I desperately wished there was something to do besides
lie here
.
Ordinarily, when I was feeling down on myself, I went and did something. Hit the gym. Knocked out a project or two. Got a drink with a friend.
Right now, all I could do was lie in bed and wait for the next thing to happen. It was driving me up the wall...mostly because it meant I was alone with my own thoughts.
And right now, my internal monologue was one specific, ongoing refrain:
What the fuck, man? Since when do you have trouble satisfying the ladies?
I couldn't stop thinking about Natalie. I felt like it was probably her fault. How easily she'd gotten me off, how at-odds that had been with our relationship back in college, had shattered my confidence. Kate had been just similar enough to college-Natalie, and following on the heels of Natalie's visit, it had...
Had what? Made me blow my load unusually quickly?
Did that even make sense?
I sighed to myself. I must've been loud enough that Denise heard me from the hallway, because the nurse poked her head in a moment later. "You okay, big guy?"
I nodded, glumly. "Just going a little stir-crazy."
She smiled sympathetically. "Well, don't worry. The doctor should be by to evaluate your progress any minute now. Maybe you'll be deemed wheelchair-ready. Then you'll be able to get out of this room and into one of our lovely hallways. They feature exciting amenities, like defibrillators, other patients being wheeled about, and overworked nurses and doctors who will be annoyed by your presence. Also, they're completely windowless, and the fluorescent lights flicker, just slightly, every so often, in an interval that absolutely maximizes how irritating it is. Ten minutes in one of our fine hallways will give you an entirely different perspective on your room."
I chuckled. "Hah. Don't oversell it."
Denise bustled about the room checking on things. "How're you feeling otherwise?"
I shrugged. "I dunno. A little better maybe?"
She nodded, and opened her mouth to ask another question, when someone knocked on the open door and then walked in. Two people, actually.
The first person through the door was an older woman in a white doctor's coat and scrubs. A bun of dark, greying hair and spectacles gave her a somewhat severe look. She was followed by a younger, pretty woman, whose longer red hair was up in a ponytail. She was wearing scrubs.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Carlson. This is Mia, a med student on rotation with us." The older woman peered at me dubiously, taking in the bandages.
"Uh, hi Doctor. Hi Mia. I'm James."
"I'll leave you all to it. James, I'll be back with some food after they're gone. Get excited -- it's pudding day!" Denise bustled out.
The doctor was reviewing my chart, all business. Mia was alternating between looking over the doctor's shoulder and looking at the bandages around my torso peeking out of the hospital gown, clearly somewhat taken aback.
I gave her a smile. I suspected this particular med student hadn't seen that many other multiple stab victims. Mia met my eyes and then looked away, a little embarrassed.
The doctor spoke again after a moment. "Hmm, yes, well. You're a lucky man, James."
"So I've heard, yeah."
Dr. Carlson -- and, a step behind her, Mia -- approached the bedside and pulled up stools. I took off the hospital gown, sliding it down to my waist to Mia and I both watched as the doctor examined the stab wounds in my torso with very little fanfare. None of Natalie's teasing, lingering touches here; Dr. Carlson was all business.
Mia, on the other hand, certainly appeared to be observing more than the state of my wounds. As I peeled off the gown, I watched her out of the corner of my eye as her gaze roved over my shoulders and arms. The doctor started her inspection, pointing out where stitches were pulling and might need to be redone, where bandages might be an issue...but Mia's eyes were flicking between the bandages and the tattooed muscles above them.
It bolstered my confidence.
There were more fish in the sea than Natalie
, I reminded myself.
...
And Kate
, I was forced to amend, glumly.
"Well, your wounds are in pretty good shape, James. It's remarkable that knife wounds this deep all missed your internal organs. My main concern -- aside from the risk of infection, making sure everything heals well, minimizing scarring, and regaining your strength and mobility as your body repairs the muscle -- is nerve damage. Certainly would've been easy to nick something along the spine or some other pathway, sever a connection, that sort of thing. Any loss of sensation? Or increased sensation? Tingling, numbness, that sort of thing?" My eyes, and Mia's, both snapped to the doctor as she asked the question.
