Home Front

“Yeah,” Jolene said, unsmiling. “I’m getting my cast off. ”

“I thought you were going home. ”

Jolene thought again: What’s wrong with me? “Oh. That, too. ”

Gloria helped Jolene out of bed and into the wheelchair. Talking all the while about something—Jolene couldn’t concentrate on the words—the woman wheeled her into the bathroom, helped her pull her pants down and sit on the toilet seat.

“Do you need help wiping?” Gloria asked in the same voice you’d say, Would you like fries with that? Perky. Cheerful.

“No. I’m left-handed. Thanks. Maybe a few minutes of privacy?”

“Of course. ” Gloria left the bathroom and closed the door behind her, but not all the way. A slice of air showed through.

It took Jolene a long time to empty her bladder—nothing seemed to work as well these days. When she was finished, she was actually winded. And she still had dressing and hair combing and teeth brushing to accomplish. It tired her out just thinking about it.

“Are we done?” Gloria asked.

“I’m done,” Jolene said, striving not to sound irritated.

She was getting upset. It didn’t take Sigmund Freud to guess why.

She was scared to have her cast removed.

With the cast on her arm, there was hope. She could look down at it and think that within that plaster casing, the nerves in her hand were mending, growing strong. But today she would know for sure. Was she a woman with two good hands or just one?

She let Gloria help her back into the wheelchair, as humiliating as it was.

“Conny will be here in a few minutes to take you to get that cast off. Do you want to get back in bed to wait?”

“Could you roll me to the window? I’d like to look out. ”

“Sure. ” Gloria rolled Jolene to the window. “It’s going to be a beautiful fall day. ” She patted Jolene’s shoulder and left. At the door, she paused and turned back. “Oh, I almost forgot. Maudeen Wachsmith in accounting wanted to ask you what you wanted us to do with your mail. ”

“I have mail?”

“Guess so. ”

“Oh. Well. Bring it to me. ” She turned back to the window.

Outside, the autumn sky was a pale sage green with wispy clouds. Beyond the parking lot, giant cedar trees screened whatever lay beyond. Up close, an aged cherry tree clung stubbornly to a handful of blackened leaves. As she watched, one lost its grip and tumbled downward.

“There you are, soldier girl. Nice to see you doing something besides sitting in bed. ”

“I was thinking about trying a cartwheel. ”

Conny laughed. “You’re a firecracker, Jolene, that’s for sure. ”

He came around behind her and wheeled her out of the room. All the way through the hallways, he made small talk: his wife’s new hairdo, his daughter’s promotion, the way his back ached when he first got out of bed in the morning.

“Well, here we are. ”

Jolene checked in and was wheeled into an examination room. Moments later came a knock at her door. In walked a stick-thin man in a white coat with messy salt-and-pepper hair and a nose like a portobello mushroom. She could tell instantly that bedside manner would not be his strength.

He came into the room, mumbling an introduction while he glanced at her chart. Then he set the file aside and looked at her. “I’ll bet you’re anxious to see how your hand works. ”

She nodded, unable to find her voice.

He pulled up a chair and sat in front of her. Within moments, the cast was off, broken into pieces.