Learning to Walk, a City Hospital Novel (3 page)

He went to the wheelchair and locked it in place at the end of the bars closest to Kit, then he moved along the ramp and put his hands beneath Kit’s arms, supporting him and moving him to the chair.

Kit didn’t say anything else, probably because he needed his breath for moving and was too busy clamping his jaw against pain to be mouthy. He didn’t resist Neil’s aid, but when he was finally back in his chair he shied away from Neil again.

Neil pushed the wheelchair until it was next to his stool, then he sat and gave Kit a rueful smile. “I didn’t mean to piss you off or make you feel unimportant.”

Kit was glaring down into his own lap. “Yeah, well. That’s what I get. Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, actually, it does matter. You matter, Kit.” Neil glanced at the clock and pictured his schedule in his head. “I’m going to spring something else on you, too. Let’s go out for lunch. Just you and me. We can talk about anything you like, and you can order anything you want off the menu, my treat.”

“No.” Kit looked up then and shook his head. “No. I’m a patient, not a friend. You can have lunch with someone else.”

“I’m just trying to help you, Kit. Really.”

“And I’m doing my work.” Kit shook his head. “Just don’t pretend to be a buddy when you’re not. Don’t be warm and then jerk me around to teach me some kind of life lesson. I’m here to do one thing and that’s learn to walk.”

“Whoa, hold up there. I have not jerked you around, not once. I’m sorry my not telling you I wasn’t going to be there this morning upset you.”

“It was rude.” Kit’s glare came back. “But then to find out you did it so I’d deal with a change in my schedule? I’m not some fucking experiment. If you doing things to help me get better is more of that, then don’t. Just don’t. And don’t be kind to me; don’t chat with me. Don’t even pretend to like me if all I am is a patient. I don’t need any more false impressions, thanks.” His eyes filled and he blinked furiously, turned his head away.

“Being friends and being therapist/patient are not mutually exclusive, Kit. You’ve been pretty adamant about this just being business for you -- the work of getting you better, but even so, I’ve seen you as a man as well as a patient.” He leaned in, careful not to touch Kit, but not letting the guy avoid his gaze, either. “Stop trying to push me away so damn hard all the time.”

“You’re the one who was acting one way and then another!” Kit flared up again. “And why should I let you in if you’re going to do stuff like this to me?”

“What if I hadn’t been there for some other reason? What if I slept in and missed the bus?”

“Then it’d be fine. But spending every session talking to me like I’m a real person and then doing this just see me react is an asshole move, and I don’t care how you see it. Do you have even the faintest idea how very much my life sucks? And do you know that ninety percent of the reason is sucks is because every single one of my friends is gone? Have you ever been so lonely that it’s an actual pain?”

“No, Kit, I haven’t. I didn’t realize you’d started to come to think of me as a friend. And I’ve apologized for the mis-step, so you need to stop being a jerk.”

“Yeah, well.” Kit rolled his eyes. “This is me. A jerk. Can I go home now?”

“Hey, at least I was trying to help you when I didn’t tell you what was going on this morning -- you’re just pushing everyone away so you can wrap yourself up in your loneliness and pain.”

“Whatever.” Kit unlocked his wheels and looked around, then pushed himself to where he’d left his coat. “Have a good lunch.”

“You too, Kit. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Sometimes it was better to just let the patient stew. Kit wanted to wallow in his hurt, and Neil was pretty sure nothing he said at the moment would make a bit of difference.

“Sure.” Kit yanked his jacket on and left, narrowly missing the edge of the door with his chair. He was silent on the hall carpet, but Neil doubted that he was taking his time getting out of the unit.

He sat back with a sigh and shook his head.

Well.

That had gone... not as badly as he’d feared it could, but not good, by any definition of the word.

He’d just have to keep trying.

***

Kit called his father from the front lobby of the hospital. He didn’t know if he could use his cell phone there, of if he’d have to go outside, so he used the payphone.

His father agreed to come and get him and take him home, and Kit used the time he was waiting to come up with a thousand things to say that would calm his father down and not let him worry. As it turned out, though, his father didn’t ask why he was leaving therapy early or how it had gone. He just helped get Kit in the front of his car and put the wheelchair in the back and took him home.