"I, uh...fine, I think?" It came out as an astonished, uncertain question instead of a statement. Could my lack of stamina be the result of my injuries? That was occurring to me for only the first time.
"Mmm. You
think
?" The doctor zeroed in on the uncertainty in my voice.
I tried to think about some way to ask the doctor about it.
Well, I got a handjob yesterday and came embarrassingly quickly, doctor?
"I, uh...there's not...tingling, exactly...but there's some heightened sensitivity in my...low abdomen...groin area." I said the words, lamely.
Mia looked away and bit her lip when I said the word
groin
.
But the doctor just sighed. "Right, okay, that could be from a dozen different things, including just being in bed in one position for too long. But let's try to rule out obvious nerve damage, at least. Let's run some tests on your lower extremities. Pull your gown up to around thigh level, please."
I did so, and then endured a battery of reflex and sensation tests over the next few minutes. The doctor stroked the bottom of my foot, asked if I could feel a light touch on the back of my calf, that sort of thing.
She was in the middle of applying some pressure to my kneecap and asking me if it felt uncomfortable, when Denise poked her head back in. "Uh, excuse me, Dr. Carlson? We could use your help with Mrs. Christie in 308. She's, um, refusing to let anyone near her, says that the last shot you gave her put spiders in her skin..."
"
Again?
Good LORD. That woman. I
will
put spiders in her skin if she keeps up this kind of foolishness." Dr. Carlson's mouth tightened, and she let out a long sigh. "Mia, this'll be good practice for you anyway. Please do a standard patellar test and the rest of the battery of standard reflex and sensate tests. Write it up, then come find me. This might take a few minutes. Mrs. Christie can be a little difficult."
Dr. Carlson glanced back at me. "Thanks, James, and I'm sorry to cut this short, but I leave you in Mia's capable hands. You look like you're recovering nicely; let your nurse or someone else on the care team know if the heightened...how did you put it?...
sensitivity
continues. Otherwise I'll check back in on you in a few days, make sure everything is healing properly."
Dr. Carlson stood up and followed Denise out.
I looked at Mia. She looked back at me, uncertainly. There was a silent beat where we stared at each other. Her eyes were pretty -- a deep blue that was an arresting contrast to her red hair.
Then, shyly, she opened her mouth and said, "So, um, for the patellar reflex test you need to be in a sitting position so your knee is bent. Can you sit up, or do I need to adjust the hospital bed for you?"
I realized it was the first thing I had heard her say this entire time. Her voice was quiet, a little mousy.
"I, uh...I can try..." I struggled, trying to get myself up into a sitting position, but it was no use. The ol' abdominals were still not working the way they ought to be.
"W-whoa, stop," she said, still sounding concerned. "You'll pop a stitch or something. I don't need that on Dr. Carlson's write up of me this week."
"Uh, sorry. Maybe you should just adjust the bed." I sat back, a little shamefaced.
She reached over to the hospital bed controls, and tweaked a few things. She dropped the bottom third of the bed towards the ground, and the top third started to lift up, creating a seat in the middle. It couldn't quite turn itself into a chair, but it was pretty close.
"Okay, good." She slid her stool around to the edge of the bed, sitting almost between my legs.
I watched her as she tucked a stray strand of red hair behind an ear, made a few notes, pulled out some instruments. She was really pretty -- her face was delicate, feminine, and her big blue eyes were gorgeous. As I stared, she grabbed a little mallet, tapping each of my knees in turn. My reflexes seemed to be fine, my leg straightening involuntarily.
She nodded, and made a note. "Uh, okay, good. Now, can you feel this?" She ran fingers lightly up my thigh, looking up at me, the question in her eyes.
Well,
