Fire Trap

16 - Recovery

We sat in the emergency room hallway for twenty minutes then went through everything again with a nurse then again with the E.R. physician. Before they separated us, I learned that Jean's injuries were similar to mine. Her hands were spared, but not her dignity. Her sweater and slacks were ruined, but she, herself, had come off slightly better than I had.

They cut my pants off, which was completely unnecessary. It didn't make any difference, since they were ruined, but it was a strangely embarrassing and ridiculous procedure. They gave me several rump shots of something like Novocain, that gradually killed the burning, until they brought out the scrub brush.

It seems the Novocain wasn't for the pain I had been experiencing, but for the pain they were about to inflict. The physician explained they had to clean the wound by scrubbing it with a brush. They had to root out the dirt and little pieces of grit and asphalt embedded in my skin or it would result in a crude form of tattooing as the wound healed. Whatever the Novocain drug was, it gets an 'F' for real pain control.

When they were through, and I had been airing for about twenty minutes, I asked the doctor what kind of dressing they were going to use. He said that, with large abrasions, it was better not to use a dressing, but to expose the injuries to the air.

"Don't you think that's a little impractical in this case," I said with a sour expression.

"Not at night," he said. "Also, use cotton boxers and loose trousers rather than briefs and blue jeans. I don't imagine you'll be doing a lot of sitting for a while, but when you do, you may find the scabs separate and drain, soaking through your garments. You might put on a Depends if you know that's going to happen." Great, I thought, but I knew what adjective Henry Claus would add. After hearing all this good news, I wandered around the emergency room suite until I met up with Jean. We compared notes. I was about to suggest Ubering back to the Park Plaza, in our blue gowns and Depends, when Dale returned.

Amazingly, he had anticipated our need for pants and brought two baggy jogging suits. Jean thanked him and disappeared behind a screen.

"Above the call of duty," I said, with all the gratitude I could muster.

"I just imagined myself in your spot."

"I hope your imagination isn't that good."

Jean returned. Pants, even jogging pants, made a vast improvement for both of us. "Let's leave," I suggested.

We signed releases and stopped by the pharmacy for our prescriptions and diapers, then picked up our possessions from the nurses station and left.

On the way to the Park Plaza, I invited Jean to spend the night, and she agreed.

Dale didn't say a word. He dropped us by the front door and made me promise to stop by his office first thing in the morning.

#

Once in the room, we turned down the lights, folded the covers down halfway on one of the queen beds, dropped our jogging suit pants and climbed in. We kept the tops on for warmth and lay face down with our bare buns in the healing air. I turned my face to look at Jean, and found her looking at me. I wondered what she was thinking, her car, and nearly her life, destroyed on our second day together.

"Penny for your thoughts."

She put her hand gently on my hip. "My father told me you'd be a pain in the butt. I just hate that he was so amazingly accurate."

"Seriously."

"Oh. Well, I'm worried we don't know who it was that tried to kill us. It makes it really hard to defend ourselves if they try again."