Once Shattered, Twice Shy Read online

  How nice it would be to have a boyfriend right now, he thought. Someone who could have helped me at the hospital. Someone more assertive than me or Mom. Someone who could help me bathe without embarrassment. Someone who could maybe even make bath time a bit more fun to alleviate the pain. Someone I could lean on for a change. Someone I could trust to be there.

  Another voice in his head said, Yeah, well. That ain’t happening, and you can’t stand in the shower for the next three days, so focus on getting clean.

  Wade slowly and deliberately washed his body and rinsed off, then tackled the task of washing his hair with one arm. Opening the shampoo bottle proved quite difficult, since he could not use his left arm at all for any leverage or balance; the same with the conditioner. By the time he got his hair properly cleaned, the strength in his right arm was giving out. He was so relieved he was done. He turned off the water, opened the shower curtain, and was hit with the realization that he still had to dry off, as well as dry his hair.

  “Well, shit,” he said aloud.

  Wade reached for a towel and placed it on his head. He rubbed with his right hand as best he could to get as much water off as possible. He slowly and carefully dried himself. With every bend and twist, he felt pain in his left arm. His left shoulder was tired from holding the weight of the splint without the aid of the sling. He put the towel in his mouth, moved his right arm under it, and rotated his arm back and forth. Hopefully that would get enough water off.

  Drying his back proved the most difficult and most ridiculous, and he again thought how nice it would be to have a boyfriend who could help. Flinging the towel over his shoulder while still holding on to one corner, he walked to the doorframe of the bathroom and moved up and down like a grizzly bear scratching its back against a tree.

  Wade finished drying his hair as best he could. Then he wondered about how to get dressed. He found two button-down shirts he had been planning to throw out and, laying them on the bed, smoothed them out as flat as possible, then slowly cut off the left sleeve of each one so that the splint would fit through.

  Putting that shirt on was not as painful as a pullover, but it was still difficult, as was buttoning up each button. He sat down on the bed to put on fresh underwear, got up again to find some gym shorts, and sat down again to put those on. Putting on some tennis socks, Wade thanked Whoever for the fact that he had just purchased a new pair of deck shoes to wear around the house. He did not have the energy to attempt tying shoelaces with one hand. Neither did he want his mother tying his shoes for him. When he finally left his room, he noticed it had taken him over an hour to shower and get dressed.

  Tired, hungry, and in pain, he made it down the stairs in time for his mother to say she had made him a sandwich and put his pain medications on the table. Wade had not wanted to take them before his shower for fear they would take effect before he was able to finish the task.

  “Will you be able to make it up the stairs again when the codeine kicks in?” Lorraine asked.

  “I hope so. I should think so.”

  “Would you rather sleep in my room?”

  The master bedroom was on the ground floor. Wade’s and his sister’s rooms were upstairs.

  “Thanks, Mom, no. I’m already uncomfortable enough without sleeping in a strange bed. Besides, I don’t want you going up and down those stairs. If you get sick or dizzy, I can’t do anything to help you.”

  “I can stay up till you’re done eating, if you like.” It was nearly ten o’clock, and Lorraine had been going to bed at nine for a few years now.

  “No. I’ll be fine. It’s been a long day. I just want to eat, watch the rest of the Saturday-night PBS lineup, and go to bed. If I don’t think I can make it up the stairs, I’ll just stay on the sofa here.”

  “I hope you can sleep.”

  “Thank you. You too.”

  Lorraine walked out of the room, and Wade noticed she was more wobbly than she had been in a while. He hoped she would not have a Ménière’s attack.

  He ate in silence and tried to lose himself in Britcoms for the next hour. Then he got up, took his plate into the kitchen, and made the slow journey up the stairs to his room.

  THE CODEINE was not having the effect Wade had hoped for. He felt dizzy and nauseous, but the pain was not lessening and he did not feel like he was getting sleepier from the pills. He thought about taking some of the Ambien he kept for emergencies, but worried about drug interactions. I haven’t gone through this hell of a day to end it with an accidental overdose.

