Moving Forward in Reverse (4 page)

Like Ebenezer Scrooge on Christmas Eve, I was visited next by a
woman with the biggest smile I had ever seen. Before entering, she wrapped her
knuckles against the doorframe and leaned her head across the threshold.

‘Is Scott Martin in?’ she asked. When she smiled at me I felt the
radiance of it like a gust of hot wind threatening to knock me off the bed. I
blinked dumbly as she flitted into my room, her feet skipping lightly across
the tiles as if she were carried by an invisible wire. Still blinking bewilderedly,
I mentally told myself to close my mouth. By the time she had reached the edge
of my bed, I had recomposed myself sufficiently to answer her question.

‘I’ve been called that,’ I said, trying to sound coy and confident
but ending up with hoarse and pathetic. ‘Among other things.’ I was sure her
smile couldn’t have become any larger, but when she looked back up at me after
scanning the room, her face was quite nearly half smile and half brown,
twinkling eyes. I smiled back at her, but felt like a dead bulb on a strand of
Christmas lights in comparison to her radiance.

‘Well I’m Kathy and I’ll be your occupational therapist. I’ve
heard all about you, Scott Martin.’ Her smile shrank to an impish imitation of
its earlier vibrancy and her head cocked to the side so she could look at me
through the corner of her eye. When she continued to speak it was as if she
were performing a well-rehearsed script. Her words, perfectly enunciated so the
t’s were sharp and the vowels long, were emphasized at all the right moments
and interposed with well-timed pauses.

‘You must think you’re
pretty-tough-stuff
, but you should
know. . . that
I’m
tougher. I’m going to challenge you like you’ve
never
been challenged before. I’ll make you work
harder
and
longer
than
ever before.’ She watched me as she said this and I could see the humor in her
eyes fade slightly as a calculating wariness crept into its place.
She’s
trying to take my measure
.

‘Go for it,’ I deadpanned in response.

That seemed to make her happy. She turned back to face me squarely
and her smile regained some of its original exuberance. Her eyes were relaxed
when they met mine the next time. Straightening her shoulders, she took a deep
breath and released it as she ran her hands along the rim of my bed frame.

‘Good. Now on to more important matters: Should I call you Scott,
Mr. Martin, or Miracle Man?’ When she said Miracle Man she flashed her
mischievous smile at me and winked.

I chuckled at her expression and said Scott would do fine.
‘Miracle Man? Really?’

‘Because your heart rate was continuously at 170 beats per minute
during your entire first week in the ICU.’ She studied me a moment, then added
a tad softer, ‘You should have died.’

I nodded gravely, barely managing to choke out an ‘okay’ in
response.

‘We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, Scott,’ Kathy
carried on, whisking away thoughts of heart rates and death with plans for the
future, ‘so I hope we can get along. I’ll be working with you twice a day every
day. Our first goal is to get you strong enough to sit up unassisted. Then,
once the prosthetics have been fitted. it’ll be my job to make you proficient
at using them.’ She paused and angled her head again to give me a sideways look
with squinted eyes and pinched lips in an exaggeratedly stern expression.

‘I’m the boss,’ she said, her mouth slowly sliding out of the
confines of a firm line as if it couldn’t bear to be so serious for even a
moment.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ I replied, far more capable at maintaining an
austere façade. ‘We’ll see how far that goes.’ I waited a breath, watching her
eyebrows lift over narrowed eyes, then let my own eyes crease at the corners to
ensure she knew the last comment was intended as a joke.

‘Ha! You sure are a tough guy, aren’t you?’ she quipped back.

‘Yup.’ I smirked, lifting my chin as high as I could in an effort
to affect a can’t-touch-me posture. The impression was probably diminished by
the fact that I could barely raise my chin more than two inches, but a guy’s
got to try, right?

‘This is going to be fun.’ A devious grin split her face as she
nodded to me, tilting her own chin upwards in a defiant manner, and began to
walk to the door. Before she had made it all the way out of my room, I caught a
glimpse of a huge smile blossoming on her face.

