1: Oh, Poor Me

"Pick a card—any card," I intoned in my best W.C. Fields impression. My sixteen—almost seventeen—year old niece laughed and reached for the cards in my hand. I jerked them back. "Not that one!"

"Lincoln! You said any card," she laughed.

"But the trick won't work if you pick the wrong one," I whined. I tilted my head and pursed my lips with my best pleading look.

"Fine. Which card, O uncle of mine?" I closed up the fanned cards and one came flying out of the pack.

"That one, obviously."

"How do you do that?" she laughed.

"Magic, my dear Cadence. Magic."

"Can I look at it now?" she said, scowling.

"Just a minute. I need to look at the instruction book." I twisted around and grabbed a dictionary that was sitting on my table.

"You've been doing these tricks since I was little. You don't need a ... dictionary?" she laughed.

"Oh. Wrong book. I guess you can look at the card, but don't tell me what it is." She tried the poker peek to just flip up a corner and see the card. She scowled, not seeing the index where she expected it. She finally held the card up so she could see the whole thing. Her lip started to quiver and she threw herself at me, wrapping me in a hug. "Lincoln! I love you!"

"Am I going to have to do something about this?" Lisa asked from the doorway of my room.

"I think I have that covered," I said. Lisa grimaced and a tear ran down her cheek. I gave her an air kiss as Cadence continued to hug me.

"Okay, brat. Leave your uncle alone and get your homework done. There's only two weeks of school left and I don't want you to blow it," my sister-in-law said.

"Aw, Mom! Linc doesn't want to be left alone. Do you, darling?"

"Move your little teenage ass off my bed and do what your mom tells you. Oh, and take these with you." I handed her the pack of cards and she started flipping through them. It only took a moment before she realized every one of them had a birthday wish on it. Tears sprang to her eyes and she looked at me.

"I really want you to get well, Linc. Please."

"We do what we can," I said. Cadence backed out the door. Lisa watched her go and then came to sit on the edge of my bed.

"How are you doing this afternoon?" she asked.

"About the same," I sighed. "Lisa, don't worry about Cadence. You know I would never do anything to hurt her."

"If it meant you were recovering, I wouldn't care," she said. She hugged me in the same position her daughter had been in moments ago. "I really don't care anyway. I just worry. So what was with the cards?"

"Happy birthday wishes," I said. I reached for another pack of cards nearby. I'd started doing card tricks when I was in junior high school. Girls loved them. Guys, not so much. Then after the accident, it was really all I could do.

"Are you leading her on? Telling her you are getting better?" she asked.

"I don't think so. I try to stay upbeat, but Lisa, it's been five years. We all know it isn't getting better."

"We're not going to give up hope," she declared.

"Are you leading her on? Lisa, I love her as much as I love you. Don't build up impossible dreams for her," I said, stroking her hair.

"There's a difference between impossible dreams and not giving up," Lisa said. "Lincoln, if your heart stopped beating, I would die before I stopped trying to resuscitate you. She's not the only one who loves you. Now let's get you hooked up."

Being hooked up amounted to having little electrodes attached at strategic points on my legs. They were attached to a machine that sends electric pulses and stimulates the nerves. As a result, my muscles contract and relax. Electrical muscle stimulation: EMS.

Lisa has always been fantastic. Even when Mom was alive, Lisa came over every day to talk and hook me up. She still believed I'd walk again and fought to keep my muscles from atrophying.

It was all as fresh in my mind as the day it happened. Probably fresher since I'd relived it so many times. Two weeks before school was out and the day before Cadence's twelfth birthday. Five years ago today. My asshole brother was out of town, as usual. Selling something somewhere. He was fifteen years older than me and insisted that I was Mom and Dad's biggest mistake. His own daughter was only five and a half years younger than me. I think he considered her his biggest mistake. From the minute she was born, I adored her. I couldn't understand how she could have such a jerk for a father.

We were going to celebrate Cadence's birthday. Mom had arranged for Dad, Lisa, Cadence, and me to go to a movie while she prepared the surprise party. I'd helped put together a list of Cadence's best friends. They'd be at the house when we all got back and jump out to yell, "Surprise!"

Only we never got there. Some stupid drunk came around a corner as we were crossing the street. I grabbed hold of Cadence and Lisa and pushed them in front of me between two parked cars. Dad and I didn't get that far. The driver's fender smashed into my hip and pinned me against one of the parked cars. I know I screamed. I'd never felt pain so bad.