Kit made them sandwiches for lunch as a silent thank you, and his father went back to work, leaving Kit with the TV, his books, and the stack of mail he’d seen that morning.

Tony was getting married, and he’d invited Kit to the wedding. Tony, who had been his buddy all through high school and college. Tony, who had spent a week sleeping in the hospital when Kit had been hurt. Tony, who hadn’t even called to let Kit know he was engaged.

Kit wheeled himself to the bathroom and wondered if he could get himself into the tub for a bath and then back out again and decided that he couldn’t. There were pull bars installed, but wet and slippery wasn’t a good combination, and he’d already fallen once today.

In his bedroom he pulled the blankets up on his bed and tried to smooth out the wrinkles, then he gathered up an empty glass and some power bar wrappers he’d left on his night table. He couldn’t do a lot of cleaning, but what he could reach, he’d do. If he didn’t, it would be his dad.

Kit took the glass and trash to the kitchen and put it all away, then reached up to open the freezer. He could maybe take out supper to thaw, if he could reach. He was pretty sure there was a roast in there. Arm way up, he felt for it, then settled back, empty handed. He wheeled back a few inches to see farther in.

Roast spotted, he moved back and locked his wheels. Bracing himself with one arm on the chair, he lifted and reached again, straining hard.

The chair went left, he went right and then down, the roast tumbling out and hitting him hard on the collarbone. The pain of that, though, was nothing compared to his hip and ribs, knocked hard by the chair and the edge of the fridge.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Kit winced, trying to breathe and think and move. He couldn’t do all three, so he picked wincing and breathing for the time being and lay still. He couldn’t see his chair, other than a wheel slowly rotating above his head.

He reached for it and tugged. If he could get the chair righted, he might be able to get back into it, but one tug told him that moving was still a very bad idea.

He knew he had to call his father. Again. He wasn’t sure if his father would have even gotten back to work yet. Tears stung at the backs of his eyelids. He couldn’t keep doing this to his father. He couldn’t keep being helpless and hurt and alone.

Well, he might have to do alone, since he was a jerk, but he couldn’t keep calling his father and causing him to worry and lose work.

Kit rolled slightly and got his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through all the services he had available to him, all the help what was there for him if he only asked. He stopped at Neil’s name.

“This is a bad idea.” Pain moved like dull ice along his side, though, and he pushed the button for Neil’s direct line.

“Hello, you’ve reached Neil Kirkpatrick.”

“It’s Kit.” He took a breath and winced again. “I fell, and I need some help. Can you send someone, please?”

“You’re at home?”

“Yes.” Kit closed his eyes. “In the kitchen. I think the door is unlocked.”

“Okay, I’m coming. Don’t hang up. I’m taking a taxi, so I can talk as I’m not driving myself.”

“It’s not really a 911 kind of thing,” Kit said, trying to joke. It did hurt though. “I didn’t want to call my dad back again.”

“What happened?” Neil asked softly.

“I was trying to get a roast out of the freezer so I could make supper.” Kit sighed and decided that hurt, too. “I couldn’t reach. Tipped over and whacked my side really good. My hip hurts.”

“Shit. Are you sure you don’t need an ambulance instead of just me?”

“I don’t think I need a hospital.” He hoped not. Kit would do just about anything to stay out of the hospital. “I can’t get the chair back over, though.” He looked up. “And the damn freezer door is open.”

He heard Neil murmuring something indistinct and then Neil’s voice came back full volume. “I’m in the taxi now. It shouldn’t be long. Are there any sharp pains?”

“Not since I hit the corner of the fridge. Just dull ones. I think I pulled some muscles in my upper body.” He turned his head, trying to see where supper had landed. “Thank God we don’t have a dog.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Dog would be licking me and eating my supper. That would be awkward.” Kit couldn’t see the roast. “Careful when you come in. There’s a frozen hunk of meat around here somewhere.” He gasped as pain rolled through his hip and down his thigh. Shifting around was bad, clearly.

“You all right? Kit?” He could hear the concern in Neil’s voice as the man spoke to someone. “Could you go faster, please? I’ll throw in an extra five.”

“Don’t get in a wreck.” Kit swallowed hard. “I’m okay. Just banged up a bit, is all.” He hoped they got there soon, though. The floor was cold and hard, and Neil knew how to help him move.

