I awake in a hospital bed, doped up. My first thoughts are whether I still have a leg and a jawbone. I lift the sheet. My leg is still there. I feel my face. It’s swathed in so much bandage that I can’t tell.
I ring the bell, the nurse comes in, chipper and smiling, tells me it’s wonderful to see me awake. I thank her and ask her if she could get a doctor to speak to me. I’d like to know not just about my own condition but the status of my wife, daughter and colleague as well.
An hour goes by, a doctor breezes in, also smiling, and asks, “How are we doing today?”
I wish I could hit him.
“Do I still have a jaw?” I ask.
He looks at my chart. “Your jaw is fine. All the bone is intact. In fact, you suffered little damage in that regard. The teeth that were shot away were prosthetics, weren’t your own anyway. The bullet inflicted injury on a previously damaged area. You may have some additional nerve damage and some trouble with mobility on that side of your face. Only time will tell.”
“And my knee?”
He sighs. “The original gunshot to your knee destroyed a great deal of cartilage, and more was worn away through normal use over the years because the damage made it fragile. During your recent partial knee replacement, some of that damaged cartilage was removed. The new gunshot destroyed the prosthesis. I doubt a new one is viable. Again, time will tell. But best guess, you’ll have the same problems you had before the replacement, only worse. I doubt you’ll be able to walk without aid, at least a cane. But you keep the leg. Be thankful for that.”
“My wife and colleague were also injured. Can you check on them for me?”
“Of course.”
“And I want some cigarettes. Can you help me out?”
“I’ll go to the office and see what personal effects you have locked up there.” He gives my shoulder a pat. “I’ll buy you some and take you outside myself, if need be.”
He comes back a little while later. He has my wallet, cell phone, cane, cigarettes and lighter. My other things are in police custody. He wheels me outside to smoke and I find Milo there. “Your friend can relate his own condition. Your daughter is in our nursery, and your wife responds only to her. Your wife is suffering from acute stress disorder, as evidenced by her inability to comprehend stimuli, disorientation, and dissociative stupor. She’s heavily sedated. Her condition will likely improve, it’s just a question of when. Days, or weeks, at most.”
“When can we all go home?”
“You need professional in-home care, since neither of you can take care of the other, and your conditions need close monitoring. The changing of your bandages, for instance, must be done precisely. I can bring you the contact information for in-home care firms. If you can’t afford it, you can remain here until the situation improves.”
The doctor takes me back to my room and Milo comes with us. I thank the doc and he leaves us alone. “The room is probably bugged,” I say, “don’t say anything private. How are you?”
His head is also wrapped in bandages. “They saved my ear. It may hang funny. My hand will never work right again, if at all. Physical therapy may or may not help.”
“I guess you have to learn to shoot left-handed.”
He sighs. “I guess so. I can go home tomorrow, though. That’s something, at least. I hate this fucking place.”
“I don’t want a stranger in my home. You said Mirjami is a registered nurse.”
“If you recall, she’s in love with you. I doubt she’ll say no.”
I also recall she turns me on so much, I almost came in my pants when I met her. But sex is very low on my list of wants at the moment. “She doesn’t pay much attention to me. I think she got over it. Would you call her for me? Tell her I’ll pay her anything she wants.”
“Yeah. And I’ll stop by again in a while and take you out to smoke.”