"How long have I been in this hospital now?" asked Monica of her nurse.
"You have been here approximately two weeks. We are going to send you to the physical therapy department for the people to train you in the use of your wheelchair so you will not have to depend on anyone to help you all the time," said Maggie.
"I don't need anyone to help me," said Monica. "What kind of help can anyone give me now that I can't walk?"
"You have your life to live, Monica, and that is important to most people even though they can't walk," answered Maggie. "If I can't walk around, what good is living, Maggie? You can walk, so what do you care?"
"You are concerned about walking, Monica, and not about living. What you are saying is true about life and the difficulties you are going to face, I would give anything to have my husband back with me once more, even if he couldn't walk. You think you are the first person in the world to suffer tragedy? Well, you aren't the first, Monica, and you certainly will not be the last. What you can do with your life is certainly up to you and no one other than you." Maggie removed a tissue from her pocket and wiped her right eye.
Monica looked away at the same instant trying not to show that she understood Maggie's feelings, but at the same time thinking to herself how much Maggie must have been in love with her husband. She realized though that Maggie had lived and loved and reared children and she had them to look at and see a part of her husband who had died.
"I never got the same chance that you did," Monica said quietly to herself.
Monica turned to face Maggie at the instant Maggie was placing her tissue back into her uniform pocket.
"I guess I am wrong in arguing with you, Maggie, but I just don't feel great about being placed into the condition that I am and all because of some drunk, who didn't watch where he was going. All that I can ever ask now is why did this have to happen to me? I ask God every day and I never get any answer.
"That is okay, Monica, I can understand how you feel, but worrying about how you got into the position you are in will not do you much good at this point."
"Hello," interrupted another nurse upon coming into Monica's room. "My name is Charlotte and I am from physical therapy. I was sent to pick up a patient by the name of Monica."
"I guess that I will not have to introduce you to your new nurse, Monica, seeing as how she has already done so," said Maggie. "Are you ready for your first trip to the department which is know as physical therapy?" Charlotte asked Monica.
"About as ready as I can ever be," said Monica, "even though I think this will be a waste of time."
"Whether it will be a waste of time is something we don't know at this point, Monica," answered Charlotte, "but we have to try and give you some form of rehabilitation, otherwise you just may not amount to a liveable human being."
"You call sitting in a stupid wheelchair for the rest of my life, living?" Monica snapped.
"I didn't mean that life is going to be easy for you, in any manner," said Charlotte, "but if you have the will to live on, then we have the obligation to help you as much as we possibly can to meet the obstacles you will face by being confined to a wheelchair."
"Let's go," said Charlotte, as she strolled behind Monica.
Charlotte was a robust woman of thirty-eight years. Her hair had already started graying, but she kept coating it black, allowing only a few gray hairs to show. Her weight of one hundred-eighty pounds gave her strength to pick up just about any patient. She had blue eyes and a slightly hooked nose, noticeable only when viewed from the side. Charlotte's makeup accented her round features.
"Where is the physical therapy department located?" asked Monica, as she was being pushed down the hall towards the elevators, at the end of the corridor.
"We have to go to the fifth floor," answered Charlotte.
"What will the people in physical therapy teach me, that will help me live better than I could without their help?" asked Monica, her voice squeaking out the words.
"We will show you how to exercise properly and how to move in and out of your wheelchair without the aid of another person. You will also be taught how to dress yourself and you will be informed of all techniques which we know of, that can help you as an individual to get along a little better in life."
"What techniques can possibly make life easier for someone who has to spend their life in one of these contraptions?" Monica swung her head to the right for a glaring look at Charlotte.
"We can't bring your legs back to life again, Monica," said Charlotte, "but we can try to help you become a little less dependent on other people. The first thing we will do is introduce you to the Director of Physical Therapy here at the hospital when we get to the department."
They reached the elevators. The door shivered open and a man in a white coat rushed out, almost crashing into Monica.
"Oops...pardon me," blurted the young man, smiling at Monica. "Let me hold the door for you two," he said, backing up to grasp it with his right hand.
"Thanks," said Monica, as Charlotte pushed the vehicle into the open-ended rectangle.
Charlotte rapped the button for floor number five and the huge door slid shut closing out the view of the corridor. The elevator cables jerked and the box began to move towards its destination.
Monica watched the floor numbers above the door glow. A bell rang as the mechanism controlling the elevator detected the floor, which it was to stop at.
"It looks like this monstrosity needs oiled," said Monica, as she watched it slide sluggishly open.
"I believe you are correct about this elevator needing a little work," agreed Charlotte. "This particular one is about the oldest in the hospital, but I do believe it is due to be replaced as part of an overall renovation."
Charlotte pushed Monica from the enclosure.
"This is the floor where you will be coming twice a day for an hour each time, and for approximately three to four months," said Charlotte. "What we will do is introduce you to the Director, whose office is just down the hall, on the right hand side."
"She pushed Monica towards the location, and when she reached the opening in the wall which signaled the entrance to the office, she stopped.
"I will be back in one second just as soon as I find out if Mr. Moxin is in his office," said Charlotte, leaving Monica sitting in the hallway.
A few minutes later, Charlotte returned, pushing the door to the office open and kicked a doorstop inside on the carpeting.
"Okay, Monica," said Charlotte, "Mr. Moxin wants very much to see you and speak with you about what to expect here in physical therapy."
Charlotte moved behind Monica's chair and pushed her through the entrance into the carpeted office of the director.
