Author's note:
Welcome back to this story, y'all! Hope you like this second chapter :-)
If you're new to this story - welcome aboard! It would make more sense if you read Ch. 01 first, and if you've got a bit more time you may want to check out my previous series - "Lucky Bastard" and "Whiskey and Rye" - before starting this one, since they are all kind of intertwined.
Finally - another whole-hearted
thank you
to the wicked Brit - my co-creator and editor.
Enjoy!
xoxo
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dan:
Sunday at the hospital proves to be a unique kind of torture. The view from my window shows a beautiful day outside, and inside the ward every patient has their friends and family around them, chatting and laughing. Everyone but me.
I am painfully aware of just how alone I am. The reality of my situation sinks in, pulling me down again into my dark despair. My parents are both dead, I have no siblings or cousins or any other close family, and I have single-handedly destroyed the little family I had created with my ex-wife. My friends from the force will shun me now that they know what I did; even my best friend told me he hated my guts.
I can't blame them. I share the sentiment.
And yet I have already resigned to the fact that suicide isn't an option for me because it would only hurt Naomi more.
So what now?
It hurts too much to think about and I find myself escaping to sleep as often as I can. I spend most of the day slumbering in-between check-ups and meals; but by the afternoon I can sleep no more. I am filled with restless agitation and the need to leave my bed becomes all-consuming. I reach for the call button and press it, and within a moment a distorted voice sounds through the intercom:
"Yes, Mr. Moreno?"
Ugh. That 'Mr. Moreno' again.
"Er, would it be possible for me to get out of bed somehow? Maybe get a wheelchair so that I can move about a bit?" I try my best to keep the frustration out of my voice.
"Yes, we can do that. I'll bring one over in a few moments."
"Thanks. I appreciate it." I really am grateful at the prospect of leaving the confines of my room and the sentiment ring through my words.
A few moments later Hanna, the matronly nurse who I had previously met, comes into my room pushing a wheelchair and parks it side-by-side to the bed in a way similar to how Sandra did it with the U-shaped chair yesterday. I shift uncomfortably at the memory.
"So, Mr. Moreno, I assume you know the drill?" She asks this matter-of-factly and I respond in fashion.
"Yes ma'am, Sandra had already put me through the paces yesterday, and I have done it again this morning with the help of another nurse when I needed to use the bathroom. Oh and please call me Dan. Please."
"All right, sure. Good. Let's do it then. Let me adjust the bed for you."
When the bed is lowered all the way down and its head is pulled upright I swing my own legs one at a time to the side so that my feet are flat on the floor. I sit up straight and notice that I am actually quite steady, and the dull pain in my head and my ribs increases only slightly with my movements. Still I don't try to move to the chair on my own and wait for Hanna to get into position close at my side and help me to my feet and then down into the chair. Thankfully this time I manage to actually take most of my weight on my own using my hands on the armrests.
"Very good, Dan. Now I'm sure you can figure out how to wheel yourself, so feel free to roam the place. You may want to go outside to the balcony, the weather's fine and it may actually do you some good to breathe some fresh air. Please be in your room by 5:30pm for dinner, all right?"
"Yes ma'am. Thank you."
With a quick nod and a polite smile she turns and leaves the room and I put my hands on the circular handles running the edges of the wheels and feel a tiny flutter of excitement down in my belly as I give them the first test shove. They yield easily and I roll out of the room, pausing momentarily at the hall outside my door to take in my temporary accommodations for the first time.
It's a small neurological ward in a provincial hospital; only a dozen or so patient rooms in total judging by the number of doors I can see from my spot at the end of the wide corridor, and I know each of them would host up to two patients. I've been here before - not in this specific ward but in other parts of the hospital, visiting injured friends and more recently sitting by my father's bedside. For whatever reason the place feels eerily homey.
The white-washed walls and old sesame-stone tiled floors show some wear and tear, the furniture is minimal, and the equipment is not exactly state-of-the-art. At the same time everything looks neat and orderly, with traces of disinfectant lingering in the air. What's more, the place is well-lit by the bright sunshine pouring in from large windows, their sea-blue-and-green curtains pulled all the way back. As hospitals go this one looks a bit run-down and probably operating under a tight budget, but at the same time kind of... cheerful.