  Instead he just lay on the bed with the hastily arranged pillows providing inadequate back support and an extra one against his left side to prop up the arm as it rested on his stomach. Even lying down, the sling strap was digging into his shoulder, causing extra pain and discomfort. He loosened the band twice, but each time the weight of the splint pulled it down so that it still dug into his shoulder. After several hours of drowsy consciousness and pain, Wade decided that he could take off the sling.

  He glanced at the digital clock on the dresser and saw that it was 3:07 a.m. He was exhausted, he was buttressed by the pillows so he could not roll over, and his arm was in a firm splint. Therefore removing the sling while lying down should not cause any problems.

  He wriggled in the bed to lift the strap over his head. The split second the strap was off his shoulder, he felt tremendous relief. He left the rest of the sling on his arm and let the strap rest on his chest. He fell asleep within ten minutes, only to discover that he could in fact hurt himself while lying in bed.

  He dreamed he was walking to the mailbox. He approached and saw there was a gigantic spider sitting on top of it. It leaped at Wade’s face, and Wade instinctively flung out his arm to protect himself. Unfortunately, it was his left arm. Also unfortunately, he flung out his left arm in reality—his left arm that was no longer restrained by the sling.

  The excruciating pain shot through him like ten thousand razor-sharp knives, and he sat bolt upright in bed and screamed in agony. He held his left arm against his chest and rocked back and forth, hoping he had not woken his mother. He put the sling strap back over his shoulder immediately. The pain in his neck was nowhere near as intense as the pain in his arm. He breathed deep, regular breaths in an attempt to lessen the pain as quickly as possible and calm himself down.

  Wade lay there in the dark feeling so helpless and so alone. Negative thoughts raced through his mind like schoolyard taunts: you’re already turning into the cliché of the middle-aged gay man living with his mother; in the gay world, at forty-five, you’re already fifteen years dead; and no one wanted you before, who’s going to want you now that you’re damaged goods?

  More and more disparaging and disheartening messages ran through Wade’s brain, and he did not have the energy to fight them. He gave in to his grief and despair, and the tears that were constantly on the brink of bursting forth finally flowed.

  THE NEXT morning Wade walked down the stairs holding the handrail in a death grip with his right hand.

  Lorraine sat at the kitchen table, eating some toast.

  “How are you feeling?” she said when she saw Wade enter the kitchen.

  “Horrible. I didn’t sleep much, and when I did, I had nightmares.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “How did you do?”

  “Not so well myself,” she said, “I had a Ménière’s attack in the middle of the night. I’m sure it was the stress and worry. It took a while to pass, and I think I slept okay. I’m just glad it didn’t happen when I was driving you yesterday.”

  “Me too. I’m sorry you got sick.”

  Wade was too tired to cope with taking care of both his mother and himself today. He hoped she would be able to rest and not worry about him. The weight of everything he needed to do sat heavy on his shoulders, and he wanted to go back upstairs, go to sleep, and not think about any of it, but he knew he could not sleep because of the pain and awkwardness of lying in bed with all those pillows, so he might
as well stay up and deal with the day.

  He made some breakfast, which took quite a while with just the one useful arm. Wade felt like he had to make ten trips to do any simple task. The walking back and forth from the kitchen to the den carrying one thing at a time became as tedious as it was tiring. When he finished his meal, he reversed the process and put everything away.

  Wade slowly made his way upstairs again to his study, where he looked up the number for his regular doctor. He called and got the on-duty nurse, who gave him the number of an orthopedist.

  “They’ll be closed today because it’s Sunday,” she said, “but call first thing in the morning and explain what’s happened, and they should be able to fit you in immediately.”

  Wade thanked her and put the number next to his Filofax so he would have his schedule handy when he called.

