Quinton, page 6
“Yep, he’s got some issues to deal with first,” Dennis noted.
“I know. I know,” she agreed. “I don’t know whether my being here makes it worse or better.”
“Well, he hadn’t made very many close friends even before you got here,” Dennis murmured.
“Maybe, but, if he has a problem with me, then he has to open up and actually talk to me,” she stated, “and so far he’s not.”
“And he might not be able to yet,” Dennis reminded her. “Do you remember when you first came here?”
She frowned, shook her head, and asked, “No. Was I terrible?”
He laughed. “It’s not that you were terrible,” he stated, “but, like your brother, you couldn’t very easily discern your emotions and decide what it was that you wanted to do here. Plus, communication was a tough two-way street,” he stated honestly. “And we don’t blame you or any of the other patients for that because, as you know, the adjustment period is pretty rough, as you all start that long process to healing.”
“I was a mess,” she agreed. “You guys were all pretty new. I was one of your first patients. It was …” She shook her head. “It was hard all around.”
“That it was,” he murmured. “All around. But, like us, you survived and thrived,” he said, with a big smile. “And that’s what you have to hang on to.”
“I get that. It’s just sometimes …”
“Like now,” Dennis added, “don’t look at this as a setback. Look at this as a change—a chance for you to make a decision about how you want to move forward.”
“If it were that easy,” she stated, “I would. I just don’t think it’s that easy.”
Chapter 6
Quinton had a lot to think about, just from her most recent conversations with Dennis and Stan. Not easy stuff either. And Shane gave her a lot more when he sat down with her and discussed her health and her healing.
“I have a plan, but it’s going to take a few weeks.”
She winced. “I don’t think I can stay that long,” she murmured.
“I guess the real question is,” he added, “can you afford to not stay that long?”
She stared at him, silent.
“I’m not sure the job you’re doing is terribly good for you,” he shared, “but I leave that up to you. But something that you’ve been doing, the injury to your leg, the actual way that you’re standing, has caused all kinds of nerve damage and incorrect muscle alignment, and we must get that fixed.”
“And how do I do that?”
“It will be an intensive couple weeks to start with,” he explained, “and then, depending on our results, I hope at that point you can go to outpatient status.”
“So I need just two weeks off?” she asked hopefully.
“Three weeks might do it,” he murmured, “but honestly, I would much prefer to have four weeks to work with you.”
“And do you think I can stay here for three to four weeks?” she asked. “Is that even fair?”
At her last question he stopped and looked at her in surprise. “Fair in what way?” he murmured. “Fair in the sense of you having a bed that you think might belong to somebody else?”
She winced. “Does it seem that obvious?”
“Absolutely. You have to remember,” Shane stated, “that you’re just as important as the next person.”
“But I’ve already had the benefit of everything here,” she murmured. “How can I ask for more?”
“Well, one, you’re not asking. We’re offering,” he explained. “Two, as I told you earlier, we’re doing an outpatient program—specifically for people with recurring problems. And, three, I don’t think we can do what you need in an outpatient program yet,” he forewarned her. “Maybe in the next three weeks we can do it, but I won’t know until we get you into this next part of your rehab. That’s actually one of the questions that I have to take a look at and see just how you’ll handle it. Give me at least two weeks,” he offered, “and then we’ll take another look.” He asked, “You have any days off coming?”
She nodded. “I do.”
“Might be a good time to request those.”
“And theoretically,” she shared, with an eye roll, “I’m supposed to have some medical leave.”
“Well, you know what? If there was ever a time to request that,” he said, “it would be now.”
“Let me talk to them,” she murmured.
He smiled and added, “How about you don’t talk to them, but you tell them. Tell them what you need in order to continue to be a healthy, functioning individual.”
“I’d love to, and I guess that’s really what it’s all about. I’ve been so worried about getting back on my feet again and not losing my job in the meantime.”
“How much of your fear”—Shane held up a hand to stop her from arguing at his word choice—“is because you have deemed yourself as not whole.”
She stared at him, her shoulders sagging. “Probably too much,” she murmured. “How do you ever get over that?”
“Have you ever been treated differently because of your prosthetic?”
“They don’t necessarily know about it at work,” she admitted. “I always wear pants, and, of course, it’s not obvious then.”
“So, if they don’t know, do you think that they are treating you differently? Or do you just fear that they’re treating you differently because you feel differently, that you consider yourself not whole, that you’re not enough. Therefore, you’re not good enough, and thus they won’t want you.”
“Wow.” She gulped several big breaths of air, his insights hitting her hard. “Feels like you’re reading my mind. … And I guess those thoughts are part of it,” she murmured.
“It’s not mind-reading. It’s just human nature. I’ve been doing this for years. And this exact problem comes up more times than I would like. And my answer is always the same. Why don’t you work on that while you’re here too,” he suggested. “You’re here regardless. You might as well do as much as you can. You know that we have great psychologists on staff. That hasn’t changed.”
