Brave

Chapter 5: Pep Talk

I swallow a small lump in my throat and think to myself that I haven't been all alone this whole time. My friends have been with me.

A new nurse comes in and introduces herself, "I'm Bette."

I just give her a small smile and nod.

She goes through all the motions, taking my temperature, checking my blood pressure, checking the stitches in my left leg, asking me if I need anything.

"My leg really hurts," I tell her. "The doctor said he'd tell you to increase my pain medication."

"I'll go and ask him how much." She disappears and comes back and makes some adjustments. She tells me that I should feel it working soon. Hopefully, she's right. Not only is the pain becoming unbearable, but oddly enough, it's a reminder of what's no longer there.

My mom leaves to get some lunch, so I decide to flick on the TV and sit back for a moment. But I'm soon interrupted by another new face in a lab coat.

"Hello, Sarah, I'm Mitch. I'm a social worker."

"Hi, Mitch," I reply, reluctantly turning off the TV. I'm sure he's another person who's going to tell me that I can live a perfectly normal life with one leg.

"I'll be helping you and your family to adjust to your new situation," he tells me.

He makes it sound so innocuous. Situation, as it's some mundane condition that can be fixed with some thought and effort. This isn't a situation, this is my life, forever destroyed by the fact that my leg is gone.

This is not a situation, it's a catastrophe.

He continues, unaware of my bitter thoughts. "I will help your parents to assess your home to find out if we need to make any modifications to make it accessible."

Handicap-accessible, he means. I'm handicapped now. Wheelchair ramps, grab bars, like a nursing home.

"What about the dorms? I'm living there right now because I'm in school," I said.

"Well, that will be another hurdle after you cross this one. I'm sure the dorms are accessible as well, but there still might be some things that we can do to make it easier. But we won't have to tackle that for a while yet."

"What do you mean?!" I ask indignantly. "I'm going back to school after I get out of here. In fact, I was going to try to contact my professors today to see if I can make up any work that I missed."

"I'm sorry, Sarah, but I don't think that's part of the plan," Mitch said carefully.

"Whose plan?!" I ask, becoming furious. "This is my life and suddenly everyone else thinks they're running it!"

"Well, the doctors, for one," he says, unfazed by my increasing agitation. "You have a lot of work to do here in therapy, but when you leave, you'll still have to go to therapy at least three times a week. And you'll have lots of follow up appointments to check on the healing of your legs. I'm not sure it will be possible for you to continue college right now."

"Don't tell me what's possible and what's not!" I snap. "I can do anything I put my mind to!"

"That's a great attitude," he smiles as a platitude. "We don't have to talk about this any more right now. Just communicate with your doctor to make sure you're on the same page as far as treatment, okay?" He hands me a business card. "Here is my extension. Just pick up the phone and dial those three numbers if you want to talk about anything. I'll check back with you regularly."

"So, you're like a counselor?" I ask, softening my tone. I guess that's what I thought social workers did, but he kind of surprised me with the whole let's make your house accessible business.