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“We also need to focus on your mental health.”
Vince’s heavy sigh told me he did not want to have this conversation. Knowing him the way I did, it wasn’t because he expected different news but because he already figured all of this out and just wanted to go home.
More tests and more time healing meant a longer hospital stay.
Vince, the noble, dependable, determined, and focused man he was, would never give up without a fight. But he was itching to get out of here. And he would do whatever it took to make it happen as soon as humanly possible. My heart ached for him. Only because whether he admitted it or not, we both knew the road ahead was not going to be easy.
It wasn’t just the physical stuff we needed to worry about. He’d have that nipped in the bud in no time. The daunting part of everything was the mental and the emotional. Who knew what happened to him while he was held captive? And even if Vince could remember, could we trust those memories? Or did he also forget bits and pieces of that as well?
“Hey, Hailey?” Vince’s words broke into my thoughts, which were starting to spiral out of control.
“Yeah, baby,” I said, moving up to his head.
“I feel like a complete shitbag for forgetting.”
My chest rose and fell with giant breaths. All I could think was that when I told him about being married, he must have remembered my being pregnant when he left. I stroked his head and looked into his eyes.
“How’s Chewie?” he asked.
My perfect balloon deflated on my exhale. While it wasn’t the question I hoped for, I couldn’t fight my smile. “Chewie’s fine, honey.” I looked at Dr. McGuire and explained, “Chewie’s our dog. Vince is a huge Star Wars fan.”
Dr. McGuire chuckled as I pulled out my phone and showed Vince and him a picture of Chewie after he got groomed. And true to form, Chewie was sporting a Star Wars-themed bandana around his neck.
We spent the rest of the day focusing on the good memories. There would be plenty of time to talk about everything else. For our first day together, we just wanted to be happy.
Chapter 7
Hailey
The sterile hospital walls closed in on me. Time stood still, but the second hand on the clock, ticking ever so slowly, reminded me that time was just an illusion. Life was still going on outside these walls.
Vince sat with his gaze fixed on the opaque walls. A cocktail of emotions churned inside, eating away at our last shreds of sanity. Fear mixed with anxiety, which mixed with frustration. But there was a smidgeon of optimism, and hopefully, we’d receive some good news any second now. It was the tiniest morsel, but we hoped and prayed for some encouraging and positive words.
Vince’s hand was clammy in mine. But I held tight, my fingers interwoven with his. It was a silent offering of support that he desperately needed. If we didn’t receive some shred of good news, I knew it would break him. Dr. Hopkins, a middle-aged man with a calm demeanor, entered the room carrying a clipboard filled with papers and a warm smile. He was the chief medical officer and was in charge of everything that pertained to Vince’s recovery.
“Vince, Hailey, it's good to see you both today.” Dr. Hopkins stood at the foot of the bed. “I know it’s been a long and challenging journey for you, Vince, but I promise we’re here to help you every step of the way.”
Vince nodded, his eyes now fixated on the clipboard in Dr. Hopkins’ hands. The stack of documents attached was overwhelming. My husband was a strong and proud man, but I knew his time as a prisoner had left deep scars, both physically and emotionally. He cleared his throat, but his voice still quivered when he finally spoke. “I just want to get back to normal. I want to go home.”
“Then you’ll be happy to hear you won’t have to wait much longer. And you won’t need any surgery. The steroid and cortisone injectionshelped to reduce your inflammation. And since you said the pain is better, we know they’re doing their job. Now we just need to work on getting you up and moving.”
Even though the words perked Vince up, his voice held uncertainty and reluctance to take the doctor at his word. “I hate feeling so helpless and weak.”
Understanding Vince’s frustration, I squeezed his hand and met Dr. Hopkins’ eyes. Concern for Vince’s well-being and determination to help my husband get back to his old self laced my words. “We’ll do whatever it takes to help Vince get better, Doctor. Just tell us what we need to do.”
Dr. Hopkins sent us a reassuring nod and tapped his clipboard. “Your frustration is completely normal, Vince. You've been through a traumatic experience, and your body and mind need time to heal. It won’t happen overnight, but you have a strong support system. You will make progress, but remember that getting back to what you’re used to will take time. You will no doubt be frustrated at times. And that’s okay. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
I breathed slowly, trying to find some semblance of calm amidst the storm of emotions inside me.In through your nose and out through your mouth, I reminded myself. Dr. Hopkins’ smile offered a slight reassurance.
Vince squeezed my hand and said, “All right, Doc, I hear you. Marathon. Not a sprint. What are we looking at?”
“You’ll start off with a series of gentle exercises to test your balance and coordination, improve your range of motion, and a few things to build your strength back up. Your therapist, Sarah, is one of the best, and she’ll be with you every step of the way.” His eyes ping-ponged between us. “As you progress, she’ll add in resistance and more rigorous strength training exercises.”
When he glanced at me, a hint of determination replaced some of his frustration. “I'll do whatever it takes.”
My eyes glistened with pride. “That's the spirit, baby.” I knew physical therapy and exercise would help him regain his strength and mobility. I just hoped he didn’t overdo it and end up doing more damage.
“There is one catch—”
