Love Rehabilitated

Chapter III

grief

noun

1. deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone's death.

As I sat in the waiting office, my heart sank to a pit in the bottom of my stomach. I hadn't been swimming, or in any water besides a bath since the accident. The past three weeks had been an adjusting period for me.

I learned how to balance myself, with and without crutches. I learned how to get up stairs with only one leg, even though I really preferred an elevator. I learned how to stand up without anything to hold on to, and I don't even know why it scared me so much that I was about to get a prosthetic leg.

I looked towards Malia, whose arm was out of the hard cast and now just in a brace. She'd been staying with me in my apartment for the last three weeks and helping me adjust.

Drew had flown back to California to finish his masters, but he came back every weekend to see me and Jamie.

Jamie still had not waken up. The doctors said they'd done everything they could to help her heal, but her body for some reason just wasn't waking up. Could be months, days, or weeks until she wakes up, if ever.

And despite everything that had happened, mom and dad still got a divorce. 

I wasn't even sure why I was so scared. Maybe it was because this is something new, or maybe because the prosthetic leg makes it much more real.

I emailed my coach, who I still couldn't bear to face, and I texted Manning, my best friend, who I had still yet to see. Every time he tried to schedule sometime to come over and see me, I found a reason to cancel. I guess I was scared to see what he would think of me being so weak. I know, however that it's only a matter of time before he just comes to my apartment and lets himself in.

In fact, I shouldn't be surprised if he's waiting for me on my couch when I get home.

I can't even face a swimming pool or look at it without being reminded of my old future. The one that got so brutally ripped away from me because some stupid person decided to drive after having way more than a few drinks.

I can't even drink or stand the sight of alcohol anymore without wanting to throw up everything in my stomach. To top all of it off, every night I dream of the crash, and the guilt comes flooding back.

"Harvey Coleman?" A young looking lady, probably around my age, calls into the waiting room. Obviously I am Harvey Coleman, because there is no one else waiting. I get up, and grab my crutches from the chair next to me.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Malia asks as I put them under my arms.

"No, I'll be okay." I say slowly.

"If you say so..." Malia replies, removing her hands from the arms of the chair, and relaxing slightly back into it.

"No yeah, I'll be fine. Just get the leg on and be ready to go..." I say uncertainly.

I crutch behind the lady, who walks at a courteous, but painfully slow pace. When we finally make it to the room I am supposed to be seen in, I walk in and sit on the examination table.

"The doctor will be in shortly." She says with a smile, and walks out.

I twiddle my thumbs a bit and look around the room. It's an off-white color with little blue fish dotting the walls. It seems a bit childish, and the fish kind of remind me of swimming, so I just look down at my hands until the doctor comes in.

The door opens with a whoosh, and I hear my name, "Harvey Coleman. Such a shame, huh?" He asks. 

He's a young man with a light blonde beard and a shaved head. He seems too young to have a career like this, but then again, 21 is young to be one of the highest valued swimmers in the world. Guess who's not that anymore.

"You've heard of me?" I ask even though I already know the answer, he's a sports therapy and rehabilitation doctor, so of course he probably has a bit of a clue.

"That's right. You were supposed to go to the Olympics, and then this happened." He says in an almost comical tone, "Well life doesn't always go as we planned. I mean, I sure wasn't planning to lose two fingers on my left hand." He wiggles his left hand, which I hadn't noticed until now, and I see that his middle and ring fingers are missing. "Not quite as life changing as a leg." He remarks.

"It's definitely been a bit of a rough time." I reply somewhat uncomfortably.

"I understand how you must be feeling, and I sympathize. This has got to be hard for you and I'm sorry, but you have a talent. Don't let it go to waste." He replies somewhat vaguely. He leaves the room and returns minutes later with a prosthetic leg. "We're going to try this out on you, okay?"

I just nod. I don't know what else to do but nod. This is going to be my life, the rest of my life. I'm going to be stuck like this. Without a leg.

I'm terrified.

I hate this. I hate my parents. They're the reason I got in that Uber, and yet somewhat I know that's not true.

'Maybe this was meant to happen to you.' I think. 'Maybe this is what you deserve for having pre-marital sex and punching Jacob Stevens in the face in second grade.'

But all of that is just wistful thinking. Out of 7 billion people in the world, why the Olympic swimmer with a record breaking future career?