  The rest of Sunday passed in a fog of fatigue and pain—and nausea from the pills that were supposed to be giving him relief.

  Lorraine had a second vertigo attack as they were watching a baseball game that afternoon and could not move her head a fraction of an inch without vomiting. Wade put a trash can on the sofa beside her and went into the kitchen to get a wet towel so she could wipe her mouth. As he handed her the towel, she looked up at him with her beet red face and said, “Thank you. I’m so sorry about this.”

  “God, we’re a pathetic household,” he replied.

  Lorraine smiled weakly, nodded, and put her head back in the trash can. Wade first went back into the kitchen to get an icepack for her neck. Second, he turned on a floor fan and faced it toward his mother so that it could cool her down. Next, he walked down the hallway into her room and went into the bathroom to get a meclizine. He brought it back and made a final trek to fetch a glass of water. Lorraine took the medicine. Wade hoped she would be able to keep it down, because the strain of each action requiring a separate trip was wearing him out.

  FIRST THING Monday morning, Wade called the orthopedist’s office and set up an appointment with Dr. Murray Douglass. He then got the business card for the health care assistance place he had found to help him with his mother. Wade dialed the phone and was startled when he heard a man’s voice answer, “Grant and Gillis Home Care Assistance, Joe speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Yes, hello. My name is Wade Meadows. About three months ago I set up an account for my mother, Lorraine, so you guys could take her to doctor’s appointments and errands. Now I’ve had a bad accident and broken my arm. I need someone to drive me to the doctor.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. When is your appointment?”

  “It’s tomorrow at ten. I’m sorry for the short notice.”

  “Not to worry. What time do you want someone at your house?”

  “Well—” Wade paused to think. “—they’re across from Piedmont Hospital, and I’m supposed to go early to fill out paperwork, so someone should be at our house at 9:00 a.m. for the ten o’clock appointment.”

  “All right. Let me see who I can get to come drive you.”

  Wade heard computer keys tapping. “Is it all right that I’m not a senior? You guys can still help me?”

  The man laughed and said, “Of course. We’re here to help anyone who needs assistance, not just seniors. Not everyone who needs home care is over sixty-five.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  He heard more computer key tapping before the man said, “You’re all set. I can have Tina with you tomorrow at 9:00 a.m.”

  “Great, thank you so much.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your arm.”

  “Thank you.”

  The man confirmed Wade’s address and phone number and asked for the destination address and number for their records. He took the time to confirm Lorraine’s Thursday appointment with Alice before they said their good-byes and hung up.

  Wade felt a sense of relief that someone was coming tomorrow to take him to the doctor. He knew he was going to be keyed up enough without the added worry of his mother having an attack during the drive or at the doctor’s office. Tina driving him would allow him to focus on his own injury without guilt.

  WHEN THE car arrived at nine o’clock, Wade was ready to go. He had been up since five. The codeine was not helping, so he had taken an Ambien the night before instead and slept, or was at least quietly unconscious, for six hours. When he awoke he figured it wasn’t worth taking another pill, so he got up earlier than he had expected to.

  Wade greeted Tina at the door, and she went to use the phone to clock in as he had seen other caregivers do when they came to take his mother to her appointments. Tina was a short, plump, black woman with a wide friendly smile. Wade wondered if she even topped five feet tall.

  How on earth is she going to be able to help me if I fall? She might act as a fulcrum instead and tip me over faster! He laughed inwardly at the Tom & Jerry image in his head.

  “We’re going to Peachtree Orthopedics?” Tina asked after she hung up the phone.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I’ve been there before, but you’ll need to give me directions to the freeway from here.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  They got into Wade’s car, and he tried to buckle himself into the passenger seat, but could not do it. Tina grabbed the buckle and snapped it into place. She adjusted the seat so she could reach the pedals.

  “Adjust the mirrors too,” Wade offered. “Since you’re driving you need to see everything.”

  “Thanks.”

