Such a note of defeatism was in her tone that he worried about her. “How’s the depression?”
Her gaze flipped up to his. “I didn’t say I was depressed.” An almost defensive note was evident in her tone.
“How could you not be?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Your whole world has been this struggle to get back to normality.”
“And here everybody tells me this is normal,” she said on a broken laugh. Inside she wondered at his wording. She was afraid to hope that life here could offer much, but at least Shane was approachable and easy to talk to.
“There is no normal anymore,” he said. “Normal is what you make it. Normal is when you stop trying to change your condition. Are you ready to stop trying to change this?”
She looked at him, frowned, then slowly shook her head. “No. That’s why I’m here.”
“Good answer,” he said, his smile bright.
She frowned at him. “Do you think you can help?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I just don’t know what, how much, or how long it’ll take. Remember? It’s a journey.”
“And if I’m not up to traveling?” She hated to be negative, but she’d heard so much from so many that she’d more or less lost hope.
“We’ll take the journey at your speed,” he said, staring intently at her.
She nodded slowly. “You know something? I want to believe you.”
“Meaning, you’ve been let down before, and you’ve been disappointed by the results of your surgeries, and you haven’t found the same optimism that everybody else was trying to cheer you up with?”
“Exactly.” She laughed. “It’s almost like you’ve heard this a time or two.”
“Much more than a time or two,” he said. “And the thing is, one doctor will have one opinion, and another doctor will have another opinion. But individually, it’s your body, and what works for you and how a procedure will turn out is something that nobody can tell you with any degree of certainty. And we have to work with what the result is, so we can improve on it.”
“And again, it all sounds good,” she said. “And I want to believe you, but …”
“Then do,” he interrupted quietly. “First things first though, we have to get you to the point that you’re not in so much pain.”
“I don’t even recognize the pain anymore,” she said.
“I can see that, and that’s part of the problem too,” he said, “because then you’re not shifting to get away from it anymore. You’re just locking yourself down and ignoring the pain receptor messages coming to your brain.”
“Yes, but, if I listen to the messages, it hurts,” she said. “Remember? I’m trying to get away from the pain.”
“I remember,” he said cheerfully. “How much of your team did you meet and see last night?” he asked, changing tactics.
She frowned. “I saw a couple people, but I don’t necessarily remember who they were.”
“That’s normal. It’s a bit overwhelming when you first get here,” he said, “but it will improve.”
“You sound … Are you always this positive?” she asked.
“No, not always, but there’s nothing wrong with being positive,” he said. “It helps get you where you need to go. You should meet the rest of your team today.” He sounded confident but stopped, studied her for a long moment, then asked, “How ambulatory are you?”
“I can walk fine,” she said with a shrug.
“I wonder what that means to you. And if it means the same thing to me.”
She turned toward him. “Sorry?”
He smiled and changed the subject. “Have you had a tour of the place?”
She winced at that. “No. That sounds like too much work.”
“Because walking is too much work?”
“I can, though, but would prefer not to. Walking hurts, so I don’t do much of it.”
He nodded, walked to the side of the bed, pulled out the wheelchair that was in every room, and brought it closer to her. “Let’s do a quick tour.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she protested.
He noted her fingers, gripping the sides of the bed until her knuckles turned white. “Is the pain bad right now?”
She took a long, slow, deep breath. “Sometimes.”
“Have you eaten?”
She shook her head. “I don’t eat much.”
“Another reason why your body isn’t doing as well as you would like.”
“They say I’m supposed to feed it,” she said, “but food isn’t anything I particularly like. It’s like everything in my world has changed. My taste buds are different. Food tastes different.”
“That’s not uncommon either,” he said. “However, we do have good food here, and it’s very important that you get up and move around.”
“But sitting in a wheelchair isn’t moving around,” she said.
He looked at her, pinned her in place with his gaze, and asked, “You want to walk?”
Her lips thinned. “This isn’t a question as to whether I want to leave my room,” she protested. “You’re saying it’s not a choice.”
“No, right now, it’s not a choice,” he said, straightening up, looking at her carefully. “It’s all about understanding who you are as a person and how willing you are to do what needs to be done.”
“And going for breakfast needs to be done?”
Such a note of disbelief was in her voice that he had to laugh. “You need to see your new home,” he said. “You need to take a look at the world that is now your world. And, while we’re at it, we’ll find you some food, yes. And, if you have special dietary needs, then we’ll talk to Dennis about it.” As he walked over, he didn’t give her a chance to argue but flipped back the covers, reached down, gently swung her legs around to the side, and had her sitting on the edge of the bed before she had time to argue.
She stared at him in shock, as her body struggled to stay balanced in place. “You’re very good at that.”
“I am,” he said, with that lethal smile of his.
“Bet the ladies love it,” she muttered.
He broke out laughing. “Not exactly my normal bedside