The nurses' station is in the middle of the ward over to my left and beyond it there is a small seating area complete with chairs, a few small tables and a wall-mounted TV set that is currently tuned to a live soccer game. A couple of older male patients are watching it with avid interest and provide on-going commentary, while their wives, dressed in their traditional long-sleeved dark gowns and hair scarves, chat quietly with each other at their sides.
As I wheel myself slowly down the hall I catch small glimpses of other patients in their rooms, surrounded by their visitors. Doing my best to ignore my ever-present sense of loneliness I head over to the sitting area, and to the small double doors that open to the balcony. Thankfully they are sliding doors so I manage to get myself out and close them behind me, surprised at the huge relief I feel at finding myself by my own on the small porch. Lonely as I am, I can't stand the thought of idle chit-chat with strangers at the moment.
I turn my chair to face the sun and slump back a little, leaning my head against the padded head-rest and closing my eyes, letting the exposed skin in my legs and arms and neck and face soak up its warmth. It's pretty hot in fact, but a light breeze takes the edge away from the glaring sun. I focus my mind on listening to the sounds of birds chirping in the trees nearby and relax...
It is then that the tears start to slowly trickle down my cheeks. I feel so absolutely wretched that I just can't help myself.
The Shift are all enjoying their time with their own families while I sit in tormented despair. Not one of my buddies has taken the time to visit. Not one except for Jon, the only person keeping me going. Everything I have worked for over the last 20 years is gone. I have lost my job. I know nothing else but how to be a cop. I have never been unemployed before so I don't know what to do next. I still have my rent and utilities and other commitments, and while I have some money left aside from my half of the house, as well as a small inheritance, I know my savings won't last forever. I'm scared shitless to be honest.
And nobody understands.
Nobody actually understands why I want to be a cop, why I went to the Academy in the first place. It wasn't for the uniform or the power. It wasn't so I can order people about knowing they can't oppose me. It wasn't so I can arrest people or book them for minor traffic violations. It wasn't, and still isn't, an ego trip. Nothing could be further from the truth.
It is all about doing good, bringing positive impact to society, to my community. It's about helping people that are hurt, frightened, in trouble or just plain out of their depth and in need of someone to put them back on their feet again. It's what I do. It's what I LOVE doing. And I'll never have the chance to do that again.
Nobody can Imagine the satisfaction there is to be had in reuniting a lost child with their mother, seeing both their overwhelming relief. Helping reassure a badly injured and trapped person after a car crash, and letting them know that all the minor worries such as contacting their family are being taken care of. Holding the hand of an elderly person after their spouse of 50 years has passed away. Setting a young hooligan to rights and seeing him change to a path of decency from a potential life of crime. Nothing can give a greater satisfaction.
And the camaraderie. Second to none. Knowing that if your back is to the wall then all your colleagues will be racing to help you, just as you would to them. Gone and never to be experienced again. Lost forever.
Walking the streets at 4am when all are asleep safe and sound in their beds relying on me to watch out for the nefarious souls who walk the earth, wishing them harm. No More.
And now that I need help getting back on my feet, who's gonna help me? Well? Where the fuck are they?!
Nowhere to be seen. All at home with their families leaving me to flounder in a sea of grief, even if it is of my own making.
Pathetic loser.
I feel my shoulders shaking with my choked sobs, and am even more disgusted with myself. Crying like a pussy over the life I'd ripped apart with my bare hands.
FUCK IT ALL!
*
Suddenly I am sick of wallowing in my own melodrama.
I know I am being irrational. I know the federation will help with my doctors bills. I know Jon will still be around. And at the end of the day deep down I know that there is only one person who can sort this mess out. Me.
So with a deep long last look inside myself I grab ahold of my self pity and thrust it back where it belongs, in the gutter. I'm stronger than this. I know I am. I have proved it over and over again, time after time. And while this is a different kind of challenge than any I've faced before I know there is no other option but to face it head-on... since running from it had already been tried and failed. I straighten up in my chair and carefully shake myself out of it, and fill my lungs with the sweet warm afternoon air.
*
So , what will I do in the future? All I am trained for is coppering, and bouncers in Mothercare jobs don't often appear on the Jobs listings. What do I know how to do? What good can I bring to others if not through my service on the force? There must be something I could do to be useful in this world; something I could do that I could be proud of, even in a small way... Right?
And then it dawns on me what I could actually do.
