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I nod, mostly because I haven't stopped nodding. I'm not trying to be disrespectful to the man but I'm overloaded with information and other useless emotions. I guess it's a good thing that Slick is in the room, paying attention, because I know she's going to hound me day in and day out.
I know Kincaid and Shadow meant well by having her stay behind with me but it's the last thing I wanted. I'd rather not have witnesses, especially a teammate I respect, watch me suffer through my rehabilitation.
“You'll be here probably another three or four days,” the doctor continues. “By then, the incision site should be mostly healed up. But starting tomorrow, so we're sure that you're able to do it yourself, you'll have supervised dressing changes. That way you'll be perfect at it when you have to do it on your own.”
“What's the timeline for full recovery?” Slick asks.
I want to growl at her. My recovery isn't any of her business despite what Kincaid and Shadow think.
“Four to eight weeks for the actual incision site itself,” the doctor explains.
That gives me a little hope. A couple months is nothing in the grand scheme of things.
“Full recovery and mobility…” the doctor says, tilting his head back and forth as if he's making calculations in his head. “That can take up to a year or more.”
That wisp of hope I allowed myself to feel shattered. A year… a year is way too long. I struggle between telling myself that I can do it faster, that I'm capable of doing it in much less time, and with the reality that time isn't something I've ever been able to control.
I'm not a patient man. I've never been good at waiting for an outcome. My best work is accomplished when manufacturing the outcome myself. Working toward something is easy so long as the results don't take long. A year right now might as well be an eternity for me.
“I know you're heading to Albuquerque in less than a week,” the doctor says. “They have a great physical therapy program, but we're going to start some of that tomorrow as well.”
I give the doctor a dumbfounded look. “Didn't you say at some point yesterday or the day before that it will be weeks before my leg is ready for a prosthetic?”
He gives me a small smile, and I know it’s meant to be reassuring but it makes me feel like a child asking what he considers a dumb question. My lips form a flat line as I wait for him to answer.
“Physical therapy starts with stretching, moving your leg, getting it accustomed to being different long before it includes the use of a prosthetic. You'll need to work on balance, being able to get to the restroom unassisted, but with a walker.”
My scowl deepens. The thought of needing help to do something as simple as taking a piss manages to anger me further. “Any other questions?” the doctor asks.
I roll my head on my pillow, my eyes locking on a blank spot on the wall on the other side of the room. The man is only doing his job, and I fully understand that but it doesn't mean that I have to like the information he's given me.
“I’ll come back and check on you before the end of my shift,” the doctor says, giving me a quick nod before leaving the room.
“It's a lot to take in,” Slick says.
Fire fills my eyes as I turn to look at her. “I'm not a fucking idiot,” I growl. “I know how to change out a goddamn dressing.”
She gives me a weak smile, but I can see that my attitude is pissing her off. There's a good chance she doesn't want to be here any more than I want her here. It's possible she's pissed off at being left behind, responsible for an invalid.
“Why are you even here?” I snap, needing to release some of the anger welling up inside of me before I explode.
“Kincaid and Shadow wanted me to stay behind with you.”
I grit my teeth in annoyance. Thinking she didn't want to be here and knowing that she doesn't are two different things. “I'm fine by myself,” I tell her, once again locking eyes on that spot across the room. I hate that she's here, witnessing my life crumble to pieces.
“Okay,” Slick says, quick to agree. My chest threatens to cave in. “If you're fine on your own, get your ass out of bed and go to the bathroom.” I watch as she grabs the walker from the corner of the room. The sound of its feet flapping on the hospital room floor echoes through the room.
I look from the stupid fucking thing back up to her. She's annoyed with me, that's clear. Her jaw is set in a stubborn clench as she points to the walker once again.