I was smiling to myself until long after she had left. Between
Kathy, Amber, and Dr. Molin I felt confident that my time in Rehab would be as
enjoyable as any time spent recovering from a serious injury in a hospital
could be. Just how pleasurable that would prove to be, I really couldn’t say.
Yet.

~~~

A short time later, I received a pretty good idea of the answer to
that when a tall, slender woman with brown hair cut short and clean just over
her ears strode into my room. She walked to the end of my bed with no comment
and no expression. In one hand she carried a clipboard, her eyes glancing down
at it as she took five long strides to reach my bed. In the other hand, two
long, neoprene-wrapped objects with Velcro closures were caged in her slender
fingers.

‘Good afternoon,’ she said in a cool voice that took the joy right
out of ‘good’. ‘My name is Helen. I’m your physical therapist.’

‘Nice to meet you. My name is Scott. I’m your patient.’ I smiled
up at her, still ready for the joviality of Kathy. What I got in return was a
flicker of a smile as she clutched her clipboard to her chest as if to shield
herself from my gaiety.

‘I’m aware that you were a soccer player and a college-level coach
before joining us here at Mercy Hospital,’ she intoned, ‘so I won’t bore you
with the general information regarding a training regimen. The goal of Rehab is
to get you capable of returning to a more independent lifestyle. In order to do
that, we have to build your body back up so you can learn to work with the
prosthetics and then to use them efficiently.’ She paused, I think allowing me
a moment to comment. There hadn’t been much room for discussion in her brief
monologue, so I just gave her a shallow nod and waited for her to continue.

After a breath, she did exactly that. ‘Kathy is going to help us
reach that point. She will focus on sitting exercises while you and I work with
these weights.’ Her eyes turned down to indicate the green, neoprene wraps in
her left hand. She raised them for me to see. ‘These are ankle weights, but
we’ll also use them on your arms.’ Another pause. ‘Do you have any questions,
Scott?’

‘Nope.’

‘Good. For today just rest and tomorrow we can start strength
training.’ A nod in my direction like a metaphorical check mark and she left my
room.

So that was my physical therapist.
It was probably for the best
that she seemed to be tough as nails and serious to boot. At least I knew we
could work hard together. Seeing as I was probably going to be here for a
while, having friends among the staff would be an asset, but if I wanted to get
out of here faster, I needed stern and unrelenting. Helen the Physical
Therapist certainly seemed to fit that bill.

~~~

The next day, about an hour after my first gourmet, hospital-issue
breakfast in the Rehabilitation Unit, a dainty woman with brunette hair flying
out behind her came twirling into my room. I watched, amazed, as she twirled
again and again, dancing in the direction of my bed. She slowed her spin as she
drew near, and twirled one final time before coming to a standstill at the end
of my bed. When the dizzying blur of her had stilled into the form of a solid
person, I recognized the beaming smile of my occupational therapist.

Kathy looked at me with her twinkling eyes locked on my own,
clapped her hands, and sang out, ‘Time to get to work!’

I simply gawked at her for a moment, staring as she walked over to
my right side where the bed controls were. As the bed carried my upper body
closer to vertical, my brain struggled to catch up. This had to be the strangest
way of motivating someone I had ever experienced.
Who
was
this woman?

She hummed to herself – or to me; maybe both – as she waited for
the bed to reach the desired height. It was like working with one of Santa’s
elves or some other mythical creature. She was a conundrum. But she was also my
coach. When I put that together, I realized I didn’t mind that she was
eccentric as my trainer. In fact, once I had my wits about me again, I found
that any remnants of sleepiness had been yanked away by her performance like an
old Band-Aid: gone before you even knew it was going.

When the head of my bed was at a forty-five degree angle, Kathy
lowered first the right, then the left guard rail and pulled back the tan
blanket and white sheets that hid my atrophied legs. I glanced down, glimpsed
the knobby knees too big for my bony legs, saw the sagging flesh where
hard-earned muscle used to be, and looked away.