  Wade gave her directions to get to I-285 and told her which lane to be in to take the I-75 southbound exit. Once they were on I-75, she knew the way, and they drove in silence. Wade looked out the windows to see all the new building construction around the highways—something he never got to do because he was always driving.

  When Tina pulled off at the Howell Mill exit and turned onto Collier Road, Wade enjoyed looking at all the houses. They turned onto Peachtree Road, then Peachtree Valley, and then into the parking lot for the orthopedist. Wade looked up at the tall concrete building and felt a knot in his stomach. He was not sure he wanted to know what was wrong with his arm.

  Wade and Tina got off the elevator on the seventh floor and checked in. Tina helped Wade fill in the paperwork and took it back to the desk for him.

  After a short wait, the doctor’s assistant called his name and escorted him to an examining room. Another nurse came in and took him to X-ray. She had some difficulty getting the proper angles because they did not remove the splint or wrapping and Wade could not hold his arm in certain positions due to the pain. The lead apron placed on his lap kept slipping off, and he tried to distract himself with the image of nuclear nuts glowing in the dark.

  The X-ray nurse finished and took Wade back to the examining room, where he picked a National Geographic off the little side table and placed it on the exam table next to him so that he could read it without having to hold it. Ten minutes later he heard some muffled voices outside the door before the doctor walked in. His short dark hair stuck up a little at the crown of his head. He was clean shaven, but his hair was so dark that the outline of his beard area was clear on his cheeks. He had a friendly, nerdy vibe that gave Wade the impression the doctor had been head of the Chess Club in high school.

  “Hello, Mr. Meadows. I’m Dr. Murray Douglass.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  He enquired about how Wade came to have this injury, and Wade told the story. He could feel the hysteria starting to rise again as he relived the events of three days ago. He was tired, scared, and in pain, and wished there was someone in the exam room with him who could take over, talk to the doctor, and stay focused so that Wade could let go. Dr. Douglass had Wade attempt some movement with his left hand, mainly touching each finger to his thumb. Wade could do this with some difficulty, but the doctor said it was a very encouraging sign.

  “That means there is no nerve damage or injury to the tendons. I want to be very careful with your arm because I’
m not completely sure what’s going on,” Dr. Douglass said. “The X-rays are blurry. I have someone checking the machine. In the meantime I’d like to remove these bandages and this splint and get your arm cleaned and into a more secure splint.”

  He called for a nurse, and when she came in, he carefully and gently unwrapped the gear the ER people had put on. They had wrapped Wade’s arm very tightly, and he was alarmed at how rapidly his left hand began to swell. In just a minute, it looked like a catcher’s mitt.

  “Jesus Christ!” Wade could not help exclaiming.

  “Yes,” the doctor said, “they did a good job of wrapping your arm, but now all the blood is rushing down. It’s nothing to worry about, although it may look disturbing.”

  He explained about the new kind of splint they had, and how he was going to wet it and mold it to Wade’s arm. It would dry very quickly and be very hard and secure. He measured the splint and folded it to Wade’s arm, molded it, and held it until it dried. Wade was impressed by the technology and for a brief moment was taken out of his pain. Then he looked at his swollen hand again and felt an invisible fist punch him in the stomach. Dr. Douglass asked the nurse to start wrapping the elastic bandages around Wade’s arm and the splint. He held on and they maneuvered around each other as the nurse started at Wade’s shoulder and worked her way down to his hand. Dr. Douglass had molded the splint to come halfway down Wade’s left hand in order to give his wrist some support.

  They gave him a new sling that fit his arm better than the one from the urgent care. Unfortunately the strap still cut into the top of his right shoulder.

  Wade recognized the X-ray nurse who came to the door and spoke to Dr. Douglass.

  “The X-ray machine checks out,” the doctor said, “so I’m going to send you back there.”

  Wade followed the nurse back to the room and went through the whole rigmarole again. He was escorted back to the examining room, where he returned to the article he was reading in the National Geographic.