The most dangerous hits are the ones that you don't see coming. My freshmen football coach used to yell that over and over when he didn't have anything else to say. I really never stopped to think about what that meant until six weeks ago, when my life changed forever in a way that I never saw coming, but let me start at the beginning.
A light rain was falling as I drove home to my apartment on the other side of campus. My mind was pulled in a thousand different directions between coach chewing my ass because I played like shit in Saturday's game to the ten-page history paper I had to finish before getting on the bus Friday. I was so far inside my head that I didn't even register the driver that ran the stoplight and slammed into my driver side door.
The next couple of days were a haze of pain meds and surgery to put my broken body back together. A titanium rod had been screwed into my upper leg to repair my broken femur, both of my wrists were being held together by a home improvement store worth of hardware, my brain had been scrambled, and three of my ribs had been cracked. That's not to mention countless bumps and bruises and at least a couple dozen stitches. I was, as my Gran used to say, a hurting turtle.
When I finally came halfway out of my daze, I expected to be alone, so imagine my surprise when I looked over to see the sweetest smile in the world. "Mom? What are you doing here?"
"Well, I've spent the last two hours trying to get this very pretty nurse to share some of your drugs with me. I mean, you were asleep and obviously didn't need them," she answered.
I laughed at her obvious joke until I started to cough. It was the single most excruciating thing I had ever experienced in my entire life. It was worse than when I fell out of my tree house when I was in first grade, or when Becky Lynn Johnson kicked me in the balls in third grade. Not only that, but it was even worse than when Cheri Friland lied to me about being a virgin then gave me the chlamydia
"Let me go get the nurse to help you." Mom nearly sprinted out the door, ignoring my attempt to wave her off. A minute later, a pretty young nurse, whose name I later learned was Lora, walked into the room carrying a vial and syringe.
"How would you rate your pain," she asked.
"Like 9.75."
"We'll call that a 10." She scanned my bracelet using one of those guns like they use in the grocery store before doing the same with a vial. "This is fentanyl, which is a strong pain medicine. The doctor ordered it for every six hours. If it's not enough he also ordered a pain pill you can take every four hours."
"Okay." She filled a syringe and shot it straight into my IV. The pain seemed to start to melt away almost immediately until it was almost tolerable. I tried to stay awake to chat with Mom, but it was a lost cause.
When I woke back up it was night time and Mom sat in a folding chair reading a paperback."Good book?"
"It's fucking terrible." I tried my best not to laugh. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit like a bus." I tried to sit up and groaned in pain. "Fuck me!"
"Here." Mom hit the call button and a minute later two techs were helping me carefully sit up in bed and retrieving a cup of ice chips for my parched throat. Once I was settled Mom laid her hand on my shoulder and looked down at my broken body, "Better?"
"I still feel like I've been hit by a fucking bus," I answered.
"It was actually a Ford F-250, but the guy was driving fast enough that it might as well have been a bus."
Finally somewhat awake I started to take inventory of my body. The pain was nearly unbearable but I could move my fingers. My right foot moved easily, but when I got to my left nothing happened. I began to panic and my heart rate shot up so high that an alarm sounded. "My leg! I can't feel my leg!"
"Shhh, it's alright." Mom stroked my hair trying to calm me. "Between the accident and the surgeries you have nerve damage. The doctor says you'll get feeling back with some time."
"Is everything alright?" The nurse walked into the room, staring daggers at my mother. "You aren't upsetting him, are you?"
"No this one's on me," I answered. "I got a little freaked out over not being able to feel my leg. Given how the rest of me feels that might be a good thing."
The next few days were spent in a cycle of rehab, drugs, and pain. It seemed like there was constantly someone in and out of my room: physical therapist, occupational therapists, social workers, and psychologists. I honestly didn't care who they were I just did what they asked me to do, so I could get out of the damn hospital. I was tired of grippy socks and assless gowns.
When the time to release me came, Mom and my doctors had a huge fight. They were insisting that I spend a few weeks in a local rehab facility, but Mom said that there was no way she was going home without her baby boy. Mom eventually won the argument, but then came the issue, we were in Pennsylvania and going to Wisconsin.
Normally I would just fly, but in a cast from my hip to my ankle that was completely out of the question. That meant renting the largest SUV the car place had and making the twelve-hour drive home. With a stash of snacks and a pain pill on board, off we went. I slept most of the time, but by the time we stopped, I was really starting to hurt. Using her special Mom spidey sense, she just knew how far I'd be able to go and got us a room at a nice hotel just outside of Indianapolis for a couple of nights, so I could rest.
The room that Mom got for us was huge, and I learned that it was because it was handicap accessible and was set up to give more room for a wheelchair, which was something I never thought I would ever need, but I was thankful for it that night. I was also thankful for the soft bed once we were able to get me into it, which was a challenge given how mom was 5'2 and a hundred pounds soaking wet, and I was 6'4 and two and a half bills.
Once I was finally settled she called and ordered us pizza and everything was great until for the first time since we left Pittsburgh my bladder screamed that it needed to be emptied. I knew that this was going to happen eventually, but I put it off as long as possible because I was not ready for Mom to have to help me take a piss.
"Do you need to tinkle?" She just smiled when I snarled at her. "I know you hate when I say that, but old habits die hard."
"I kinda do, but I'm not sure how this is going to work."
"Well, we're going to do the best that we can to be mature about it, and I'm going to have to help you. How did they do it at the hospital?"
"They would sit the bed up and use the urinal thing," I answered.
"Alright, let me go find it and grab some towels. I'd hate for one of these comfy beds to get wet." She disappeared into the bathroom and came out with two thick bath towels and the plastic urinal that the hospital had sent home with us. "I guess we need to get your shorts off and the towels under your bottom."
I could feel my face flush in embarrassment. This was not something that someone's mother should be doing, and for the millionth time in my life I silently cursed my piece of shit father. "Mom, I don't know if I..."
"Until we get home and get the home healthcare nurse coming to the house, you don't have a choice, Patrick. It's not like I haven't seen what you have before, so lift up your butt."
