denny stood outside the hospital room while Becca had a pain pill, a bathroom break, a new ice pack applied and a midnight snack brought to her, because she’d been more interested in sleep than food following her surgical procedure. It was nearly 1:00 a.m. when Denny came back into the room. “Denny, you can go home. This isn’t necessary.”
“You never know,” he said. “You might just need me.”
I needed you so much, she thought. But you were so far away!
“They give you this little call button in case you need anyone,” she told him.
“I’m here, just the same,” he said. And then he retreated to his chair. It looked like a comfortable chair for sitting, but not for spending the night. And then she thought how he might have slept in Afghanistan, on the rocky desert floor, with no love at home to look forward to. Why he would choose that over her was so far beyond her understanding.
She watched him out of the slits of her sleepy eyes for a few moments before her pain pill took over, then she came awake to the sounds of morning.
About the time breakfast was delivered, Denny stretched and stood from his chair. “How’re you feeling?” he asked her.
He had that early-morning, scruffy growth of brown beard, sleepy eyes and the body of a Greek god. If I didn’t have a broken ankle, I could so jump your bones! Her next thought was, What is the matter with me? He dumped me and Doug wants me! And she couldn’t really say that Denny was that much more hot than Doug. Doug was hot in a totally sophisticated Cape Cod kind of way…. She looked at him and wondered, is the pain pill exaggerating his handsomeness? But she said, “I’m doing okay. I had a pain pill. I might be a little loopy.”
“That’s probably good.”
“Want a bite of my French toast?”
“Nah, that’s okay. Maybe I’ll walk down to the cafeteria and grab some coffee, if you think you’ll be okay.”
“I’m okay. Go.” And she almost said, But don’t shave.
Before her breakfast was done, the orthopedist was there. It was barely seven. He tossed off the ice pack. “You’re good to go. I’ll have the ortho tech fit you with crutches and show you how to use them. The nurse will brief you on instructions and problem signs and I’ll see you in ten days to get the stitches out. Call me if you have pain. Aside from some aching and throbbing now and then, your discomfort should be minimal. Most important things—no weight on it and keep it elevated as much as possible for a week to ten days.”
“Um, I don’t live here,” she said. “I live in San Diego. I rode up with my brother to do some hunting. Duck hunting.” She rolled her eyes. “Very dangerous sport. We’ll drive back next Sunday—in five days.”
The doctor got a kind of stunned look on his face. “Becca, do you have any friends here? Or family? Because you’re going to be just fine, but you shouldn’t travel. Not right away, anyway. And not that distance.”
“What?” she said, shocked. “What?”
“Just because your ankle is all put back together doesn’t mean the injury’s not serious,” the doctor said. “And San Diego isn’t exactly down the street—San Diego is a long, long drive. It would even be a very long flight! You’d risk dangerous swelling, maybe blood clots, other complications. You have to remain mostly immobile, leg elevated—you don’t want to swell under that splint. I don’t really advise dangling that leg for more than an hour at a time for the rest of the week. Oh, you can get around as necessary on crutches, but you can’t put any weight on this ankle and you can’t sit in a car or plane for hours.”
“But what if I traveled with the leg elevated?” she asked. “Like if I sat in the backseat of the cab with my leg on the console between the front bucket seats?”
“Hmm,” he said. “Well, if you could manage that, it would be better. But not for a week, and even then you shouldn’t travel more than three to four hours a day, and you should stop overnight. The best scenario is for you to stay close and see me in ten days to two weeks to take off the splint and remove the stitches before you head home. The ankle might bother you for a few days—you might need pain medication. I want you to really think about it.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t have anywhere to go. I have no family here….”
“And the young man who was here all night?”
“A…friend… I don’t know. I don’t think that would work out.”
“Think about your options over the next day or two.”
“Okay,” she said.
While she was measured for crutches, she thought hard. It might be best just to take her chances. Or maybe she could tell her mother the truth and have her come to get her. Her mother would want to come and get her—so she could carry on for days about how insane it was to come to Virgin River in search of a solution to the Denny/Doug dilemma.
Didn’t that make her feel nauseous….
By the time the tech wheeled her back to her hospital room, Denny had finally returned with a large paper cup filled with coffee.
“Hey,” he said, standing from his chair. “You’re looking pretty good!”
“Thanks,” she said somberly.
