I'm fine.
Or I will be soon.
Maybe.
Truth is, I have a long way to go before fine is even on the same plane of being accurate. Will I heal?
My leg now has pins and rods holding it together, and while not broken, my arm and shoulder feel as though I've been put through some kind of archaic torture device. The one that yanks off limbs. Drawn and quartered? I think that's what it's called. I feel like that's what happened. Like I've been ripped apart, and every beat of my heart is echoed by pain that's always on the fringe and never far from awareness, no matter how drugged I am. Even in the hospital on the good stuff, I felt it.
What if it doesn't go away completely? What if I never get back to one hundred percent? What if I can't make it to seventy percent?
It makes me think. Makes me wonder what the future will bring. How we'll live. How I'll provide for my family.
The burn doc warned there's a chance I could have pain forever due to nerve damage. It just depends on how things heal, even though by medical terms, my burns are relatively minor. But my leg? It's messed up.
Will I be able to pass a physical? Perform the duties my job as a firefighter requires?
I fist my good hand and feel pain shoot through me just at the act. My body is that damaged. The tension prickling over my skin fires off nerves already screaming for mercy.
It's day one, like Lindsey said. A reminder that this isn't how things will be. I hope.
I have my girls. I have help until I'm back on my feet. I'll eventually get back on my feet, which is a way better ending than I could've had.
In the scheme of things? Life is good.
I just have to shake off the demons and focus on that. Move forward.
And then… figure out what's next.
After a long sit in the shower, I call for Lindsey. She knocks before entering, and I can feel her assessing me like a shrink. I don't blame her. I've been in here way too long, but I needed the time to wrap my head around the last few weeks and brace myself for what's to come. I can't say that I've succeeded in doing it, but the alone time has helped.
"Ready to get out before you prune up?"
"Can you…wash my hair first?"
We'd removed the sling, but my range of motion is limited both by the burns and by the sprain.
"Of course. I should've done that earlier. I'll remember next time."
I like that she really doesn't seem to mind helping me. But I guess we're both in the same spot theoretically. She needs my home and a place to stay as much as I need her help.
"You doing okay there, big guy?"
The question is softly voiced but full of suspicion. Like she can see my struggle. Maybe she can.
"Yeah."
Silence follows my words and then…
"You know, I may suck at a few life choices I've made lately, but I've been told I'm a good listener."
I stare at the water rolling toward the drain, wishing I could shove the bad mojo I'm feeling down with it. Nobody wants a doomsday guy on the crew. "I'm good, Lindsey. Thanks."
She doesn't believe me, and I give her credit for reading my mood. But she stays quiet and begins to wash my hair. I close my eyes to combat the suds and to enjoy the feel of her nails lightly raking my scalp and massaging it. It's a good distraction, and it draws me further and further away from the darkness of before.
"Just so you know, Dani's in her room pretending she's pregnant again. I'm…really sorry. I know you don't want her thinking it's okay to be like me."
I take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "She's a kid playing pretend. Tomorrow she'll be a rock star or demon hunter." I sense more than see tension leave her.