Dad didn't feel anything. He was a step behind me and the car caught him squarely, propelling him into the windshield.

They told me later that he was dead before he hit the ground. I wasn't coherent for several days. By then he was buried.

I finally woke up in a hospital bed with more wires and tubes in me than a Borg drone. It took a while before I understood what had happened. I had a concussion, a broken leg, a broken arm, and a crushed pelvis. I'd been in an induced coma for days as they set fractures and reconstructed my pelvis. I lay there in a cast and traction and just felt numb. Mom, Lisa, and Cadence were by my bed when I woke up. They called me their hero. Lisa had a hairline wrist fracture, wrapped in a short cast. Cadence had stitches in her knee where she'd cut it when I pushed her, but other than that, the two of them were fine.

"Where's Dad?" I asked.

"Honey," Mom said. "Lincoln, he didn't make it."

"Didn't make it?" I didn't understand at first. I saw Mom's eyes and figured it out.

"That drunk bastard killed him," Lisa said. "I'm so sorry, Linc. There was nothing we could do." Tears were flowing down all of our cheeks. I saved Cadence and Lisa, but I let Dad die. How could I let my father die?

"Oh, no. Oh, Mom. I'm sorry. I should have grabbed him." I was torn to pieces. I loved my father. He was great. We'd just been talking about what we'd do when school was out and decided that we'd kidnap Mom, Lisa, and Cadence and take them on a big vacation. We knew Wilson wouldn't take time off to go with them.

"You did just what he would have done," Mom said. "Your father would have been so proud of you."

"I let him die!"

"No, you didn't, Lincoln. Now stop that! You saved two of the people who meant the most to him in all the world. You're not Jesus. You can't save everyone." That ended the discussion. But late that night I still wept for the father I unknowingly sacrificed.

"Let's see how you are doing, now that you are awake," Dr. Adams said when he came into the room. Lisa took Cadence to the cafeteria to give us privacy. Mom stayed. Dr. Adams had a friendly disposition and introduced himself, shaking my right hand—the arm that wasn't in a cast. He looked at charts, chatted about how much I was improving, and checked my eyes. He circled around the foot of the bed and paused there. "Tell me if you feel something," he said.

"I feel fine. You've got me on good drugs. I don't really hurt at all," I said.

"Nothing?"

"My head hurts on and off."

He came around to the other side and checked my I.V. bags and made more notes on the pad. He looked at my mother.

"I think we have a problem," Dr. Adams said. "We are going to need an MRI and a few more tests."

"What kind of a problem?" I asked.

"You don't seem to have any feeling or stimulus response in your legs."

"You mean ... You're not just blocking the pain?" I said. He shook his head. "I can't feel them. I thought ... I'm paralyzed?"

"That's why we need the MRI and tests. Everything from surgery went the way we expected. All our preliminary tests showed no nerve damage. That's what paralysis is, Lincoln. Nerve damage. This suggests we missed something critical. I'd like to get you into the tube right away."

Paralyzed. Fuck.

They moved me to a gurney and got all my tubes and things transferred. I was ready to go to sleep by the time they got me transferred. Of course, just as we started to move, Cadence and Lisa came into the room.

"Linc! What's wrong?" Cadence burst out. My sweet twelve-year-old niece. I reached her with my right hand and stroked her cheek with my thumb.

"Don't you worry, sweetie," I said. "They just want to take naked pictures of me to post on the Internet."

"Linc! They're not!"

"Well, I don't know what they do with all the pictures. I've never seen them. And you shouldn't either. Now go on with Mommy and I'll be back in an hour or so."

A week later, Dr. Adams yammered on through half an hour of technobabble about where they thought the impingement in my spinal column was, the severity of the injury, and the proposed form of treatment. I finally got tired of it and cut him off.

"Is this all in a book?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if I read it I might have half a chance of understanding what you are talking about after I get my medical degree. Can you simplify it so I can understand it?"

"Okay. What do you want to know?"

"Will I ever walk again?"

"I hope so." I could see him get ready to start on another long narrative, but he cut himself off. "Not without surgery."

"And with surgery?"

"A fifty-fifty chance. It will depend on whether we have correctly identified the location and nature of the injury," he said.

