After searching my pantry and fridge, I place a grocery order for delivery. A search for ‘bland food’ in the market search bar isn’t helpful. I’m pretty certain a chocolate cake isn’t bland, and that was the first item on the list.
I settle on the things I have and go about preparing them while peeking in on my patient periodically. He seems peaceful enough. His heart monitor is steady, anyway. That’s a relief.
3
HUNTLEY
Only a few minutespass after Oxley leaves the room that I realize… I have to pee! Like, my bladder is suddenly revolting and giving me stupid cramps. Determining that one of the doors must be a bathroom, I throw back the covers and begin to sit up.
It’s a chore. I’ve never had the best muscle mass, but trying to sit up without using my leg is rather difficult. As I struggle, I realize how pathetically weak my core is. I’m thankful I’m alone. I probably look like a dead fish as I struggle. How embarrassing.
Winded, I’m finally sitting up, but this new position pulls on my leg muscles, sending twinges of reminders over my hip and up my spine that this is probably not a good idea. I contemplate letting myself onto the floor and dragging my bum leg. How much will that hurt exactly?
I hate pain. I’m a huge wimp. Splinters make me cry. I’m emotionally rather strong; I didn’t even cry when Jack died in the frozen ocean as Rose just watched him—there was plenty of room for both of them on that door!
But pain? Yep, I’ll wail like a newborn.
Thankfully, before I pee myself, Oxley returns. I’m momentarily distracted when he hands me the plate—chicken, rice, toast, saltines, scrambled eggs, and what appears to be cooked carrots. “This is an interesting combination,” I say.
“I should have asked if you have allergies. Or whether there were foods you didn’t like.”
“No allergies, and I’m pretty easy to please as far as food goes. Just that this is an interesting mix.”
“I don’t have applesauce,” he says.
Raising my eyes to his, I try to figure out what that means and why it’s relevant. I think he sees my confusion because he says, “Mark said bland foods are best with the pain meds. Anything too heavy could make you sick. This is what I had from that list, but I placed an order for delivery tomorrow.”
Ah. I pick up a piece of toast and take a bite. Plain. Dry. No flavor. “It needs butter,” I tell him.
Oxley shakes his head. “That’s not on the list.”
“You’re going to have to compromise, Ox. It needs flavor. I must have butter!”
“Oxley,” he says, almost reflexively, but I don’t let him say anymore.
“Never mind. We’ll get back to the butter. I really need to pee.”
His eyes widen behind his thin-framed glasses, and he looks around as if he’s just noticing his surroundings for the first time. Meanwhile, my bladder is seriously threatening to just let loose right here.
“I can find a bottle—” he says, taking my plate from me and setting it on the table beside the bed.
“NO!” I practically yell, horrified. “No. Just tell me where the bathroom is.”
“You can’t get up,” Oxley says with a frown.
“You’re not listening. I need to pee right now. I’m getting up.” It’s only my determination that keeps me from reacting to the pull on my leg as I carefully swing both over the side of the bed. It’s not exactly a scream of pain, but a dull throb. My body certainly likes this position better than sitting with my legs straight out in front of me. Clearly, I need to work on my flexibility.
“You can’t,” he says, and this time I can hear the stress in his voice. “Mark said?—”
“Call Mark and let me talk to him.”
He doesn’t argue as he pulls his phone from his pants pocket. No, they must be trousers. I think they’re far too sophisticated to be considered something as mundane as pants. In fact, as I watch him bring the phone to his ear, he’s close enough to see that maybe everything he’s wearing is probably on the higher end of clothing.
Who is this guy?!
“He wants to get up and?—”
“Give me the phone, Ox,” I demand, holding my hand out.