She thought about that and smiled. “You know what? I could do that, and you’re right. If I’m going to be here for a couple weeks, I might as well make the best use of it.”
“Exactly,” Shane agreed. “Make the best use of it, get as much of the negative stuff worked out of your system as you can.” Then he smiled. “And I know Stan is more than happy to have you close by.”
“He’s a really sweet man.”
At that, Shane stopped and looked down at his clipboard, frowning.
“What?” she asked. “What are you frowning about?”
“So tell me. Does sweet mean you like him? Do you like him as a man, or do you just like him as a friend?”
She felt the color washing up her face. “Does that matter?” she asked softly.
“I think to Stan it matters a great deal. Maybe think about that. Now we’ll start your workout, and we’ll get you realigned and show you where you’ve been getting off track. And I’m sorry, but these next couple days are going to be hard.”
She frowned and nodded slowly. “Okay, let’s get to it then.”
In the back of her mind was always his comment about Stan. Yet one hour into Shane’s rehab workout, her mind was drained and empty, her body covered in sweat. She discovered not so much pain but a deep sore ache from holding herself wrong for so long. The muscles had been compensating, and Shane was gently getting the blood circulation back to those affected nerves. “I know the workout’s almost done, and that’s a good thing, but I don’t think I can do anymore.”
“I suggest the pool,” he said.
“I’d love to, but I didn’t plan to be here, so I don’t have a bathing suit. I never thought to ask for such a thing when requesting a bag of personal items and clothing from home,” she admitted.”
“I know we keep some on hand,” he told her, “but I have no idea if something’s there that you could wear. I’ll send one of the women down to talk to you about it.” And, with that, he disappeared.
She struggled, crawling to her wheelchair, pulled herself up, and had just barely collapsed into her wheelchair, gasping for breath, when one of the nurses stepped in.
She smiled at her and asked, “What size do you wear?”
“An eight.”
“Let me go see if we’ve got something for you. I’ll meet you back at your room.” And, with that, she turned and disappeared.
Quinton slowly rolled her wheelchair down the hall back to her room. She hated this absolute bone weariness inside, detested the fact that she recognized it all over again—also noting that never-ending work ethic that Shane instilled in her. But somewhere, somehow along the line, she’d forgotten about doing some of these exercises. Life had just gotten so busy, and she appeared to be fine, so she had not bothered. And she was ashamed to admit, apparently it was a failure on her part. And to find herself right now in this situation was just painful, both mentally and physically.
When the nurse returned, holding out several bathing suits, Quinton looked them over and said, “I’m almost too tired to get changed.”
“I can understand that,” the nurse agreed gently. “You don’t have to go to the pool, but you might want to remember just how good it feels to sink into that water and let your body just cool off.”
Groaning, Quinton nodded. “Like Shane told me. I’m only here for a few weeks, and I need to make the most of it.”
When the nurse left, Quinton got changed, put herself into the wheelchair again, and slowly, too slowly, she moved to where the pool area was. As she came poolside, she locked in the wheelchair, and grabbing the railing, got up on her one foot ever-so-slowly and hopped the few steps to the edge. She didn’t try for grace. She didn’t try for form. She didn’t try for anything except to reach the water. As soon as she got close enough, she tilted forward, until she fell in, the cool waves washing over her.
His heart in his throat, Stan watched from the stairs as Quinton got into the pool, hating to see the pain and agony on her face. He kept willing her to make one more step that would get her to where she was going. And when she crashed into the water, such relief and joy were on his face. He wanted to jump up and down. He also didn’t know if she would even welcome somebody witnessing her struggle.
For a lot of people here at Hathaway House, it was hard for them to let others see how weak they had become or how different physically they were now than what they had been in their prime. Like now, she had only her one leg, and she didn’t have her prosthetic on, and her body looked shiny with sweat. Stan figured Shane probably had done a heavy workout on her.
And she looked beautiful to him.
When he looked around for other witnesses, Stan found Shane leaning over the edge of the upper deck of the outside dining area, watching her too. Stan noted the relief on Shane’s face too, that she’d made it safely into the pool.
Stan walked up the stairs and stepped up to the deck of the dining room, where Shane was. “Was she allowed in there?”
“Yes, but she was supposed to wait for somebody,” he noted.
“Did you have those rules back then?”
“We didn’t have the pool back then,” he added, with a side grin. “Thankfully she made it okay. But I’ll have a talk with her about the protocols.”
“I don’t think she did it on purpose,” Stan replied immediately. “I think she was just exhausted, and she really fought to actually get to the water.”
“I know,” he agreed. “She’ll feel better in a few days, but the next couple will be rough on her.”
“I don’t know whether I should stay out of her way then,” Stan mentioned, “or make an extra effort to come by and let her know that she’ll get through this.”
“I don’t know either,” Shane admitted. “It’s obvious you care a great deal for her.”