She reached under what was left of my thighs and calves then
carefully pulled my legs to the left, twisting my lower body so my bandaged
feet stuck out over the edge of the bed. They looked too small for my legs –
puny – wrapped from calf to end so the ankle disappeared; just two long,
mangled peg-legs.  I hated the disproportionateness of my body: the starved
shapes of my limbs and cavernous feel to my abdomen juxtaposed by the bulging
joints and mangled ends. But I was going to change this – Kathy and I were
going to change this.

She rested her right hand on my left shoulder and met my eyes.
‘Ready to try sitting up without the bed for support?’ Her eyebrows were dark
arches over wide eyes twinkling with challenge and excitement.

‘Absolutely.’

She inched herself against my left side, butting against my
ribcage as she wrapped her right arm around my back.

‘Go ahead and lean on me, Scott.’

I obliged and she began to push me towards the edge of the bed. I
used the end of my right arm to help scoot myself in the same direction until
my legs were dangling over the bed.

‘Wow,’ she chirped when I was settled, my breathing the only thing
worse for wear. ‘I only needed to help you balance and the rest was all you.
Talk about a head start.’ I smiled, glad we were doing well so soon but a
little dismayed by how much effort moving those few inches had required of me.

‘Now for the hard part: I’m going to move around to the front of
you and hold your shoulders while you sit for a full minute. Okay?’

I nodded, trying to fathom how sitting had become such a
challenge. Kathy shifted to stand before me, letting her right hand slide to my
left shoulder while her left went to balance my right. With only this meager
support I felt my body trying to cave under me. She glanced from the clock to
me and back to the clock as a sheen of sweat spread across my forehead.

Sixty seconds had never lasted so long. My abdomen burned, my back
ached, and my chest heaved at the effort involved. I had been in training for
most of my life, but even pushing out those final two bench presses couldn’t
compare to this. Atrophy suddenly held new meaning for me as I became aware of
every place on my body where those lost forty pounds had come from.

‘Ten…Nine…Eight…’ she began to count down and I gasped another
breath, mentally gritting my teeth against the voice in my head pleading to be
released.

‘Four… Three… Two… One.’ It seemed like she was back against my
side in a flash: her shoulder under mine and her arm around my back before I
could take a full breath. I sagged against her.

‘Rest for a minute and we’ll try again, all right?’ I dipped my
chin and sucked oxygen into my lungs, mentally whimpering,
Again?

A part of me wanted to mourn, disheartened by how pathetically
difficult that whole process had been. But the bigger, more rational side of me
saw that each minute was one step closer to getting back to my Eau Claire
soccer team. For every time I never let them quit, I would damn well ensure
that I stayed at least as strong and pushed through one more set.

After the sluggish progression of the previous minute, my sixty
seconds of rest seemed to slip by unnoticed. Just when I thought my breathing
was beginning to slow down, Kathy cleared her throat and gave my right shoulder
a squeeze.

‘Ready to go again?’ She asked.

I swallowed and licked my lips.  ‘Ready.’

She maneuvered to the front of me again and we began my stay in
Hell once more. In some ways, the subsequent sets became easier because they
had lost their shock factor. I went into each of the five reps knowing that
this one would be worse than the last but determined to make it through
nonetheless. My abdomen was a furnace of heat and pain but this, I reminded
myself, was what I had wanted. I needed physical activity. I needed this pain.
So I forced myself to revel in the burn of muscles rebuilding.

‘Okay,’ Kathy breathed when the fifth minute of sitting had ticked
by. She helped me move back against the bed and I sank into the cushioned
support of the mattress.

She took her time putting the bed rails back into place as she
lowered the bed to horizontal; I began to wonder if she was dillydallying so she
could make sure I recovered okay. Pausing with her arm on the left hand rail,
she leaned on her forearm as she looked at me, considering. I watched her eyes
wander over my flushed face and the slowing rise and fall of my chest in a
contemplative manner. After a moment of pursed lips and quizzical, scanning
eyes, she nodded to herself.