Brave

Chapter 4: Changes

"Strong as an ox and stubborn as a mule, or so they say," I smirk.

My dad looks down at his hands and smiles sheepishly, saying, "Oh, you heard that, did you? I meant it in the best possible way."

I just laugh at him. Even though I've spent a lot of time being angry that he's gone so much, I love him dearly, and I'm always thankful he's my dad. I guess you could say it's kind of a love-hate relationship but mostly love.

Soon, we're joined by a woman in a dark pink sweater and khaki slacks. Her long blond hair has such perfect curls at the end that I almost wonder if they're fake.

"Hi, I'm Carol," she smiles, and her voice is almost as bouncy as her curls. "I'm an Occupational Therapist."

"Sarah," I say simply.

"Sarah, I'm going to show you some tricks today. Since you've lost a limb, you might not be able to do things the same as you did them before, things like bathing, dressing, or going to the bathroom. Over the next few days, I'll be helping you to do those things while compensating for your lost limb."

I nod and give her my best 'I'm ready' smile, although I'm not sure I'll ever be ready.

Dad gives me one last kiss and tells me he's going home to get a shower and some sleep. "Mom should be here soon. I'll be back later today," he tells me as he waves goodbye.

"Can I use the bathroom first?" I ask Carol. The nurse had removed my catheter yesterday, but I haven't been allowed to leave my bed.

"Of course," Carol replies, bringing a bedpan to me.

I groan in disappointment. "Can't I just hop over to the bathroom? You can hold on to me. It shouldn't be too hard, right?"

"I'm sorry," Carol tells me. "I'm not allowed to do that, and you haven't been cleared for wheelchair use yet. It's the good old bedpan for now. Besides, it's hard to move when you're still connected to the IV."

I roll my eyes, not at Carol, but at the idea that I can't get up and do something as simple as peeing on my own. It feels more like they're punishing me than protecting me. I take care of business and Carol swiftly removes the pan.

She pulls the blankets away and helps me to sit up. I haven't really looked at my right leg – well, what remains of my right leg – yet. I'm not as shocked as I thought I'd be. But then again, I've been in sort of a constant state of shock since I woke up three days ago. Besides, the stump is still covered in thick layers of bandages. And there are no gruesome blood stains like you might see on a soap opera. It's just a wad of white at the end of my now very short leg.

I'm actually more startled at the appearance of my left leg. There is a long, narrow strip of gauze that must be covering the stitches. But the rest of the leg has these huge, dark purple and blue-green bruises everywhere, which frankly, I find appalling.

"We'll have to give you another sponge bath today."

"Another?" I ask, cringing.

"The patient care techs do sponge baths for people when they're unconscious or in a coma."

The thought of someone else sponging off my naked body makes me feel sick. I wouldn't want that kind of help, even if I was fully conscious. I like to be able to do things for myself and I've never been one to ask for help. I guess I really am stubborn as a mule because if I can't do something by myself, I will try and try and try until I get it right. Asking someone else to help me is never an option. Obviously, I had no say in the matter while I was out for a few days, but it's still unsettling.