The tech put the brakes on the wheelchair. “Want me to send the nurse down to help you get into your clothes?” he asked, looking at her face and Denny’s.
“Please,” she said.
When he left the room, Denny sat again so he could be at her eye level. “You in pain, Becca?”
“Oh, just a little uncomfortable. Not as bad as you’d think it would be.”
“Are you so upset? It looks like you’ve been crying.”
“Denny, I’m afraid I’m stuck here for a week at least. The doctor said I shouldn’t travel, especially not a long trip. I have to elevate the leg, I can’t have it dangling during a long car ride or even a long flight. I could get blood clots or other bad things.”
“Then you’ll keep it elevated,” he said.
“Denny, it’s going to be real hard to get around, to get cleaned up and dressed and all that. And I appreciate all you’re doing, but no offense, the idea of sitting in that room above the garage without even a TV while you guys hunt and fish and play poker… It sounds awful.”
He let out a little huff of laughter. “Becca, I won’t do that to you. I’ll help you. I’ll make sure you have everything you need. I won’t leave you all alone. I promise. And when you can travel again, I’ll take you home. Why wouldn’t I do that for you?” He reached out and wiped a little tear off her cheek. “How long did the doctor say before you can travel safely?”
“Ten days or so. He wants to see me again before I go.”
“So I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, and then I’ll take you home.”
While the nurse was helping her into the clothes Denny brought her, Becca started to wonder about a few things—like who would help her bathe and dress once she left the hospital? She couldn’t undress in front of Denny. Not now. Not under these circumstances. What a stupid mess.
“Uh-oh,” the nurse said. “Okay, these jeans won’t work. However, I think I can open the right leg in the seam a little bit, so you can stitch it back up later, when the splint has been taken off. I have a seam-ripper at the nurses’ station for just this thing! Sit tight.”
This is going to be an interesting challenge, Becca thought. A broken ankle grounding her was about the furthest thing from her plans.
When the nurse came back, Becca said, “I bet I’m going to need one of those seam-ripper things. All I brought with me was jeans.”
“You can pick one up anywhere they sell sewing supplies,” she said. “And if you don’t want to sacrifice your jeans, have your boyfriend run by Target or Wal-Mart and grab a couple of loose-fitting sweat suits. After the doctor takes the splint off to remove the stitches, he’ll give you a soft, protective boot or shoe that you can take off for bathing and dressing. No need to rip up all your jeans. Borrow a pair of your boyfriend’s socks—pull one over your splint to cover your toes. It’s winter out there, girl!”
“Right,” Becca said. “Um, exactly how am I supposed to, you know, shower?”
“Well, for the rest of this week, I recommend a sink full of water and a washcloth. That’s really the safest method. Put a towel across the toilet cover, sit down on it, wash up.”
“And my hair?” she asked with a little catch in her voice. She couldn’t believe she was about to cry, but the idea of greasy, flat, smelly hair just about brought her to her knees. She’d always been so fastidious!
“Stick your head in a deep sink and shampoo. Or, kneel beside the tub and use the tub spigot—just don’t stand on the foot. For today, want me to braid it for you?”
“I’ll do it,” she said, taking the offered comb and working it through her long hair. Little bits of mud were still coming off. When she got all the tangles out, she began to work her fingers through her hair, putting it in a quick and neat French braid.
“Wow, you’re good at that,” the nurse said. “You’re going to find that for the next few days, just washing up can wear you out. Some of that’s the effects of anesthesia. You’ve had an injury and your body is spending lots of energy trying to heal. Start with your hair—it doesn’t have to be shampooed every day. Rest a bit, then tackle the sponge bath. Next week, try a bath, hanging your right leg out of the tub. I know you probably prefer a shower but balancing on one leg to keep weight off your injured ankle is not only going to be difficult, it’s risky. Plus, your leg needs to stay completely dry.”
“And if I want to take a shower?”
“You can pull a small trash bag over the splint and tape it to your leg with surgical tape. Or you can wrap a bunch of self-adhesive saran around it. It’s amazing stuff—stick’s right to the skin. But my advice is to take a tub bath and hang your leg out. Trust me about not getting it wet.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not a good idea at all. It’ll itch and stink.”
“Really?”
“Really. This is going to feel clumsy at first, so just remember to take your time and do it in stages. Your balance is going to get better. But, Becca, if you put weight on that ankle, you could do some serious damage. Go slowly.”
