Page 26 of His Reward
I was a little disappointed that he wasn’t Boston as the doctor joined my mom at my bedside to smile down at me.
“It’s great to see you looking so good,” the doctor said, glancing at the huge amount of machinery I was attached to. “Your vitals are all stable and in the exact range where we want them for this point in your recovery. Can you let me know on a scale of one to ten where your pain is?”
Before I could answer, Mom chimed in with, “Lucien, this is Dr. Wendel. He’s been the head of your care team for the last three weeks.”
The bottom nearly dropped out of my stomach. “Three weeks?” I asked breathlessly.
Dr. Wendel’s smile turned sympathetic. “I’m afraid you’ve sustained second-degree burns over fifteen percent of your body, Lucien,” he said. “Not only does that take time to heal, as I’m sure you know, the pain can be extreme.”
“Seven,” I blurted, tears streaming down my face. “My pain is a seven right now.”
Dr. Wendel nodded. “You’re about due for another dose of fentanyl, although for obvious reasons, I hope we can reduce that dosage and switch to managing your pain with non-opioid painkillers. That might be a while off, though.”
Dr. Wendel’s words went right over my head, even though I tried to pay attention as he got me up to speed on the injuries I’d suffered. Apparently, I was lucky that my burns hadn’t been worse. A few more minutes under that fiery debris and I would have suffered third degree burns that would have completely disabled me. A few more minutes and I would have been dead.
“I’ve been coordinating care decisions with your mom and dad,” Dr. Wendel finished up, “but now that we’ve brought you out of the induced coma and your cognitive capabilities have returned, we will, of course, defer to your wishes for your medical care.”
I nodded, though that hurt. Everything hurt. From the sound of things, I would have to get used to it.
“I trust my mom’s decisions,” I said weakly, trying to move to sit up straighter, though I felt weaker than I ever had.
Dr. Wendel smiled at my mom. “Your mom has been a trouper,” he said. “She’s hardly left your side since you were admitted.”
I was so grateful for having such an amazing mom that I started crying again. It was embarrassing. But I suppose the factthat I could be embarrassed about something like that meant I really was recovering.
Dr. Wendel checked a few more things. A sturdy, beta nurse came in to help him with my bandages. I almost wished for death for a second as he checked and changed a few. I caught a glimpse of the raw, red flesh on my thigh as he worked on that one, but it made me nauseated to look at, so I turned away while he did what he had to do.
Just as the bandages were finished, Dr. Wendel gave his opinion, and the nurse added a syringe of what must have been the painkillers to the IV line in my right arm, my father strode into the room.
Our eyes met, but instead of feeling any warmth or gratitude toward him, I felt cold. There was no worry or compassion in my father’s eyes, just stoicism and disappointment.
“I see he’s awake,” Father said, addressing Dr. Wendel, not me.
“Yes,” Dr. Wendel said, his kind smile still in place. “And he’s doing well. Your son is a fighter, Mr. Monteverdi.”
“He’s a champion,” Father said, but there wasn’t a lick of conviction in his voice.
My heart sank, and I reached for the slightly swimmy feeling that the powerful painkillers were already giving me. “Hi, Father,” I croaked through my still-raw throat.
Father nodded at me. “Lucien.” He glanced at the nurse like he wanted him to leave the room, then at Dr. Wendel. “Any updates on when he might be able to walk or use his left side again?”
Oh, God. Was there a possibility I wouldn’t be able to walk?
Dr. Wendel squashed that fear before it could get out of hand by saying, “He’s still in a lot of pain, but there is minimal muscle damage. Now that Lucien has regained consciousness, I wouldencourage him to start trying to get up and use his body as much as possible again as soon as he feels ready.”
I didn’t feel ready. I didn’t feel even remotely ready. But I had the feeling I was in a use it or lose it situation.
“I can get up whenever you need me to,” I said, trying hard to muscle to a full sitting position from my half-reclined bed.
“Looks like we have a fighter here,” Dr. Wendel said with a wink. “Baby steps,” he went on. “Don’t forget to walk before you run.”
“I’ll settle for just walking,” I replied.
Dr. Wendel brought my father up to speed in less than a minute, then he and the nurse left to get on with whatever else they had on their plates.
That left me alone with Mom and Father.
“You heard him,” I said, moving my body as much as I could through the pain. “I need to walk before I run, and I need to run before I skate. The Winter Games are?—”