“We won’t. We’re almost there.” It was quiet a moment, and then Neil asked. “So, what’s for supper?”

“Roast beef. If it didn’t slide right into the living room, anyway. Are you a vegetarian?”

“Me? No. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it would suck if you had a moral objection to the reason I got myself in this mess.” Kit smiled slightly. “Stupid roast is going to be great smothered in garlic and mushrooms.”

Neil chuckled softly. “Sounds good. It would be perfect with baked potatoes and green bean salad.”

“And a cherry pie.” Kit held himself still, resisting the urge to try to roll over. “Are you almost here?”

“Pulling up as we speak. Hold tight.”

Neil’s voice got distant again and then he heard the sound of the door opening -- thank God his father hadn’t locked it -- and Neil called out, “Kit?”

“Right here.” He turned off his phone and started at the open freezer door. “By the wheelchair and the roast. Come on in.”

“Oh, man, that looks like it was painful on the way down.”

“I’ve had better falls.” Too many, in fact.

Neil bent by him, shaking his head. “I know you’re not going to like it, but I should call for an ambulance. We need to get you on a backboard and let a doctor check you out before you start moving around.”

Kit closed his eyes. “I’m cold. I think I jammed my hip pretty bad. But I really, really...” He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He stared hard at Neil, trying to make him understand. “Please don’t make me go back to the hospital.”

“Look, I’ll stay with you every step of the way and do my best to make sure they don’t keep you overnight, but you don’t want to jeopardize your recovery. You’re going to walk again -- yes, it’s going to take hard work and be a pain in your ass, but you are going to get there. If this fall shifted something that could change that, we need to know, and we need to keep you immobile until we’re sure you’re okay.”

Closing his eyes again Kit nodded once, gritting his teeth hard. “Don’t call my father. Not yet. We’ll wait and see. He gets home around six-fifteen, so I’ll have to call him at his office if I’m still at the hospital. So he doesn’t freak out.” God damn it all, anyway. “Where’s the roast? Do you see it?”

Neil disappeared for a moment and then came back with the roast in hand. “I’m going to put it back in the freezer. With any luck we’ll have you home with a couple bags of take-out before your dad gets back.”

The freezer door closed, and Neil sat next to him, opening his phone. “Hi, this is Neil Kirkpatrick with City Hospital. I’m at the home of Kit Matheson. He’s had a fall, and I need an ambulance and a backboard at this address, please. We need to make sure he hasn’t re-injured himself.”

When he’d hung up the phone, Neil grabbed his hand and held on. It was blessedly warm. “They’ll be here soon, and I’ll stay with you all the way. Are you cold? Do you need some water?”

Kit nodded. “Cold. No water.” The idea of putting any fluids into his body and then having to deal with relieving himself was just too much. It was all too much. He’d been up and down all day, not knowing what to think, which way to go, where to direct his anger and his pain. “I want... I want...” He wanted his life back. His legs back. But there wasn’t any point to saying it. “I was trying to be useful.”

“You tipped yourself out of the chair, eh?” Neil let go of his hand and stood. “Where would I find a blanket?”

“My room.” Kit pointed in the general direction of the hall. “First door on the left.”

“’Kay. Be right back.” Neil’s legs disappeared from view. “Don’t go anywhere,” he threw back over his shoulder.

“That’s really funny,” Kit called after him. “Hilarious. You should quit your day job and take that on the road.”

“I’ll have you know we in the medical profession are famous for our gallows humor.” Neil was back a moment later with the quilt from his bed, lying it gently around him.

“I survived the gallows once. More or less.” Kit shifted his weight slightly and tried to hide the wince as pain moved up his back. “Pulled muscles for sure. Sorry to take you away from your lunch.” Only slightly sorry, really, but he wasn’t going to lie on the floor and be a total ass to the guy who came to help him.

“Don’t move! Seriously. That’s what the backboard is for. You just stay there. And don’t worry about my lunch -- it’ll keep.”

“It’s hard not to move.” Kit tried, though. “The body rebels at not moving.” He’d spent a long time not being able to shift at all, weeks of been strapped and harnessed and then more weeks of being nudged into as few movements as possible to test his abilities. “It’s a wonder I don’t fall out of bed every night, for all the moving I do. You ever had bedsores?”