“Change of plans,” Doctor Marsh announced as she came into the room, followed by a nurse. “Her latest x-rays from last week show severe inflammation. A lumbar steroid injection should cut back on some of the pain.”
“What, in her spine?” Charlie asked.
“Yes. It will help the rehabilitation process,” Doctor Marsh said. She was already preparing for it, taking long needles and syringes out of drawers, not bothering to ask if I was okay with this. “It won’t take long.”
“You’re not going to knock her out for it?” Charlie asked.
“We can’t put her under complete anesthesia. It’s unsafe. She needs to be partially awake for the process,” Marsh stated. “I can give her a numbing agent. She won’t feel much. Once the steroid is administered, we can continue with physical therapy in our next session.”
I couldn’t take being prodded with one more needle or examined by one more doctor. I didn’t care so much about the pain. But I couldn’t stand being touched and tampered with anymore. I’d sworn years ago I wouldn’t allow anyone to do something to my body again without my consent, not even if it was for my own good. I couldn’t stomach any more of this.
The nurse approached me, to lift me onto the bed. I practically clawed up Charlie’s side trying to get away from her. Tears ran down my face, and my whole body shook with tremors.
“You need to hold her down,” the nurse growled, and she came closer.
“No!” I managed to get that much out. My arms locked around Charlie’s torso and refused to let go.
Doctor Marsh let out an impatient sigh, like she had better things to do. “Mrs. Wahkin, if you don’t cooperate, I’m afraid we can no longer continue with your treatment.”
“Pidge,” Charlie begged.
I had to speak; otherwise, they were going to do whatever they wanted to me, whether I wanted it to happen or not.
“I want to go,” I choked out. “I can’t do this.”
Doctor Marsh scowled. “I’m sure with some coaxing—”
“She doesn’t consent to this,” Charlie snapped, and he began wheeling me away.
“You have to understand if she doesn’t comply with her treatment plan, the chances of her recovering fully are slimmer than they already are,” Doctor Marsh said firmly.
“I’m going to take her outside,” Charlie said.
Charlie wheeled me out of the infirmary. Oberi laid his head on my lap, and I stroked his ears as I waited.
Inside, I felt a small sense of failure. On the other side of the door, my husband argued with Doctor Marsh.
“You can’t just throw her out,” he said harshly. “She needs physical therapy.”
“She clearly has medical trauma from her time spent here,” Marsh replied. “Which is understandable, but the Institute isn’t equipped to handle the kind of care she needs. Our budget and resources are already stretched thin.”
They didn’t care about me. The staff didn’t want me to come back at all, because they’d never had to deal with a patient in a wheelchair and didn’t know how, so it made them uncomfortable. They just saw me as another inmate… one who’d already thrown her life away.
“Nobody in this prison needs your help more than her,” Charlie demanded.
“Mister Wahkin, I’m sorry to restate the obvious, but your wife is never going to walk again,” Doctor Marsh said shortly. “The physical therapy will help with her pain, but it won’t make her mobile, and continuing to act like it will is giving her false hope.”
I wasn’t shocked at how Doctor Marsh was acting. I’d watched my father struggle to make doctors take him seriously about his condition, and Ez often told me when he came to the infirmary for his weekly treatments, the doctors thought he was making stuff up when it came to his symptoms. If doctors couldn’t fix things easily with a pill, they’d give up and act like you were a burden who was wasting their time.
I’d experienced similar treatment with my plethora of rotating therapists who’d been unable to help me manage my bipolar. The months I’d spent in the infirmary had only made me feel more invalidated. I understood these people had helped me and had saved my life. At the same time, I recognized I was just a number to them, and they figured they’d done all they could. To them, I was being overdramatic about things I couldn’t change.
“You can’t give up on her like this,” Charlie hissed.
“I’m sorry. We have other students we need to help.”
“Give me her exercises,” Charlie said bluntly. “We’ll do them ourselves.”
Papers rustled, and Doctor Marsh said, “Good luck.”
