Chapter 12
Lydia
“Considering what you went through with Darren, I think it will be particularly gratifying for you to work with him,” my boss, Janice, says. She’s talking about the firefighter, of course. And, instantly, a tidal wave of nerves floods me. As determined as I was when I left that waiting room on Saturday to get assigned to the firefighter, I wound up chickening out and not requesting him, simply because I started second-guessing myself. Would working with the firefighter trigger too many memories of Darren?
“Aw, don’t be nervous, Lydia,” Janice says, apparently reacting to the look on my face. “I think this journey will wind up being cathartic for you. And if not, then, it’s still a win-win. The firefighter will get the best PT on my staff and you’ll get to spend the next five to six months helping a courageous first responder get his body back. Not a bad thing, either way, right?”
I nod, despite the clanging of my heart.
We talk about the firefighter’s physical therapy program for a bit. He’ll get flexibility and range-of-motion therapy for the first six to eight weeks while his broken bones heal. During that time, he’ll be relegated to a wheelchair, rather than a walker or crutches, due to his broken clavicle. After that, once his clavicle has healed and he’s finally cleared to put partial weight on his shattered leg, he’ll use a walker for a few weeks, just because he’ll probably have quite a bit of muscle atrophy after so many weeks in a wheelchair. After that, he’ll progress to using two crutches. And then one. And, of course, the minute he’s out of his wheelchair, he’ll start strength training, ever so conservatively at first, probably including quite a bit of aqua therapy.
“You’ll see, Lydia,” my boss says. “You’re going to be this poor man’s godsend. And if I were a betting woman, I’d say he’s going to be yours, too.”
***
Adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream, I enter Room 402 and park myself just inside the doorway. All six of the firefighter’s family members are here again. Colby Morgan is asleep in his bed on the far side of the room. And I’m trembling.
“Hi, everyone,” I say quietly. “I’m Lydia Decker. Colby’s physical therapist.”
Everyone greets me.
“Do you need to do something to him right now?” his mother asks. “He had a really bad night last night. Lots of pain. I’d love for him to sleep a bit longer.”
“Oh, no need to wake him,” I say. “I need to do a PT screening at some point today to get a baseline on him, but it’s not urgent. I’ll start working with Colby in earnest once he’s off the breathing machine and out of the ICU.” I gaze at Colby’s sleeping form across the room. Is it weird I’m physically aching to hold his limp hand and send him every bit of healing energy I can muster?
I remain rooted to my spot inside the door, chatting quietly with the family. As it turns out, everyone is who I thought they were. The two older people are Colby’s parents, Thomas and Louise Morgan. The four younger people are Colby’s siblings: Ryan, Kat, Keane, and Dax.
“Where does Colby fall in the birth order?” I ask.
“He’s our first-born,” Mrs. Morgan says wistfully, looking at her sleeping son. “He’s the one who made me a mother.”
“Uh oh, Keane,” Ryan, the one with the tattoo sleeves, says. “Looks like Colby has knocked you out of Mom’s top spot.”
“Damn that Colby Morgan!” Keane, the one with tousled hair, says, shaking his fist, and everyone chuckles. But then Keane gazes over at his prostrate brother and his gorgeous face turns somber. “Actually, just this once, I won’t fight for Mom’s top spot. Colby can have it.”
“Wow, that’s awfully big of you,” Ryan says dryly.
“In fact, I propose a new rule to the game, guys,” Keane says magnanimously. “From now on, whichever one of us rushes into a burning building to save a trapped baby and winds up in the ICU with broken bones and internal bleeding and on a breathing machine, he automatically gets Mom’s top spot for... I dunno. Should we say a year?”
“A year?” the youngest one, Dax, says. “Bah. A week, tops.”
“Agreed,” Ryan says. “Or else it’d just be way too easy for all of us to keep knocking each other off the top spot week after week.”
Everyone chuckles. But it’s the kind of laughter people share at a funeral.
The playful conversation between Colby’s brothers continues, and as it does, my eyes wander to Kat in the corner... only to find her staring at me with laser-sharp focus. Having caught my eye, she makes a face that nonverbally screams at me not to mention the bun in the oven she admitted to me in the bathroom.
I nod, making it clear I’ve received her message loud and clear.
Mrs. Morgan asks me a question about physical therapy in general, drawing my attention away from Kat, and I answer her. We talk easily for several minutes, until Ryan stands, yawns, and says, “I need a change of scenery for a bit, guys. I’m gonna grab some coffee at that place across the street. Anyone want anything?”
“I’ll come with you,” Dax says, standing and stretching—thereby showing off his beautiful lean muscles.
Keane stands. “Morgan family field trip.”
Colby’s parents and sister look at each other, like, “Should we go?”
“If you three want to join them,” I say, “I’d be happy to sit here with Colby ’til you get back. If he wakes up, I’ll do my PT assessment.”
“And you’ll sit with him until we get back?” Mrs. Morgan confirms. “I don’t want my son to be alone.”
“I promise,” I say. “I’ve a couple hours before I need to be at the outpatient clinic next door for my only scheduled patient of the day. You can take all the time you’d like.”
Mrs. Morgan looks relieved and, after a bit of prodding from her family, decides to join them.
A moment later, the Morgans are gone and I’m alone with their first-born son. Who’s on a ventilator. And attached to a heart monitor that’s going beep, beep, beep.
Shit.
My heart racing and my mouth dry, I take a deep breath... and cross the room.