Brave

Chapter 7: Owing My Life

Just before my first physical therapy session, more new faces appear in my doorway.

"Sarah?" Asks a pretty girl with her reddish-blonde hair wound into a neat braided bun.

I nod and she comes in followed by two men. All three of them are wearing navy blue coveralls with assorted badges on their arms.

"I'm Megan," says the girl. I love the strawberry blonde color of her hair, a completely different shade than mine or Sam's, even though the three of us have some red in common. "This is Roy, and this is Jason." She motions to the men with her. "We're the paramedics who responded to your accident."

I swallow a lump in my throat. I have a growing list of people to whom I owe my life. "Thank you," is all I can manage to say. I mean, what else is there, really?

Megan walks right up and hugs me. Roy and Jason shake my hand. "How are you feeling?" Jason asks. His square jaw and crew cut make him look like a professional wrestler.

"I'm doing all right," I say, deciding to skip the joke about being hit by a truck and try to muster my best smile.

Roy, a stocky older gentleman, joins the conversation. "You're looking well. You're a lucky girl."

Sure, I'm so lucky to be cursed with a disability at the age of twenty one. But it's to their credit - and Ethan's - that I'm alive, so despite my lingering  sadness over the situation, continue the conversation. "So, was mine the worst accident you've ever responded to?"

Jason answers honestly. "It was pretty bad. But not the worst. And you look pretty darn good for going through that."

I don't feel like hashing out any more details of my accident after that. We chat a bit about general things like college and family. Then they wish me well and leave.

Just a bit later, a tall, lean, good-looking man arrives with a wheelchair, which he pushes up next to my bed. "Hello, Sarah. I'm Patrick. I'll be doing some physical therapy with you this afternoon."

"Will I be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life?" I ask, warily eying the device next to my bed that I had to use first for my shower this morning and now for therapy.

"I highly doubt it," he answers. "You're very young and healthy. There are a lot of neat advances in prosthetics. You should be able to walk just like normal."

I cringe at the word neat. Yeah, it will be really neat to walk around on a wooden leg, I think.

Physical therapy actually turns out to be kind of interesting. I mean, if I was able to watch someone else doing it, it would be really cool. Patrick puts me into a harness that looks like a baby swing. He fastens it around my waist and around my leg. I use a walker, too, but not for walking yet. Just for standing and balancing.

It hurts. I can't imagine how much my right leg, or what's left of it, would hurt if they hadn't put the numbing medication in through the catheters. For now, it just hangs there and feels heavy. My left leg hurts no matter how I try to stand on it.

After ten or fifteen minutes of standing and balancing, the novelty has worn off and I'm exhausted. "I know I haven't gotten very far, but I'm so tired and everything hurts," I cringe at Patrick.

"Okay. It's your first day, and you did get further than than you think. You went through a major trauma only a week ago. You're not going to walk today. But you will get stronger very quickly. We'll work on a little more every day."

I accept his encouragement, but I think to myself, I'll believe it when I see it.

Back in my room, I'm pleasantly surprised to find that Cam and Morgan are waiting for me. Cam has the same red, curly hair as Sam, except much shorter. I can tell he just washed it because the curls are forming tight little ringlets along his face. I grew up with Sam and Cam, the redheaded twins, mischievous hot-tempered, and fiercely loyal to one another. That was, until we met Morgan in college. Cam fell for her instantly, detached from Sam and became joined at the hip with Morgan. Luckily, Sam and I love Morgan as well, so we're the perfect foursome.