“Maybe taking it slow is—”
“To the lavatory,” she demanded. “Whereupon I shall relieve myself unattended.”
The independence was absolutely vital. To be allowed the simple, profound dignity of taking care of her body’s needs seemed like manna from above, proof positive that blessings, like time, were relative.
Except as she tried to step forward, she could not pick her foot up.
“Shift your weight,” her healer said as he pivoted her and moved in behind her, “and I’ll take care of the rest.”
When he clasped her about the waist, she did as he’d told her and felt one of his hands grasp the back of her thigh and lift her leg. Without cueing, she knew to lean forward and place her weight gently as he put her knee in the correct position, restricting the bend in the joint as she straightened her leg.
The miracle was mechanical in its expression, but no less heartwarming for its one-step-two-step: She walked to the loo.
When the goal was obtained, her healer gave her privacy at the toilet, and she used the handlebar bolted into the wall to aid herself.
She was smiling the whole time. Which was utterly ridiculous.
After she had finished, she stood herself up using the bar and opened the door. Her healer was right outside, and she reached for him at the same moment he put his arms out for her.
“Back to the bed,” he said, and it was a command. “I’m going to examine you and then get you some crutches.”
She nodded and they slowly made their way across to the mattress. She was panting by the time she stretched out, but she was more than satisfied. This she could work with. Numb and cold and going nowhere? That was a death sentence.
Shutting her lids, she swallowed through deep breaths as he checked her vitals with efficiency.
“Your blood pressure’s up,” he said as he put aside the cufflike object she knew all too well. “But that could be because of what we. . . ah, did.” He cleared his throat. Something he seemed to be doing rather a lot. “Let’s check your legs. I want you to relax and close your eyes. No looking, please.”
After she did as he requested, he said, “Can you feel this?”
Frowning, she sorted through the various sensations in her body, from the softness of the mattress, to the cool breeze on her face, to the sheet her hand was resting upon.
Nothing. She felt—
Sitting up in a panic, she stared at her legs—only to find that his touch was not on her: His hands were down by his sides. “You tricked me.”
“No. I’m not assuming anything—that’s what I’m doing.”
As she resumed her position and shut her eyes once more, she wanted to curse, but she could see his point.
“How about now?”
Down below her knee, there was a subtle weight. She could feel it clear as day.
“Your hand . . . is on my leg. . . .” She cracked one of her eyelids and saw that she was right. “Yes, you are touching me there.”
“Any difference from before?”
She frowned. “It’s slightly . . . easier to feel.”
“Improvement is good.”
He palpated the other side. Then went up to nearly her hip. Then down to the bottom of her foot. Then inside her thigh . . . outside her knee.
“And now?” he asked one last time.
Against the darkness, she strained for sensation. “I feel . . . nothing now.”
“Good. We’re finished.”