Stan flushed. “I always did, even when she was here last time. I let her slip away and go on with her life. At the beginning of Hathaway House,” he said, “we were all experimenting. We didn’t have a set workable plan. We didn’t have the routines set. It was live and learn as we went.”
Shane nodded. “I remember, and you’re right. It was pretty chaotic in those beginning days of Hathaway House, and we learned by doing things, both the right way and the wrong way.”
“Do you think I’m hurting her chances of healing?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Shane stated. “I will tell you if I see that happening, and I know that your heart is engaged with her in a big way. You might want to see if your feelings are returned equally by hers before you get your heart too entangled.”
“It’s actually too late for that,” Stan admitted, shuddering. “It would be nice to know that I was on the right track, but I don’t have that reassurance to date. Yet I have decided that it would be now or never because I let her slip away last time, and I won’t be repeating that mistake.”
Shane nodded. “Good luck with that then. I love seeing the two of you together. You look really good. I’m not sure where her head space is at though, so choose wisely if you start an honest talk with her.”
“Her thoughts probably aren’t in a good place at all right now,” he noted. “But when does anything ever come easy for us?”
At that, Shane laughed. “You’ve got the right attitude, if nothing else. And she is constantly looking to see where you are.”
“I’ll take that as a good sign,” Stan said, with a smile. “I’m going to go down and talk to her, if that’s okay.”
“Absolutely it’s okay. And she’s going to need a reminder about time anyway. She’s still on lawyer time and not on Dennis’s time.”
Stan smiled, as he shook his head. “What she needs is to get off lawyer time and to get into a job that won’t kill her with the stress.”
“I wouldn’t be at all upset to see that happen either,” Shane agreed. “She needs more physical activity on a day-to-day basis. Not sitting in a chair for sixteen hours at a computer, which is killing her neck and her spine.”
“Yes, I’m definitely in agreement with you there.” Stan nodded. “But telling her that and getting her to change? Well …”
“Exactly. She’s the one who has to decide. We can’t force her, not if we want the change to stick.” The two men smiled in agreement.
Stan lifted one hand. “I’ll see you at dinnertime.” Then he raced downstairs to visit with Quinton.
Chapter 7
When Shane had warned Quinton that the next few days would be rocky, he hadn’t been kidding. They were beyond rough; they were brutal. Quinton was in tears at night. She took anti-inflammatories to sleep. To keep her body moving, she was in the hot tub on a regular basis and in the pool just to keep things fluid. And still her muscles hurt. Not only did they hurt but they were sometimes agonizing.
Yet she understood why now, and, after having seen her muscles in action—although isolating the ones that she needed to utilize was a different story again—she was getting there. Some of the exercises were completely different from those she had learned last time. Either they were more advanced or her need was different. She didn’t know, and so far she hadn’t bothered even asking. She was too occupied trying to keep her head above water.
When she showed up at her one-week appointment with Shane, and, for the first time, she wasn’t absolutely in agony. He watched as she rolled in, his gaze intense.
“Yes, I’m feeling better,” she said, “but that doesn’t give you a license to beat me up some more.”
He chuckled. “Don’t need a license for that. I already got one.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s the first time I didn’t wake up crying in pain,” she murmured.
“I’ll take that as a good start,” he noted, “but it’s not supposed to be so painful.”
“It’s not supposed to be, and yet somehow, with you, it always is,” she muttered.
“And again it’s not supposed to be.”
“Good, maybe I can look forward to that one day,” she murmured. “I’ve been doing your program for a week now. Do you see the results that you were expecting?”
He shook his head. “No,” he stated bluntly. “Like I told you earlier, I’d need to see two weeks of your results at the very least to see how much longer you should be here. I’d like to have at least three weeks, maybe four.”
She hesitated. “So I guess I’ll talk to my office.”
“You know that you should not be talking to the office but you should be telling the office, right?”
She smiled. “That’s for people who are confident in their jobs and in the value that they bring to the company because they’ve already been shown that they have value,” she argued. “Unfortunately that is not something I have available to me.”
“And, if that’s their viewpoint, that’s their loss.” He turned to face her. “But, if that’s your viewpoint, that’s a bigger problem.”
“Yes.” She waved away that second part. “However, it’s also my paycheck, my income, and not all that many people are out there who will hire someone like me.”
“And what does someone like me mean to you?” Shane asked.
She bowed her head to avoid answering him.
“Quinton?”
“Disabled,” she murmured. And it took more out of her to say that one word than to do all Shane’s tortuous rehab movements.
“I think you’re wrong,” he replied. “You may have a small handicap physically, but you have a bigger handicap mentally.” When she frowned, ready to argue with him, he continued. “The next time you go to the dining room at mealtimes, I dare you to find any patient here right now that you would change lives with or just swap bodies with.”
He might as well have slapped her, as Quinton reacted with a bodily jerk, and then she felt shame for not being more grateful, more thankful.
Shane nodded, watching the expressions on her face carefully. “But I understand that your mental insecurity is still a huge factor for you.”
