At three o'clock in the afternoon, Monica's eyelids flickered open; her blue eyes scanned the green walls and window. She wondered how long she had been sleeping.
"The room is still the same as before," she said. She had hoped that she would awaken from a dream.
"Come on legs, move!" she commanded, but as before, they would not stir. "Why won't you move, legs, why?" No answer came.
"Why God, why did this have to happen to me?" she spoke looking at the ceiling. "If you are here, answer me."
"What is it, Monica?" asked Maggie, standing in the doorway. "I thought you had a visitor when I heard talking in your room."
"I was just having a conversation with myself and haven't really gotten any good answers," said Monica, her voice crackling. "Your being here makes this no dream, Maggie. Why can't this be a nightmare?"
"You'll be okay, Monica," assured Maggie. "I'll get hold of Doctor Stepanic and tell him you are awake. "Don't do that, Maggie," pleaded Monica. "He won't tell me what is wrong with my legs."
"I'm sure he will tell you everything you want to know," said Maggie.
"Please don't call him?" said Monica, raising her right hand from the bed trying to reach Maggie.
"He has to be informed that you are awake so he can examine your wound and talk with you about your condition."
"What does he really care about my condition?" Monica responded. "I don't want him for my doctor. Get me someone else."
"You can tell him that yourself when he comes to see you." Maggie didn't give Monica an opportunity to answer, as she abruptly left the room to call Dr. Stepanic.
Monica lay in bed clenching her teeth, then puffing her jaws. She wanted to get up and stomp out of the room, down the hallway and out of her prison, but her brain could not compel her body to rise.
She could hear the request for Doctor Stepanic being broadcast over all speakers in the hallway.
One hour passed before she heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and for that time, her request not to see the doctor, had been fulfilled. He poked his head into the doorway. "I hear you don't want me around here anymore," he said, "and I'm trying to make sure that you are not going to throw anything at me, like my wife does when she doesn't want to see me."
For the first time, Monica took a good look at Jim Stepanic. He was an attractive fellow with round cheeks, but wasn't overweight. His facial features were round, and he had brown hair and blue eyes. Jim was forty-two, but still didn't have any real noticeable graying at the temples, although his hair was getting a little thinner. He liked to joke around with his patients to make them laugh at times when they were feeling down, but he sympathized with them when they couldn't laugh.
"Come on in," she smiled, "I wouldn't throw anything at you because there are no objects to use as a weapon."
"Well, I'm certainly glad to know you don't have anything available to zing at me. I really didn't feel like ducking from any flying objects having my name on them," Doctor Stepanic laughed.
Monica smiled again and chuckled.
He pulled one of the two chairs sitting by the wall near the door, close to the side of Monica's bed.
"You and I are going to have a hearty talk, Monica," he began, "about the damage done to your body in the car accident. You are suffering from amnesia, which we hope will be only temporary and that you will remember who you are in a short period of time. Exactly how long it will be before you remember, we really don't know, but we hope your memory lapse will be gone in a few days. I have spoken at length with your fiancé and he tells me that you have no living relatives."
"I must have. He is wrong!" she interrupted.
"The most important thing in your life at this point, Monica, is the severe injury to your spinal cord. It was severed somehow in the accident and that is why you cannot control your legs when you want them to move. You want the truth, don't you, Monica?"
"Yes," she answered, her eyes fixing on his.
"You will not be able to walk again," he said softly.
She began to gather tears in her eyes, and Doctor Stepanic pulled out his handkerchief from his left rear pants pocket, and began to wipe below her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Monica, that I don't have better news, but two of our best doctors have agreed with me."
Monica could see his saddened eyes and when he quickly wiped his eye with the white cloth, she knew he was crying for her. He reached for her right hand and held it for a few seconds.
"We'll do all we can to rehabilitate you so you can still lead a good life, Monica. The therapy that is available now may even prove us wrong and could surprise everyone including yourself."
"What do I do now, Doctor? I was always very active and liked all kinds of sports," she begged of him. "I'm beginning to remember who I am and what I used to do."
"The jolt of not being able to walk again is enough to make anyone remember, I guess," he said.
"My name is Monica Rawlings and I live in an apartment on Seventh Avenue in Oakmont, with my roommate Rose, who is on vacation. I'm twenty-five and I work at Spencer's Clothing Company. I re...remember now, Bob and I were on our way to the company picnic when we were hit by a truck driving on the wrong side of the road. We didn't have a chance to get out of the way because he was coming so fast. What happened to Bob?"
"He is okay, Monica," replied the doctor, "and he will be in to see you this evening. He was treated here yesterday, then released."
"Does he know I can't walk?" asked Monica.
"No, he does not," replied Doctor Stepanic.
"Don't tell him, please, don't tell him yet," pleaded Monica.
"One of us must tell him in the near future and I'll let you decide which one of us will get the job. I don't know what kind of future you two have planned together, but it is important for Bob to know of your condition."
"I'll tell him when I'm ready, Doctor," she said, "and I promise not to wait very long."
"That's fine, Monica," encouraged Doctor Stepanic, "not only for his welfare, but also for yours as well."
