I Jack Fisher do take you Amie Williams to be my lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in blah, blah, blah...
That seemed to be my most frequent dream these days, followed closely by the nightmare where I realize the tractor trailer truck I saw in my mirror was not going to stop in time before crashing into me and the rest of the cars in front of me stopped for a traffic light.
And then the reality that I was still in this hospital bed and most of my shit below my waist wasn't working anymore. It was almost time for Amie to come in. She came every day at 3:00 and would sit by my bed and cry. She never tried to talk to me, ask me how I was feeling or did I need anything. You know the normal shit you would ask someone stuck in a hospital bed. Normally she would last an hour, last time she saw the urine bag start to fill and ran out into the arms of shithead. I don't know why I called him that, maybe I never knew his name, maybe because my loving wife would fall into his arms every time she left my room.
I never asked her who he was, I didn't care maybe. I did ask Amie to stop coming one day. Fuck I was depressed enough as it is, and she just made it worse. The doctor said I had a one in a million chance for a full recovery. He thought that I might be able to get around with canes. I wanted to do cartwheels on that news.
Most of my more pleasant dreams were of Aimee, laying on the beach on our honeymoon and watching her finally agreeing to go topless and then fucking my brains out twenty minutes later in our hotel room. Memories of Aimee in that beautiful dress or lingerie. There were so many of those that made me smile. The wedding dream never made me smile and I didn't know why. Seeing Aimee in person didn't make me smile and I didn't know why.
There was a gap in my memory. I remember looking in the mirror and seeing the truck but not what time of day it was. The sun was shining, that's all I knew. I don't remember anything else of the day or what I did for a living. There's a snippet of memory of the EMTs trying to get me out of what was left of my SUV. There's another snippet of people working on me in the ER. My memories really begin again when the doctor is telling me how truly fucked I am and Aimee sitting be my side, crying of course.
I finally had it with Aimee's crying and insisted that she not be allowed to see me. That created a big controversy. Guys didn't stop their wives from visiting them.
I told the doctor she was killing me. My medical condition was already depressing enough, and her nonstop crying just made me feel worse about myself. If she was going to come see me, I demanded morphine. We compromised that she could come on Saturdays and Sundays.
The next Saturday she came in and dropped the divorce papers on me with, "I'm sorry Jack, I'm just not strong enough to take care of you."
Some people may think I was sad that a beautiful woman was divorcing me as I laid crippled in a hospital bed, but I was happy. Maybe because that chapter was over, maybe I was just tired of seeing shithead holding my wife.
The dream of my wedding stopped playing the circuit about the same time as the nightmare of the accident. The dreams of having sex with Aimee didn't stop. In one dream, Aimee was stroking my cock. I woke up realizing someone was stroking my painfully erect cock. An older nurse was stroking me. She was older but you could tell she was hotter than fuck in her prime. She was still a lot hotter than most of the other nurses on the floor.
She noticed I was awake and said let me know when its time. Seconds later I said it was time, and she planted her mouth on my dick and sucked every ounce of come out of my body.
"We don't want your piping getting clogged up because of lack of use. And this must remain our little secret."
Who would believe me anyway.
They started letting my family and friends in. Finally, people were asking me if I needed anything. A 38 was always on the top of my list. I found out I worked for the electric company working on power lines. My parents were still alive along with my brother and sister. A least one of my union brothers would come in to make sure all my needs were met.
A week after the visit from my favorite night nurse, I was half awake when I told the nurse my feet were cold. She dropped her tray and ran out of the room. She didn't even try to cover my feet. I was trying to fall back to sleep when I heard my room number announce and my doctor being paged. There was a lot of murmuring in my room and when I opened my eyes, I found a lot of people murmuring around my bed.
"Mr. Fisher, the nurse said you were complaining that your feet were cold this morning," said my doctor.
"Yes, and she never covered them like I asked."
"Let me know if you can feel this."
"Fucking ow mother fucker!" He held up a pin.
"Mr. Fisher, you don't know how happy this makes me, and you don't seem to understand how happy you should be. It means whatever was messed with your wiring is healing itself. It's time to start teaching you how to walk again."
I cried, like a two-year old boy, I cried. So did my parents when they came to see me, and my brother and sister and their families. Some of my friends cried when they visited me. It was like a crying circus. The only one not crying was Aimee because she wasn't there. My father asked if he wanted me to tell her, angrily I told him no fucking way. I apologized and he said none needed.
And during PT I cried a lot. I cried during PT; I cried after PT when my muscles started cramping up. I cried when the muscle spasms woke me in the middle of the night. I think the only time I didn't cry was when my favorite night nurse would visit me. I never again dreamed it was Aimee stroking me. I never knew the nurse's name and I think she was taking off her name badge before coming into my room.
It was a big milestone when I could walk holding onto the handrails and a bigger milestone when I could use the walker. I can't count the number of times I fell. Since I could use the walker, they released me from the hospital. I expected my parents to take me home, I didn't know where that was. My mom insisted that I had to stay with them for a while because I would need help doing things.
They had replaced their dining room table with a hospital bed and tried to make me comfortable. My mom kept hovering around me. I finally grabbed her arm and asked her to relax, I still knew how to yell mommy if I needed anything. I was trying to cheer her up, but she ended up crying instead.
Going from the walker to canes was even worse. Everyday my mother took me to PT. I must have tripped over a fucking cane a thousand times. I was happy to give up the canes until all the pain developed in my lower legs. The doctor told me my gait was off, so it was putting strain on my ligaments. He assured me it would pass.
At home I walked with a cane or canes every day, increasing my distance. If I could, I would have done cartwheels when I gave up the canes. I still carried it for another two weeks just in case I ran out of oomph before I got home.
While I was in the hospital, my father hired a couple of lawyers, one to sue the daylights out of the trucking company and the other to deal with Aimee's divorce petition. My father is normally an easy-going man, but he was going after Aimee with a passion. It wasn't like I didn't care about either case; my focus was on building my strength back up. I didn't think my father needed my help to extract the revenge he felt I deserved. There was talk about me going back to work, my lawyer wasn't happy, and my doctor was furious. The doctor didn't even want me to drive. Things were going well, why fuck it up by getting rear ended again.
