Lean On Me #Wattys2016

Part 12

Ashlyn

I watch Mateo being taped up before therapy. He looks tired, the dark black circles under his eyes giving away that he didn't get much sleep. He hasn't smiled since he walked through the doors this morning and it's making me tense. I want to know how he's doing, but he isn't my patient. Instead, I help my new client get his prosthetic foot on securely, making sure it's comfortable before we practice walking again.

I try to focus, but during moments of rest, my eyes seek out Mateo. He's slower today than usual and I can see that even with the tape, his knee is still giving him trouble. When my shift is almost over, I can still see him gritting his teeth as he pushes against the weights beneath his feet. "Everything ok?" I ask Jane, lifting my chin to motion towards Mateo.

"He fell yesterday and it is pretty swollen. He stopped in with the doctor before coming in. Doc says it's just swollen, but if it's not feeling better by the end of the week he'll want to run a few tests." Jane grabs an icepack and turns to take it over to him, but her phone rings. "Can you take this to him?" She doesn't wait for me to answer her before handing it to me, accepting the call and walking away.

Mateo is still on the machine. I know he's done with his set, but he hasn't moved to the table where he can be iced. The closer I get to him, the easier it is to see the sweat that has beaded up on his forehead. He's in a world of hurt. His knee is bigger than it was when I left him yesterday, and I cringe again when I see the damage the fall did to his skin. "Hey," I say softly at his side.

He opens his eyes and looks up at me. I hold out the ice. "Hey," he answers.

"Want to move over to the table and I'll ice you?"

Mateo's eyes move down to his knee and he seems to consider whether or not he'd even make it. I watch his jaw tick with the tension of the situation. Finally he breathes out slowly and shakes his head. "Can you ice it here and then give me a minute? I don't think I can stand on it just yet." My heart dives down into my stomach with his defeated tone.

"Sure." I fetch a bandage so I can keep the ice in place and then head back over. His eyes are closed, but I know he isn't relaxing. His fists are clenched around the small handles of the weight machine and his knuckles are almost white with how hard he's hanging on. I put the cold pack on his knee and secure it with the soft bandage.

"Thank you." He huffs, flinching a little when I make one tighter round with the cloth bandage.

"I'm off in about twenty minutes if you want to wait around." I shrug one shoulder like it doesn't really matter to me if he accepts what I'm about to offer him. His eyes open and look into mine. "I can walk you home." He doesn't speak, just nods his head and then closes his eyes again.

My early morning shifts are my favorite. I love to get off work when there is still a lot of daylight left. Mateo limps slowly beside me, grunting every once in a while when the pain gets to be too much. We are barely moving as we make our way up to his place. Busy people rush past us, running to grab lunch or get back to their offices. I wonder if he notices how quickly life keeps moving even when you feel stuck. A lot of patients feel frozen in their life until the recovery progresses. It's hard to see things moving forward when everyday is a painful reminder that you aren't as quick or as independent as you used to be.

"Do you like pepperoni on your pizza?" He asks as we pass a small pizza place.

"Of course." I smile, taking another small step as he keeps up with me.

"Good. Me too. I'll order us one when we get back to my place. It will be like a celebration for not fucking limping into traffic to end this nagging pain." He's teasing, but I can tell the idea isn't as absurd to him as it is to me. He looks out into the street as a large bus passes and his lips curl up.

"You're very dramatic," I say, shaking my head.

"I'm a realist."

"I might agree if you didn't just make plans for us to have lunch. You know flinging yourself in front of a bus is only going to multiply your problems." I look up the street; suddenly seeing how far away his place is when going this slow.

"Fucking miles," he says quietly beside me, accurately guessing what I was thinking.

"One day it will seem like nothing."

"I hope so." His voice is serious. His next step is a little larger, the time he his weight solely on his bad leg will also be increased. I watch him wince, but pull through. I try to hold back my smile, but fail. I'm proud of him. I know he's hurting, but he's not giving up. There's something about his determination that makes my heart flutter. It might also be the strength I see in the body I know he believes is weak. It's not. It's injured. There's a big difference. An injured body can heal. If someone is weak, they either don't try or can't. There is nothing about Mateo that would make anyone believe he's weak.

"It's not polite to stare," he scolds.

"Then try not to look so cute." The words slip out before I even have a chance to think about them. His eyebrows lift and I can see his smile through the thick of his facial scruff that is quickly approaching a beard.

"Cute, huh?" He asks, "Do you have Nightingale Syndrome or are you just into pain?" His movement is getting quicker and apparently so is his wit.

"You're not my patient," I correct. "If it was Nightingale syndrome you'd have to be my patient when I fall in love with you."

I expect some teasing about what I said, and he doesn't disappoint me. "So it's pain then," he says deadpanned. I laugh and lightly hit his chest.

"No!" I say through a chuckle.

"Says the girl that just hit me." This time there's no missing his smile. 

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