Chapter 4

It was a case of the right hand not knowing what the left hand was doing. The doctor had said I was ready to get up and go. That was taken as a discharge order by one of the nurses. My favorite nurse didn't say very nice things about her. What the doctor had meant was that I was good to start on some physical therapy, so I could learn how to walk in my cast.

I was going to be in the hospital for two more days. I was glad to know I wouldn't just get thrown out on the street. On the other hand, I wouldn't be around for another Saturday.

My last conversations with Jessica had been troubling. I had no idea if she had my laptop, or if it was still in the car. She had said, 'I was hers.' I had no idea what she'd meant by that. My understanding of a statement like that could be very much different for her. I didn't know what I was going to do. It wouldn't go over too well to say to my nurse, 'Say your daughter found some pictures of girls her own age on the laptop that was hidden in my car and I need to talk to her about it. Can you give me your home number so I can call her?'

I was racking my brain out when my phone rang. It startled me, as it hadn't rung since I'd been here.

"Hello," I said as I answered the phone.

"Hi, John, it's Jessica. Mom says you're there for two more days."

"That's what I've heard. They got me up twice today, already. The first time I almost fell over again. The second time I was able to walk, if you want to call it that."

"I'm sure it's not that bad," she said after she giggled.

"I asked the gal who was putting me through this torture if we could try some stairs tomorrow. You want to know what her answer was?"

"Not good?"

"She laughed and asked me if I was serious. She told me the hospital didn't have enough insurance for that."

"So what are you going to do? You live on the second floor, right?"

"Could be why I'm not very jolly right now. They're planning on kicking me out and I literally cannot go home."

"Got to go! Call you back," Jessica said and the line went dead.

'Fuck!' I thought. 'What was that all about? A 'let's try and get John a bit more depressed' call?'

I was mad right then and pushed my legs over to the edge of the bed. It took longer than it should have and that added fuel to my anger. My cast went over the edge and I tried to get my other leg to follow. My idea was to stand. What happened was that I slipped to the floor, hanging onto the edge of the bed for dear life. It was a gentle slip down. No heavy thunk, no pain. Ok. There was pain. It was called wounded pride.

It was almost a half an hour later when a nurse walked by and saw me.

"How did you fall?" she asked.

"I didn't fall, I slid," I said as though that would somehow save my dignity.

"Slid?" she started to laugh, but then stopped.