Sheryl remembered looking out her side window. The out of control semi barreling through the intersection, almost as if in slow motion. The squeal of tires when she jammed on her brakes. The sound of crushing metal and braking glass. Then... nothing. Just darkness.
She remembered coming to in a hospital bed. She felt strange. It took her a while to figure out why. Reaching down to rub her knee, she was shocked to find that it wasn't there. Shifting over, neither was the other one. Feeling her abdomen, there were scars there, healed scars. How long had she been out?
Her Sarah, where was she? She must be afraid to be without her mommy for so long. That's when the nurse came in.
"You've been in a coma for almost six months." The doctor had explained. There had been an accident. A really bad one. A truck had run a red light when its brakes had failed. Sarah and She had been Lifestarred to the trauma unit within minutes. Sarah had not made it. Sheryl had internal injuries and both her legs were crushed too badly to save. The fact that she was still alive was nothing short of a miracle.
The pain came in waves. Sometimes it was physical, sometimes it was psychological, sometimes both. Sheryl struggled to cope. So did Jackson, her husband.
The pills helped. At least at first. Sheryl could deal with the fact that her job teaching tennis was done. But getting over not having been able to say goodbye to Sarah... She got mad at Jackson, and it made her feel awful, but she couldn't help it. She was a hammer, and he was her nail. The pills muted that down into a white noise that just let her get through the day lying in bed, wishing for her legs back.
The day Jackson had given her the divorce papers...man. She really wanted to tear him a new one, but she had to admit that he'd tried. He'd tried really really hard. But Sarah wasn't coming back, and thanks to her injuries there weren't going to be any future children. She'd tried to talk about it. The pills were easier, though. They didn't argue. They didn't call names.
She could get into the wheelchair on her own. It was just hard to want to. She got the disability checks. There was a huge settlement from the trucking company. Alimony from the divorce. Insurance money. Was there a noise downstairs? Was it Jackson? No. Jackson had been gone for a while. He hadn't even tried to fuck her after she'd lost her legs. Never touched her. He was too afraid. She knew he was grieving Sarah too. Why did everything hurt so fucking much?
There was a noise. She felt sleepy, but someone was shaking her. She focused in on the young woman who was trying to get her to wake up. There was an empty dose of narcan next to the bed, but why?
"Sheryl, there's no food in the fridge."
"Why did you bother?" Sheryl said blearily.
"It's what I get paid for." The woman said.
"Oh. Okay.." Sheryl managed. She felt like crap.
"Let's get you cleaned up." The woman said.
"Have a party." Sheryl managed before checking out again.
She was in the shower. The water was nice and hot, and the wash cloth was just a little abrasive on her skin. The younger woman was there with her in a swimsuit. Cleaning her. She did not have any clear recollection about how she'd gotten there. She remembered laying there, a mess, not caring...
"Who are you again?" She asked.
"I'm June. Your Sister hired me to take care of you for as long as you need. I'm a nurse." The younger woman said.
"Okay, I get it." Sheryl said. "But you should have just left me. Look at me. I'm done. I was a wife, a mother, a tennis pro. Now...I'm nothing."
"What you were, and what you are, isn't really my job to sort out. I just need to make sure you're not dead...which you almost were when I first got here." June said.
"I feel like crap. Could you get me something?" Sheryl asked.
"I'm sorry. No." June replied, soaping up the washcloth. "We have some work ahead of us, Sheryl. Let's try that without substances, okay?"
And that set the tone for the next few weeks. Daily baths and showers, three meals a day. Out of the house in the wheelchair, June pushing her around the neighborhood. Sheryl had lost track of how badly she'd slid.
She was self-conscious. When June would wash the stumps of her legs. She'd felt repulsed when she'd first touched them herself. Her legs were always one of her best features, slender and long. Now they were gone. She hated how they looked now; how they felt.
June was kind and never judged her, just went about her business and did her job. Slowly the two women got to know each other. It was impossible not to.
"So, what do you do when you're not working here?" Sheryl had asked.
"I'm a circus acrobat." June had replied sarcastically.
Sheryl thought, yeah maybe. June had that kind of look.
It was during one of her baths that it happened. June was cleaning Sheryl's boobs. It sent a shiver through her at first. And then a sob. And then tears started coming. And June stopped.
"Are you okay, Sheryl?" She asked, concerned.
"I just realized..." Sheryl managed. "When I came out of the coma, and then got home. Jackson couldn't bring himself to touch me. At first it was because I was still healing. But later it was something else. It was too much change for him to swallow. Physical and emotional scar tissue. And then he left. So, I stopped looking for that sensation... until you... until just now..."
"I think I get it, Sheryl. Can I tell you something?" June responded.
"Sure, you can tell me anything." Sheryl replied.
