“Good, I’m signing you out. You should wait a few weeks before you drive. Have someone here to pick you up by noon.”
The room starts swaying like I'm on a boat. I reach out to steady myself and feel a wave of nausea.
“What are you doing?” Grant’s voice says angrily as he enters the room.
The surgeon looks up from his chart and glares at him from over the top of his glasses. “Getting her ready to go home.”
Grant pushes past him to get to me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Just a little weak and I feel nauseous.”
“Here,” he says, guiding me to the side of the bed. “Sit down.”
I exhale, trying to ward off the imminent vomiting I feel bearing down on me. “I don’t think I feel ready to go home.”
“Nobody is sending you home yet,” he assures me as he sits beside me.
The impatient doctor, with no bedside manner, interrupts. “She needs to get up and get moving. She’ll heal faster.”
“She doesn’t have to, if she doesn’t feel well enough,” Grant argues.
“We need beds.”
Grant gets to his feet and takes a dominant stance. I find it quite attractive.
“New cases are on the decline. We don’t need to be throwing patients out of their rooms before they’re well enough.”
“We need to prepare for the second wave.”
Even beneath the mask, I can see Grant’s jaw stiffen, and I start to feel anxious as the tension grows between them. “We can discuss this patient discharge out at the nurses' station tomorrow.”
“Dr. Fulton...”
“She’s not going anywhere today,” Grant declares with authority.
After watching the surgeon storm out of the room, he returns to my side and takes inventory of my health. “How are you feeling now?” he asks in a nurturing tone. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine.”
“How’s the memory? Anything coming back?”
“Bits and Pieces.”
He holds up a finger, and I instinctively follow it with my eyes as he moves it from side to side, up and down. “No headaches...double vision...blackouts?”
“No. Just a little lightheaded when I got up.”
“Take things slow. I’ll deal with that guy.”
“Is it true? Will I heal quicker if I get up and get moving around?”
“Generally speaking, motion is medicine. But that mostly pertains to joint, ligament, and muscle rehabilitation. Head injuries are a bit different.”
“Can I try again later?” He pauses and stares at me, but I can’t read his expression. “What?” I ask.
“I have always admired your...drive.”
“Are you telling me I’m stubborn?”
“I think the word I’d use is dedicated.”
“Mmmhmm. So, can I?”
“Get up and walk around?”
“Yes,” I say, growing impatient.
“Only a short walk. Let’s start slowly. And only if I’m with you. Just in case.”
“Okay.”
“And I’m going to check you over before and after.”
“Fair enough. When?”
He looks at his watch. “I’ll come back at 2 pm.”
“It’s a date.”
His head jerks up from his phone and locks eyes with me. Something passes between us, and even through his PPE, I can tell that he’s contented.
After lunch, the nurse pops in to remove the bandages from my arms. “I hear you’re going on a date this afternoon?”
I suddenly feel nervous and excited. My head starts to pound, but I ignore it. “He’s coming back to take me for a walk.”
“I left you a basin full of warm water and some things in the bathroom. I thought you’d like to freshen up and put on clean clothes.”
“Clothes? I don’t think I have any here.”
“Your parents dropped some off...there,” she says with satisfaction as she removes the last strip of bandages from my arms. “That looks really good.”
I look down at the pink healing skin. “They don’t even look like my arms.”
“You were very lucky.”
“I’m getting that, but something is bothering me about that night, I just don’t know what it is.”
“Sometimes, there’s a reason our mind blocks things out.” She helps me make my way to the washroom, where she’s thoughtfully unpacked all the things I’ll need to make myself look presentable. “Do you want me to stick around and help?”
I sigh. “I think I can manage on my own.”
She nods and smiles. “Good luck.”
I’ll admit, dressing is a challenge. I find myself sitting on the toilet trying to put my pants on, one leg at a time. Even though they are comfortable, casual, clothes I feel a hundred times better just being washed and dressed. I’m putting on a little mascara when there’s a light tap on the door. My heart flutters when I hear his voice.
“Are you okay in there?”
I open the door, and I’m met with the width of his muscular chest. My eyes trail upward. He doesn’t look this tall when he’s sitting on the end of my hospital bed.
“Rose? Are you okay?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry.”
“If you’re not up to this, we can just stay here.”
“No. I’m good. I want to walk around.”
He smiles and hands me something. “You’ll need these.”
I hate there are still new reported cases of COVID-19. I tuck the elastic of the face mask over my ears and snap on the rubber gloves.
“Slow and steady,” Grant reminds me. “If you start feeling fatigued or dizzy, you need to let me know right away.”
I nod my acknowledgement and promise to follow instructions. There’s something about his nurturing way that draws me closer to him. I suspect that he cares for all his patients in the same manner, but when I forced myself to open my eyes through a drug-induced haze, Grant was there...every time. Watching over me like an angel.
We’ve barely gone a few feet down the hall, and I feel like I just completed a 5k triathlon already. Every room we pass is occupied, and although the hospital is not usually a joyful place, there is an unusual melancholy and feeling of hopelessness here.
“Are these COVID patients?” I ask, noticing that everyone is isolated.
“No, anyone positive for COVID or recovering is quarantined on a separate floor. These patients are here for other reasons, but we’re still restricting visitors. For another week, at least.”
“That’s so sad.”
“You used to visit patients here. Even when you were off the clock, I used to see you wandering the hallways, sneaking in after hours to see people you rescued.”
I feel my face flush. “I didn’t think you saw me.”
“I always knew when you were here.”
I furrow my brow. “How?”
“Whenever you were near, I could smell roses.”
I laugh once. “You got me. It’s my favorite hand lotion. Was it that bad?” I must be starting to sway a little because he reaches down and holds my elbow.