Page 52 of Entangled in Them

Chapter Twenty-two

Ryan

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DILLON AND I SAT, SIDE by side, on seats that were set higher than regular chairs to enable people to get in and out of them easier. The clean scent of bleach, combined with a sense of both anticipation and mild boredom, filled the air.

A few other patients were waiting as well, and at first glance, a regular person would never have known at least half of us—the half that were the patients rather than the support they’d brought with them—were missing limbs. The young woman opposite me was easiest to spot, since it was her hand that had the prosthetic rather than her foot, and I thought that must be harder. It was easy to cover up a prosthetic leg with pants and shoes, but wearing a glove would probably call more attention to the missing limb than it would hide it. Not that we should have any reason to hide them, but everyone wanted to fit in.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” I told Dillon, keeping my voice low.

He shrugged. “I didn’t mind. I don’t like you coming to these appointments on your own.”

“Do you think we did the wrong thing by leaving Rue alone?”

“We locked the door, and she won’t go anywhere. It’s not as though we can babysit her twenty-four-seven. We all have our lives to get on with. Besides, Kodee should be back by now. She’ll be fine.”

I nodded. “I hope you’re right.”

“Ryan Berget,” the receptionist called. “You can go through now.”

I got to my feet, and Dillon rose beside me.

“You don’t have to come in,” I told him.

“I want to.”

I wasn’t going to fight with him. I was tired from my fall last night. I’d been unable to get back to sleep, with thoughts of Rue dancing around my head. I had told the truth when I’d said she confused me. While my initial reaction at her presence in our apartment had been one of irritation and anger, now that I was getting to know her, I had to admit I enjoyed having her around. Something about her softened me—perhaps softened all of us.

I led the way to the prosthetist’s office, with Dillon following. The door was standing open a couple of inches, so I knocked lightly and then let myself in. The Prosthetist wasn’t sitting at a desk, but was instead putting away equipment he must have used for his last patient, but he stopped what he was doing as we entered. We’d met before on several occasions, and I knew his name was Gordon Little. He was far from a little man, however, and though he was in his forties and had a gut that was straining against the front of his shirt, his shoulders and back were broad and strong.

“Hey, Ryan,” Gordon said, offering me a wide smile and shaking my hand. He gave a nod to Dillon but didn’t question why he was there. “Take a seat. How are you getting on since I saw you last time?”

I sat down and shook my head. “Not great. The pain’s been worse.”

You couldn’t treat phantom limb pain. How could you, when the pain wasn’t even supposed to exist? Of course, that didn’t mean it wasn’t real, only that the traditional ways of treating pain simply didn’t work. Sometimes, it felt like a hammer was smashing a toe that no longer existed, or someone was stabbing a red-hot poker through the top of a foot that was no longer there.

“Phantom limb pain,” he asked, frowning down at me in concern, “or pain from the prosthetic?”

“A bit of both,” I admitted.

“Okay. Let’s see how this thing’s fitting you.”

He got to his knees in front of me and got to work, stripping my stump of the prosthetic and then the sleeve I wore over the top, which was supposed to help the socket fit better. Of course, it didn’t help that the size and shape of the stump would change, even depending on the time of day. In the mornings, it was smaller, because I’d been lying down all night, but by the evening it would have filled with fluid, so I’d need fewer layers.

Gordon pursed his lips. “Hmm. You are getting some sore areas. You need to take care of them, maybe wear the limb a little less. You know what happens if they get worse.”

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