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“Jackson has nightmares about what happened overseas. Sometimes he wakes up thinking he’s still there, trying to help his men. This morning he scrambled out of bed, forgetting about his knee. I don’t know how long he was on the floor, trying to get back to the bed when I found him.”
Before I can ask any more questions, we hear Jackson roll over and grumble.
“Kennedy, why is she here?”
I can’t help but feel for him. I walk over, taking a seat on the side of the bed. When I reach down to feel his forehead, Jackson’s hand stops me.
"Don't."
I drop my hand and it lands on his bare shoulder. His body releases the tiniest shiver. His reaction shocks me but I try to ignore it and continue on. “Jackson, at least let me take a look at your knee.”
“It’s fine,” he grunts, turning away from me.
I'm not sure what upsets him more: his fall or the involuntary response of his body to my touch. I'm equally surprised by my own desire to hold and comfort him, to alleviate his pain.
Kennedy goes to his side, bending down closely to his ear. “She’s already here. She might as well take a look.”
I see Jackson take a resigned breath, considering his words. Clearly, Kennedy’s guidance has a strong influence on him.
He slowly props himself up and pulls the sheets down to expose his leg. Ok, I definitely wasn't prepared to see his chest in all its glory. Wow.
Don't judge me. I'm only human—anyone would take a peek.
Back to focusing on why I'm here. “Did you twist it when you fell out of bed?”
He nods, head down, eyes never lifting to meet mine.
“Can you tell me a little bit about how it happened?”
In barely a whisper, he murmurs, “I don’t remember much. It happened so quickly.”
This is not the same man I saw last week. His pain is palpable, both inside and out.
“I’m going to take a look, but I won’t touch you unless you say it’s ok.”
I grab a chair from a nearby desk and pull it to the side of the bed. Sitting, I take a closer look at his knee. It’s already swollen like a balloon and an angry shade of red.
“May I?” I ask, motioning to his leg.
He clearly wants to get this over with and relents with another nod.
Softly, I press into a few areas of his leg, trying to locate any acute injuries he may have caused with his fall. He bites the bottom of his lip, as if trying to suppress the pain.
I sneak another glance in his direction. A beam of sunlight that’s peeked through the crack of his curtains is illuminating the left side of his face. When he grimaces, it highlights dimples I’d never noticed.
I take a cleansing breath.You’re just his therapist. Focus.
Realizing there’s not much I can do with his leg in this state, I send Kennedy for ice and take a wrap out of my bag.
“The best thing for you right now is just to ice it and rest. Do as little walking as you can in the next few days until the swelling goes down.”
I playfully stick out my pinky, attempting to lighten the mood. “Pinky swear?”
Ever so slowly, he raises his head and then his own pinky. “Pinky swear.”
Kennedy returns and offers Jackson some pain medication and water. He thanks him quietly. I carefully wrap the ice on his knee, then prop it up on some pillows.
“Get some rest now, I’m just going to stay until you fall asleep so I can remove the ice.”
