X-men: World of Gray

Chapter 4

"Is there anything you want to work on?" Edie asked him as she sat by his feet.

Charles thought a moment. "Nothing in particular, love. But I'm always up for your expert advice."

"How about your floor-to-wheelchair transfers? Have you been practicing those?"

"I have been."

"Any problems?"

"No, I think I have it now. It simply takes all bloody day."

Edie patted his knee. "It'll get faster over time. Just be patient with it. You don't want to get frustrated and slip, and wind up with a pressure ulcer."

No, he certainly didn't want that.

The room's door opened. Without a word, another woman entered, this one older with blonde hair sprinkled with gray, and her features not nearly as kind as the woman perched at Charles' feet. The center's clinical director, Katherine Boggs.

Plopping a folder to an exam table near the door's entrance, she called out without looking, "Mr. Bailey is here for his eleven o'clock appointment, Edie."

That was all the direction the younger woman required. With a reassuring smile Charles' way, Edie stood and then walked out. Sitting on the floor, Charles watched as Katherine read the folder.

He didn't need his telepathy to know what it was—the only thing it could be.

His medical chart.

After a minute, Katherine threw an impassive glance over her shoulder. "Hello, Charles."

Releasing a breath, he said, "Hello, Katherine. How are you doing this lovely day?"

"Just fine. Yourself?"

"Splendid."

"Has Edie been treating you well?"

He shot a glimpse at his legs, awkwardly crossed together where Edie had been working on them. "Indeed. I believe she was attempting to make funny animal shapes out of me today."

Katherine twisted around to him, but there was no amusement on her features.

"That was a joke," he said.

"Yes, I know," the woman replied, and got back to his chart.

Charles pressed his lips together and decided best to just keep them shut.

After a minute, Katherine grabbed his medical file and shut the room's door. She approached him. Kneeling by his legs, she pulled out a pair of latex gloves, a safety pin and a cotton swab.

"Charles," Katherine said as she gloved her hands, "if it's all right with you, I would like to perform another sensory assessment exam on your lower extremities. Light touch and pinprick. You understand?"

Charles nodded. He had already gone through this routine on several occasions, and now it was about time for his six-month evaluation. They did his motor function assessment earlier that week, and yet another rectal exam (which was always so delightful) the week before. Sensory function was the final assessment.

"Would you prefer the exam table?" Katherine asked.

"The mat will do well enough, thank you."

"Then I need you to remove your sweatpants and lie on your stomach, please."

Dropping to his back, Charles began wiggling off the sweats. Katherine helped as he struggled to slide the elastic ankle bands off his feet. Then, in his boxers, Charles grabbed his right calf, and manually dragged the paralyzed limb until it was straight. He crossed his left over his right; then, reaching up, he used his arms and torso to force his body to roll. On his stomach, Charles rested his hands under his chin and tried to ignore the mat's aroma of sweat and vinyl.