Throughout the ordeal of her rehabilitation period, Monica seemed to be progressing rather well. In fact, Charlotte and she had become rather good friends. To Monica, the two hours she spent each day in the treatment room were never ending. She did the same things over and over. Each of the practitioners with whom she became associated tried hard to help her in any way they could, with one exception.
Marcia was a young therapist who felt nothing for the people she was trying to help. She did nothing to promote goodwill between patient and trainer. Monica had wondered how the brown haired lady had gotten into therapy work if she held inside what she projected on the outside. Marcia never had a smile on her face and seemed more like a robot that the other people working in the rehab-center. In fact, sometimes she seemed very hostile. Although Monica preferred to work with several of the other therapists, she did, on occasion, spend her workouts with Marcia.
Monica had been ushered into the department by Charlotte on one afternoon, and found herself assigned to Marcia. They started the therapy and when Monica was lifting weights, Marcia said, "Why is that all you women lift only the light weights? You act like babies."
"What did you say?" said Monica, astonished to find someone who was not happy with her progress. "You have trouble lifting those weights?"
"Not really."
"Then why don't you try some heavier plates?"
"I am not trying for a weightlifter's body," answered Monica.
"Are you getting smart with me?" said Marcia, her feelings ruffled.
"No."
"Then why can't you lift more poundage?" she snapped.
"Why don't you try to do what we have to?" argued Monica. "You aren't doing anything that is difficult."
Monica stared at the girl who was supposed to be helping and aiding those persons seeking therapy. Marcia wasn't an attractive looking person, one of average stature. She possessed a thin body, but not bony. Perhaps, Monica's attractiveness did something to threaten Marcia, but Monica couldn't figure out exactly what was bothering her.
"Let me see you do some pushups?" asked Marcia.
"Okay," answered Monica, pushing the weights to the side. "You want me to do five hundred for you?" snickered Monica. "Wise guy." said Marcia. "You know you can't possibly do five hundred."
"If I can put up with you, I can do anything," said Monica.
"Why do they always give me the real basket cases to work with in this hospital?"
"Don't you call be a basket case!" yelled Monica, gaining the attention of others in the therapy area. "You don't have to shout at me," Marcia gritted her teeth. "Why not?"
"Because I am trying to talk sensibly to you and all you want to do is fight."
"Why don't you just get out of here and let me do my therapy by myself?" asked Monica.
"Because that is why I am here, to make sure you do exactly what is prescribed for you."
"Do you know why you have people like me doing push-ups?" questioned Monica. "Yes, what is the matter with you. Don't you think I know my job?"
"Well, if you know the answer, what is it?"
"So you will not get bedsores."
"Where do we get most of our bedsores?"
"On the butt."
"Well then, Marcia, you know where you are a sore."
"You can't talk to me like that!" said Marcia, furious that a patient would speak to her the way Monica had.
"Don't tell me I can't talk to you like that, because I don't have to put up with the way you act, either. You think for one minute that I like being here. Hell, if I never see you again, that would be too soon."
"Why do you hate me, Monica?"
"I didn't say I hated you, but neither do I have to put up with someone who doesn't respect other people."
"You think that I don't respect others?" asked Marcia.
"One would have to say the feeling is well hidden," responded Monica. "My concern is for the patient, Monica, and their well being."
"You have to be kidding, Marcia. Every time that I have been in here and either have been working with you or watched you with someone else, I get the same impression that I got today.
Why are you so crabby?"
"I am not crabby."
"Then exactly what do you call your attitude towards the other people with whom you work?"
"But, I get along with the others here."
"What do you think your co-workers have to say about you?"
"Well...ah, ah, ah,...I never thought."
"That is right," interrupted Monica, "you never thought they have an opinion of you. Let me tell you right now, if you believe you have any friends here, I would like to meet one."
"There are associates working at the hospital who call me their friend."
"Give me the name of one."
Marcia thought for a few minutes and began to wonder who really was a friend. Was Monica correct in her suspicions? None of the other workers ever spent time with her or did it just seem that way? Here was a woman who pierced a trait that others let pass by.
"My time is about up," said Monica, looking at the clock on the near wall. Marcia stared at the floor.
"Did you hear what I said?" asked Monica.
"Oh, yes," answered Marcia. "Let me see you do the push-ups."
"We are out of time," said Monica.
"Alright, Monica, I will see you tomorrow."
From that day on, Marcia changed into a different person. Even the other patients and her co-workers noticed her interest in helping others and not trying to browbeat them. Instead, her attitude in the therapy room responded to the needs of those trying to learn and master the techniques of the handicapped.
In the final weeks of the rehabilitation period, Monica looked back on her four months in the hospital and the therapy she had received. She was lying in her bed and staring at the ceiling when the review passed before her eyes.
Monica had to learn all over again, how to dress herself, to do seated pushups to prevent bedsores, how to get on and off the toilet to empty her bowels, how to reach for things without stumbling from the wheelchair. During her training, she could see herself going through the process of negotiating the curbs, which she had to maneuver over with her wheelchair. Several times, she had almost fallen from the vehicle, but managed to stay in control. Lifting weights was tough, but instilled in her body, strength. Her most successful triumph was winning over Marcia, she thought. Perhaps, the challenge presented by Marcia's attitude when they met, was a way of measuring Monica's ability to cope with the world, and the individuals she was to encounter on the outside of the retread factory. Most importantly, she was happy with herself and the way she had handled the obstacle course. Would the things she learned help her through the rest of her life?
"Hi, Monica," a voice interrupted her thinking. She turned to face the speaker.
"Mr. Moxin. How are you doing?" She was surprised to see him at the door.
"I am okay, Monica. Thought I would drop by and tell you that I am very happy with the way you progressed through the rehabilitation program here. I knew you would do well."
"Thank you for saying so, Mr. Moxin, but I had my doubts, which you must have felt when we spoke some time ago."
"Yes, Monica, I did, but still I figured you would come out ahead. In a few more weeks, you will be discharged from the hospital to seek your way in the world once more, and I thought that I would drop by and be the first to wish you well. If you ever need my help, you know where to find me."
"I really appreciate your confidence, Mr. Moxin, and thanks for everything you have done for me here."
"You don't have to thank me for anything, Monica, because what you did, you accomplished on your own, even the part of straightening out one of our therapists."
"How did you hear about that?"
"Through the grapevine, Monica, through the grapevine."
"The grapevine?"
"Don't you think the rehab-department has a grapevine?"
"I didn't mean."
"That's okay, Monica, I know what you mean. I have to get out of here," he said, yelling for the nurse who had helped him get to Monica's room.
After he had gone, Monica began to think about her new life away from the hospital. Doctor Stepanic had informed her about several programs available to the handicapped, one of which was to learn computer programming. She didn't know if she was smart enough for the field, but she was interested in going to find out if she was qualified.
When the day came for Monica to leave the hospital, the sight of people she had grown fond of for four months made her cry.
All the friends she had made were sorrowed at her departure. There were tears, but well wishes along with the sobs. Everyone wished her good luck and wished her well in her future.
Rose picked her up at the hospital that day and when she saw the people who came to see Monica off, she remarked that most of the hospital staff must have been there.
As they drove away from the building, Monica waved and the people in white responded the same way. All those individuals went out of their way to help me, thought Monica and for such a long period of time. The four months she was in the hospital seemed like years and she was happy to see if the world had changed much since she had been on another journey, that of getting prepared for a new slant on an approach to life.
"You know what I am going to do, Rose?"
"No, Monica. What?"
"Go to computer programming school."
"Terrific," Rose replied.