“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
A knock sounded before either of us could say more.
Dr. Whitcomb entered with Priya and a rehabilitation nurse.
Noah eyed the small procession. “That many people usually means bad news.”
“It means equipment,” Priya said.
The nurse rolled a narrow powered chair into the room.
It was more compact than I had expected, with a high supportive back and a joystick mounted on the right armrest.
Noah stared at it.
“What happened to walking?”
“You are still walking,” Priya said. “This is for longer distances and independent movement at home.”
“You want me driving that.”
“We want you operating it responsibly.”
“That is driving.”
“It is absolutely not driving.”
They transferred him with practiced efficiency.
Priya adjusted the back support, positioned his injured arm, secured his feet, and checked the angle of his pelvis twice.
“The controls are sensitive,” she warned. “Barely touch the joystick.”
Noah placed his thumb against it.
The chair shot forward.
Everyone shouted.
He released it immediately.
The chair stopped inches from the wall.
I laughed.
I tried not to.
That made it worse.
Noah turned his head toward me. “Would you like to demonstrate?”
“Very much.”
“No,” Priya said.
“I could improve the electrical system.”
“No.”