Mr. Moxin was sitting behind the desk. He was a man of fifty years and was losing his hair in the front. His large 'framed glasses were held on his head by a black band. Monica looked at the older man sitting behind the desk and he reminded her of a very fatherly gentleman.
"This is Monica, Mr. Moxin," said Charlotte.
"And this Monica, is Mr. Moxin."
“Hello, Monica," spoke the man, smiling as he did so.
"Hello, Mr. Moxin, I am happy to meet you," answered Monica.
"You are probably wondering why I wanted to speak with you Monica, mostly because Charlotte has probably told you about the things we try to teach patients with the problem you have concerning the dependency on other people. I just want to reiterate a few things about the department and the staff we have here. The people who will be working with you are pretty well trained and will try to do a good job of teaching you the learnings of their profession. Of course, the teaching can only succeed if you want it to, and if you are concerned about living a better life without having to worry about whether anyone is always around to help you do some things you would like to do. Basically, we will, I mean the staff will, show you how to become independent in the wheelchair, how to handle problems, how to exercise your legs and other parts of your body, and how to get up and down curbs where they haven't been slanted for handicapped people."
"Although the staff may be able to give you tips about dressing yourself, most of the task of putting your clothing on each day, even here at the hospital, is going to prove one of your most difficult tasks. You will find that something that you had done for many years, now is very time consuming, which at times, may be very boring and hard to swallow. The real test in the therapy department is not for the therapists themselves, but for you Monica, and how you leave the hospital three or four months from now will largely be based on your effort in this department."
"What good do you think all this horsing around is going to do me?" interrupted Monica.
"Even though I am be able to get around by myself, how are people going to treat me?"
"Well, Monica," answered Mr. Moxin, "I can't speak for people that you will run into during the rest of your life, but I believe that most people will accept you for what you try to do and if you are babied, some will react accordingly, and if you want to be treated like anyone else, most persons will respect that wish."
Monica wanted to ask the director about sex, but she shied away from the question.
"How can someone in my condition be treated just like anyone who is normal?" she asked instead. "Do you believe me to be normal?" he asked.
"You look in pretty good shape to me," she said.
"I believe we should first ask the question of normalcy," he said. "Exactly how does one define being normal? Is the presence of limbs normal? Does the use of all but one limb make one abnormal? Does the fact that all pieces of the body are intact mean that a person is normal? You really don't have to answer the questions that I have just asked, Monica, as I will define for you what I believe the answers to be from my point of view."
Mr. Moxin looked straight into the eyes of Monica.
"One does not need have all the parts of the body to be considered a normal human being and there are many handicapped persons in the world who, lead very average lives. By the same token, there are individuals who are presumed to have all the faculties to be lucid, but are insane."
"I wasn't speaking about anyone who is nuts," interrupted Monica.
"Monica," said Mr. Moxin, "I was given a job here at the hospital because I think the people in charge had enough faith in me to do justice to the position and not because I begged for the job or they felt sorry for me. There is something I would like to show you. Charlotte, can you help me move away from this desk, please?"
"Certainly," Charlotte agreed.
She walked behind Mr. Moxin and pulled his wheelchair from the desk and pushed him around the front to where Monica was sitting. "Oh no!" said Monica, as she then saw a man who was in the same position as she.
"Now you see, I know about which I speak, Monica," he said, after Monica's noticeable alarm. "The thing that you and I have in common is that we both reside in a cart to get around, but I do not have the use of my hands as you do nor do I have the use of my legs. Whenever I was shot in the back by some two-bit thug trying to rob me, I lost the use of all my limbs. So you see, Monica, you are not really that bad off."
"I had no idea that you...ah, ah," Monica stammered.
"It is okay, Monica," he said, "I really do not consider myself a freak even though some people may look at me that way. The most important part about our little conversation is for you to grasp the need for understanding on your part concerning that which we hope to accomplish and not to worry about the other. He smiled. I am in the same boat you are, but I went through rehabilitation with the program you will be taking and I came out a better man, maybe not whole, but more concerned with helping others in the same set of circumstances."
"I have a special device on the telephone which allows me to answer and to make telephone calls, Monica, something that you will be able to do without. I can dictate memos, give speeches, and even write letters on a specially designed typewriter. Of course, Monica, all I am doing is talking about myself and trying to tell you how to accept your handicap."
"That is exactly it," said Monica, looking to the ceiling, "I don't really know if I will ever be able to accept my predicament."
"I hope you can, Monica," replied Mr. Moxin, "and if you ever need my help, just let me know. I believe that I have chewed your ear long enough and you probably are anxious to get into the first hour of your therapy. All that I can say now is good luck."
"Thank-you," Monica said as her mouth opened to show her teeth causing her cheeks to rise, portraying a half smile. "Please push me behind the desk once more, Charlotte?" said Mr. Moxin, "so I can get some work done."
After Charlotte had placed him behind the desk, she walked to the rear of Monica and began to push her to the exit. "Remember what I said, Monica, if you ever need to talk, I will be here."
Charlotte closed the door to the office behind her.
"Okay, Monica," she said, "we are going to the treatment room first and show you how to get from the chair you are riding in up on the table.
"Then what are we going to do?" questioned Monica.
"Most of the time in the treatment room will be taken up by just showing you how and helping you get up on the table, Monica, believe it or not?"
"How can something that doesn't appear to be difficult take so long to master?" asked Monica.
"Most people don't go around trying to lift themselves out of any type of chair just to see how difficult it may be," said Charlotte, "and practically everyone on earth who is somewhat healthy believes they will never experience what you have, Monica. Here we are."