I hate this place. I've only been here a week, but I can't deny what it's doing to me mentally. I see my personality changing, the darkness breaking my spirit, the long days of rehab doing nothing for my psyche but forcing me to acknowledge just how bleak my future is. Every day, I see a physical therapist for an hour, an occupational therapist for an hour, a speech therapist for an hour, a psychiatrist for an hour, and group sessions, that while they only last an hour seem endless. I'm the youngest person here, other than the staff, by at least thirty years. I have nothing in common with anyone surrounding me except they too have given up the fight.It's hard to stay positive, or even motivated when nothing in my body functions the way it did just a few weeks ago. If I hear one more time, your brain has to form new pathways to relearn the tasks you once did I may punch someone in the throat. I don't want to learn new pathways, I don't want to learn to walk again, I don't want someon
My palms are sweaty driving to the hospital. Moby asked me not to visit him last night. It hurt my feelings. I could tell he was in a dark place, and I should be by his side, but I respected his wishes and went home. I caught up on sorting through the bills, and made some calls to different doctor's offices working out payment arrangements. I had no idea they'd give us discounts for paying in cash and not breaking the payments up. Armed with this knowledge, I organized the bills into different stacks, the smallest first, calling each provider, asking for a discount and wrote checks to every one of them dropping them in the mailbox before I left. I promised myself I'd work on the second stack today.With those bills in my purse, I'm making the drive to the hospital to join Moby in a physical therapy session. I'm not sure why he wants me to come, but if it's important to him, I'm not going to question it. Cam waved me off when I asked about leaving for a couple hours. Somehow I've mana
Sitting in my office at Healing Wings an hour later, there's a light knock on my open door. Standing in the doorway is Sutton. "Hey, friend. Long time no see." I try to hide the hurt in my voice unsuccessfully."I'm sorry I haven't been around. I had reserve training and have been gone the last couple weeks. Don't be mad."I had forgotten she was out of town and now feel like a total ass. It's not like she can tell Uncle Sam she's going to be a no-show. "I'm sorry. I'm not mad.""What's got you down then?"I hand her the stack of bills, not just medical, but the bills from the condo, the house, utilities, cell phones, and everything in between. She looks through them, looking up with pity in her eyes."Don't do that, Sutton.""Do what?""Look at me like I'm pathetic. I'm going to be okay; I'm just a little overwhelmed. I was so proud of myself yesterday, I got rid of a huge stack of medical bills and saved a bunch of money paying them, but they just keep coming, and they'
I wake to the phone ringing incessantly beside my head. The noise is perpetuating the headache I was hoping to avoid."Hello?" I answer groggily."Hey, Fish. I got an offer on the condo."Sitting straight up in bed, the fog in my brain instantly clearing. "That's great! Tell me about it.""Piper, you can't be insulted when I tell you what the buyer's offering. This isn't personal, and it's not a reflection on your home. Okay?"Shit. That can't be good. If your real estate agent has to start with a warning, this won't be something we can accept."Okay. What is it?""You really have to keep an open mind about this Pipes. Don't make a rash decision.""Jesus, Rachel, just tell me already.""It's a cash offer for twenty thousand less than you're asking.""What? That's insane. It was already below market value, and you dropped the price yesterday!""I realize that, but keep in mind you don't owe what you're asking, and a cash offer gets the responsibility of the condo o
"I'm sorry, I don't understand. How can the insurance company tell a doctor I no longer need to be here? Isn't it the doctor's job to determine that?" I'm trying to stay calm but having my caseworker tell me the insurance company is denying inpatient treatment beyond this week is skyrocketing my blood pressure. "I understand your frustration, Mr. Cooper, I truly do. I'm still arguing for another week, but I wanted to give you a heads up in case I don't win.""I can't walk on my own! Our house is not handicapped-ready. Piper isn't a nurse. She has to work. Who's going to help me with PT?" The questions come pouring out as fast as they pop into my head like a popcorn popper with no lid."When do you think your wife might be here today?"I understand Piper is the rational one of the two of us, but this is pissing me off. "It doesn't matter, does it?""I thought it might be beneficial for us to go over some other programs that might be able to help you if you're released this we
She answers that question when she shows up a little before eleven. Putting her purse down when she walks in, I can see the attitude she built up since I talked to her. It's oozing from her. Her hardened eyes turn to me. "You need an attitude adjustment, Moby. Not just for me but for yourself. If you think this is the way to heal, you're dead wrong. If you're defeated before you even start, you're done. I will only say this one time, so listen closely." She leans into me sitting on the bed so I can see her eyes and the storm brewing in them, she squints just slightly, lowering her voice, "If you ever scream at me like I'm a dog again, you can just go ahead and call your mama because you won't be sleeping under the same roof I do. Understood?"I nod my head unsure words are appropriate right now. Luckily, Rhonda saves me. I think that's the caseworker's name, but hell, it could be anything. My short-term memory was shit prior to the stroke, it's non-existent now. Rudely, I don't
Preparing for Moby's homecoming wasn't quite the blissful experience I imagined. My dad and Nate built a makeshift ramp up the stairs to our house; that was a nightmare in and of itself. Holy hell, never solicit this kind of help from anyone other than a professional. Seventeen hours later, five additional men, and countless trips to the hardware store, and I now have a piece of plywood lying across my front stairs. That might be a slight exaggeration, but I swear, not by much. Never in my life have I seen grown men fighting over stupider shit-nails versus screws, hammers versus nail guns, types of wood-for the love of all that is holy, who cares? I would like to believe we don't need to build something to withstand the test of time, just help Moby out for a week or two until he's more comfortable walking on his own. Day two of preparing for Moby's return included modifying the shower to help make it easier for him to get in and out. Taking glass doors off a track shouldn't be ve
An hour later, Dax graces me with his presence. I'm sure Cam ran off to tattle on her friend not loving her fiancé's brother. Hearing the thoughts in my head, I try to shake loose my shitty attitude but find myself having a death grip on it, refusing to let it go."What's up, Dax?" I ask coldly."You got a minute to talk?""Not really, but I'm sure you're not going to go away until I make time so say what you have to say." Holy nastiness, Batman. I've become a raging bitch.He doesn't respond; he waits for me to have the decency to lift my head and make eye contact with him. Expecting to find anger, I see nothing but warmth, his eyes are inviting, and there's a trace of a small, sympathetic smile. Completely caught off guard, I harden myself to anything he has to say, visually offering my defenses crossing my arms against my chest, leaning back. "You've got five minutes. Go."He laughs. The son of a bitch laughs. "You're so much like Cam. When I was trying to get her to no