"The dressing looks good. No breakthrough bleeding." The doctor handled a small grenade shaped bulb that had pinkish fluid in it. "Not a lot of fluid draining at this point. That's good. We should be able to remove the drain in another day or two."
Damon felt an odd tug in the bottom of his leg when the doctor handled the bulbous drain.
Bottom of my leg. That is such an odd thought.
He looked farther down the bed where his foot should be. He swore he could still feel it there. He tightened his quad as though to flex his non-existent foot. The motion caused all kinds of pain to shoot through his leg. Not only at the stump—another odd term that he'd have to get used to—but also on the back side of his leg clear up into his low back.
He let out a groan.
"It's best not to try to move it much for a bit longer." Dr. Campbell folded the blanket back down. "Don't worry, our therapists will have you up and doing PT a lot sooner than you'd like. It's time to prop you on your right side to get pressure off your wounds on your backside. I'll have the nurses come in and do that in a minute."
Damon's heart rate slowed to a sluggish pace as he struggled to wrap his mind around everything. His life had been foreverchanged in that blast. One minute, he was daydreaming about building a life with Grace, the next he was a broken man who couldn't give her what she wanted most. What she deserved.
"Your mother has been contacted. I believe she is supposed to arrive tomorrow." Dr. Campbell turned toward the door.
"Wait, Doc." Damon leaned forward, sending a wave of pain pulsing through his body. "What about my buddies? King, Ford, and McDonald?"
Dr. Campbell returned to the computer and tapped a few keys. "Sergeant First Class McDonald arrived on the same flight as you from Germany. He is stable, but I can't divulge anything more about his injuries." He leaned forward and studied the monitor. "According to the report from your Unit Liaison Officer..." Dr. Campbell sighed and dipped his head again. "I'm sorry to inform you that Corporal Jared Ford and Staff Sergeant Jackson King did not survive the blast."
No!
Damon pressed his head back against the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. Hot tears leaked from under his lids anyway. His throat swelled with burning, stinging emotion, clogging his airway.
A harsh sob tore from his throat, and he couldn't seem to draw in more air as that cursed tank rolled onto his chest again and parked there. Punishing and oppressive. Brutal and crushing.
It should have been me. I should have been driving.
Pain that had little to do with his wounds consumed him.
"I'm sorry for your loss." The doctor's hand landed on his shoulder. “You’ve been dealt some heavy blows today.” His voice deepened with emotion that sounded personal. “Each one will hit hard and carry its own pain and grief. There’s nothing weak about mourning each loss.”
At the doctor’s words, Damon stopped trying to fight the tears and let them flow.
“Would you like me to stay for a while? Or would you rather be alone?”
Damon waved him away. Crying like a baby was one thing, he didn’t need an audience while he did so.
Dr. Campbell paused before walking out the door. "I meant it when I said you're lucky to be alive. You have a long road ahead of you, but I hope you make the most of this second chance. If not for yourself, then for your friends who didn’t get one."
Grace climbedfrom the Uber then pulled her and Charity's bags from the back as Damon's mom paid the driver. She pulled out her phone to check the details she had recorded there.
"Okay, this is Fischer House. The lady from the Casualty Assistance Center said she made arrangements for us to have two rooms here for as long as we need. When Steven and Matt come out this weekend, all we have to do is contact her, and she'll make all the arrangements."
Charity turned to look over her shoulder. "And the hospital is right there. That really is convenient, isn't it? It's so nice of the government to provide housing."
"It's the least they can do when their soldiers almost die serving their country." Grace couldn't help the angry tone in her voice.
Charity stepped close and put her arm around Grace. "I know. I'm worried about Damon too."
At some point over the last three days, Charity and Grace had changed roles. Charity was now the voice of reason, and Grace was the one who worried they might still lose Damon, despitethe reports that he was okay. He'd suffered some serious wounds and lost part of his left leg, but he was alive.
"And remember..." Charity's arm tightened around her shoulders. "Emily said it will help Damon if we stay upbeat and positive. We need to be grateful that he returned, even if he is missing part of his leg."
"I know." Grace sucked in a deep breath. "You're right. I just can't shake this feeling that something could still go wrong."
"Let's pray it doesn't." Charity picked up her suitcase. "I think we should get checked in then head over to the hospital. I'll feel much better after I've seen for myself that Damon is okay. Although, I do want to talk to his doctor first and get a feel of what to expect from his recovery."
Twenty minutes later, Grace's knee bounced as they sat across the desk from Dr. Campbell. It reminded her too much of when her mother was diagnosed with stage-four pancreatic cancer little more than six months ago. And now, her mother was gone.