"What about ... sex?" Like I'd have an opportunity to have sex when I was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life. I hadn't seen one of my high school classmates since I was injured. Fuckers.

"Sorry. I forgot you are seventeen," Dr. Adams said. "It remains to be seen. Many paraplegics have a healthy sex life. What we want to do is give you back your legs. If we succeed in that, everything else should work as well." I looked at Mom.

"I think you should try, Lincoln," she said. "I mean the surgery, not sex. I'll sign the papers, but you need to say if you want them to operate."

"Yes, Mom. I don't stand a chance otherwise. How soon can I have the surgery?"

Of course, it wasn't that easy. There were delays and discussions and strategies. They wanted to make sure I was healthy. They wanted another MRI. They wanted a specialist. It was a month before they finally put me out and wheeled me into the operating room.

In the meantime, I'd been informed that I passed all my classes and since I had stellar attendance throughout the year, I would be a senior in the fall. The school, of course, wanted to be kept informed of any special assistance I would need when I returned to class in the fall.

"I don't want to go back, Mom," I said. "I've seen how they treat people with disabilities. A guy in a wheelchair might as well have a lobotomy. He's sent to special ed classes. Can you homeschool me?" I asked.

"I don't know, Lincoln. I'd have to find out what is involved. I have so much to think about," she answered. Mom was getting vague. Some people rise up in the face of tragedy. Others can barely tread water. I was afraid my mother was the latter. Losing her husband of forty years and having a son in the hospital was overwhelming to her. I wondered if the bills were being paid and if she was eating.

"I can homeschool Lincoln," Lisa said. "I looked into it for Cadence, but she wanted to stay in classes. I'll do the research and take care of everything. You'll have to sign a couple papers, but that's all." She still called me her hero, but she was mine. "And, Isabelle, we have work that you need to do to make sure Lincoln is cared for when he gets out of here. You know that Wilson won't help."

When Mom left to go home, I called Lisa back for a moment.

"She doesn't look good. Can you make sure she's eating okay and that the bills are paid? She must be stressed out to the max," I said.

"I'll take care of it," Lisa said. "Wilson is talking about moving in with her. You know our mortgage is sky high with the variable rate climbing. I'm worried he'll try to take something from her—and you."

"I'll be eighteen in three months," I said. "See if you can hold it together until then. I love you, Lisa."

"I love you, Linc. I won't let you down."

The other person who wouldn't let me down was Cadence. Once I'd had a talk with Dr. Adams and the head nurse, they agreed that she could visit me each day, with or without her mom. The first thing she did when she visited without her mother was bring a deck of cards.

Cadence loved my card tricks. I was her age when I first started studying magic—sleight of hand. Seth Richards, an older guy at Shannara Games and Magic, took me under his wing when I went in to play Magic: The Gathering. I was fascinated by the card tricks he was doing for a group of kids. I never got around to playing Magic that night. And, of course, Cadence was my number one trickee. Every trick I learned, I tried on her first. It wasn't successful until I could fool her even if she knew what the trick was.

Well, my legs might be worthless, but I could still use my hands. I practiced card tricks and entertained the nurses when they came to change my bags and tubes. It was a real treat when Seth came to visit me. We had card pitching contests, and anytime a nurse walked into the room, the first thing she did was pick cards up off the floor. We talked about tricks and he introduced me to several other sleights. I had to make a few adjustments in the routines since I couldn't dance around while pulling scarves out of my sleeves. He brought me a couple books that I used, too. There simply wasn't any time when there wasn't a deck of cards in my hands.

Dr. Adams said they had to take the ace of spades out of my hand where I'd palmed it before surgery, but they'd put it back before I woke up.

And then the physical and occupational therapy started. Physical therapy is designed to help your body recover from injury. Occupational therapy is designed to help you live with the injury. They insisted on both. Once my bones knitted back together and I was competent to wheel myself to the bathroom, I was allowed to go home.

It was a pretty massive change. Lisa was responsible. She gently guided Mom through the process of hiring the right people to come in and install ramps, hand holds, elevated toilet, and everything else I needed to survive without my legs. Over Wilson's protests, I'd been moved into the master bedroom with the en suite bathroom—the room he thought he'd be getting. Mom had moved to my old room. Cadence was firmly ensconced in the guest room, which meant that if Wilson and Lisa moved in, they'd have his old bedroom. It really grated on his nerves.