I sat back in my chair and took deep breaths to calm my pounding heart, which seemed more like a military drum being thumped in the middle of a battle. How I wished I could find things out for myself.
I wasn't feeling sorry for myself as much as I was feeling angry, and something told me that was good, that was the beginning of a fight to return to health and strength. Frustration turned my hands into fists and tightened my spine like a rope being pulled firmly from both ends. None of this was going to change when Mrs. Broadfield's replacement arrived, no matter how nice she was.
I would still have to get up when others wanted me to get up, eat when others wanted me to eat and what they wanted me to eat, take therapy when someone said it was time, nap at her command, dress, wash, go to the bathroom when she decided I should, and speak to people when she wanted me to speak to people. I've become a puppet, and my nurses, my doctors, even Tony, have become the puppeteers, I thought.
"No!" I screamed to an empty room. I felt my anger and frustration flowing down my body, warming the blood that ran through my rebellious legs. Suddenly there was a twinge; something electric shot through my lower spine. At first it was like a pinprick on the backs of my thighs, then it became a tingling along my ankles and into the tips of my toes. I willed my feet to press against the pads of the chair.
I felt the pressure against the soles of my feet. I felt tension in my legs, wobbly and weak, but nevertheless, tension. This time when I made an effort to rise out of the chair, I wasn't depending entirely on my arm strength. My legs were aiding. I was getting a response to my mental commands. It was working! I was doing it! Doing it! . . My entire body trembled, but I felt it . . . I could work myself into an unsteady standing position. I was making it happen, doing what I had taken for granted most of my life, but achieving what now was a major accomplishment! My heart pounded with anticipation and happiness. My body was responding!
It seemed to take hours instead of moments, but I was rising out of the chair, guiding myself by holding the arms as I began to stand. Just as I reached the full upright position, my legs shaking like toothpicks asked to hold a weight far too heavy for them, Tony came in. He stopped and looked at me in amazement,
"Tony . . . I just tried and it happened! My legs are working, Tony! Really beginning to work! But it feels so funny, like I'm standing on air." I wobbled when I laughed.
"Easy," he said, stepping forward slowly and holding his hands out as though he were speaking to a potential suicide victim out on a window ledge. "Don't try to walk yet. You don't want to break any bones."
He didn't look as happy and as excited by it all as I had expected he would. If anything, he looked annoyed. Why wasn't he as happy as I was? It was happening, what we had all hoped would happen was happening!
"I'm going to get better! I am!" I emphasized, in an attempt to evoke some excitement in him. But he didn't change expression.
"Of course you are," Tony said calmly. "But don't rush things now. Take it easy. You'd better sit down again," he said.
"But I don't feel tired yet, and it feels so good to be standing on my own two feet! Oh, Tony, it feels so good . . . so wonderful to do a simple thing like stand up! I wish Drake could have been here to see; I wish Luke . . . what about Luke? You called him, didn't you?"
"Yes, I called him," Tony said.
"Oh, I'll stand for him! You'll tell me exactly when he's coming up and stand just as he comes through that door and--"
"He can't come tomorrow," Tony declared flatly. "He has some sort of entrance exam to take."
The excitement that had blown me up so, seeped out as if I were a leaking balloon. I could feel my newfound strength weakening, my pounding, stronger heart softening, that hateful shadow falling over it again.
"What? But that can't possibly take him all day."
"It's just not convenient. Maybe the day after or on the weekend. He wasn't sure."
"Wasn't sure? Luke said he wasn't sure?"
Suddenly my legs became like jelly. Without warning they lost all their firmness. I screamed. Tony lunged forward, unfortunately not reaching me in time to prevent me from crashing to the floor.
EIGHTEEN Rebellion
. The first thing I thought after I regained consciousness was I was wearing a different nightgown, one of the silk ones Tony had brought me at the hospital. That meant he had changed me before the doctor's arrival. But why? Had I torn it when I fell unconscious? It was embarrassing to realize he had taken off my nightgown and dressed me while I was unconscious. He was much older, a great-grandfather, but still . . . he was a man!
Before I could ask him about it, he and Dr. Malisoff rushed into my room. My thoughts cleared and I remembered my physical accomplishments. It was happening--I was really recovering! Despite my collapse, I knew it was true. There was an end in sight to this existence as an invalid. My heart was cheered. Soon I would once again walk unaided, never again to be dependent upon nurses and doctors, medicines and equipment.
I waited patiently but excitedly as Dr. Malisoff completed his examination of me--testing my reflexes. Tony waited near the door.
As I lay there in bed, I again felt an awakening in my lower limbs and knew something significant had begun to happen. And even though the doctor wore his expressionless, analytical face, I could see something new in his eyes when he gazed down at me.
"Well?" I
asked anxiously. Tony stepped forward to hear what he would say. "Am I
improving?"
"Yes," he said, "your legs are coming back; your reflexes are stronger."
"Oh, thank God! Thank God! Thank God!" I chanted. I looked at Tony, but he seemed troubled. The doctor decided to have a quick consultation with him. I waited again as they spoke in the sitting room. Why they had to do it beyond my hearing, I couldn't understand. The only thing I could think was, he didn't want me to get too excited. When they returned, they both looked happier.