"Well, we settled on who gets the job," Monica smiled.
"Yes, we sure did," agreed Jim. "I'd like to examine your scalp wound now." The doctor rose from his chair and did the job. "How many stitches were required to close my wound?" queried Monica.
"Fourteen", he answered, "and it was done by a good seamstress." Monica let go with a ha-ha.
"I thought you might find my remark amusing," chided the doctor, "but I expected a little healthier response than ha-ha."
"I'll have to agree with you, Doctor," she smiled. "Your remark was a little funnier than I gave it credit for. You really like to joke around with your patients, don't you, Doctor Stepanic?"
"Yes," he agreed, "trying to make people laugh when they are sick is pretty important to me and always has been. I guess, in a way, I'm what you could refer to as a clown healer."
"Do you run into a lot of patients who do not appreciate your humor'?" asked Monica.
"Every so often, I do encounter someone who wouldn't laugh at anything funny. As a matter of fact, they would pass for a cigar store Indian."
"I suppose you have seen many cases like mine," said Monica, her smile drifting away.
"We doctors see many different injuries to people and the suffering they go through. Most patients do quite well in recovering, although some just never accept the inevitable. You see, Monica, quite a number of people are in great spirits and health one day, and the next day the bottom of their world drops out. I know it isn't easy for you, or anyone else who has experienced a problem, to accept it and continue on in life. Not only is permanent disability hard to accept by persons experiencing the same difficulty as you, but loved ones also find themselves doing some soul searching. It is tough to be waited on, but even tougher to have someone perform the task practically all the time."
"Do you really think Bob will take me the way I am now?" asked Monica.
"I really cannot answer the question, Monica, because I don't know Bob very well, nor how well your relationship with him is doing.
"We were really having a grand time together and planned to be married next year. But I guess that will change now that this has happened." Monica turned her head away from the doctor.
"I am sure things will change, Monica, but exactly how much of a change, that is something you two will have to work out together," said the Doctor.
"There probably never has been an easy way out of something like this," said Monica, "for the people involved. Why should my case be any different than the rest." She turned her head toward the doctor once more. "You will help me through this, won't you?" she asked.
"That's what I am here for, Monica. I have never refused to help a patient with any problem and I'm not the type of doctor who runs away from a person just because he or she doesn't like me. As far as I'm concerned, likes and dislikes have nothing to do with my relationship with any individual in my line of work. My job is to help people in every way I can, but sometimes it is even tough for me to convince myself that a patient needs my help. I have been sworn at, yelled at and told to get lost, but for some reason I hung in there and survived the onslaught for my head. There are a lot of things to live for in life and the individual has to determine for his or herself why they must survive. There I go again, sounding just like a psychiatrist trying to explain the woes of the world in a few breaths. I don't want to bore you with my thoughts on life and living, Monica, so you can tell me when to shut my mouth."
"I don't mind listening to you talk about your beliefs, Doctor Stepanic," she smiled. "It has always been one of my favorite pastimes...listening, I mean, and you do sound like an honest man. I would even bet you have a lot of people who owe you money that you don't care about getting back."
"Now that you bring up the matter, there does happen to be several people who owe me a few bucks and in certain cases, the person was one of those hell-raisers that I had to put up with until the light struck them."
"As soon as I get out of this hospital, Doctor, I will become your bill collector. You know I can be pretty mean when I try," Monica opened her eyes wide.
"I see exactly what you mean by the expression on your face at this time," laughed the doctor. "There isn't any reason why you couldn't be my collector of bad accounts and since you are such a pretty young lady, I don't think anyone will say no to you when you call upon them to make their overdue payments. I know I would pay up if someone with a smile as yours came to call on me."
"What would happen if I came to you in a wheelchair, would you still find my smile pretty?" Monica asked. "It wouldn't make any difference to me, Monica," he answered.
"No, since you are a doctor, my appearance wouldn't affect you at all, but what about other people?"
"One thing you will have to learn and to accept in your future life, Monica, will be the opinions of other people, sometimes they will hurt you, but you must keep a stiff and stalwart shield. Although you will think many times about why you are in the position you are, and why someone else isn't there, no person can give you the answer. I have asked myself the same questions over and over and never received an answer from above. Why do murderers get away with the acts they commit? Why do innocent people suffer for the sins of others? I don't know where the answers to these questions lie and I doubt very much if I'll ever find the solutions. But just because I never get any feedback, I will never quit asking God why He allows such things to go on and on and why He doesn't stop people from hurting each other."
"I didn't think about those things until now," said Monica, "and I never even knew anyone cared about them until I heard you speak about your concerns."
"While it is true, that your life has changed rather drastically, you must learn to live with your assets and liabilities," said the doctor. "No one will act the same, necessarily, given the same set of circumstances. And certainly, when permanent disability is introduced into the picture, the odds on the injured person's reactions are pretty hard to estimate. Just how well you will respond to the rehabilitation program which we will set up for you, isn't know at this point. I do believe your attitude is pretty good, but attitude is always subject to change without notice."
Monica interrupted, "You think my attitude is good whenever I wanted to fire you."
"You haven't been the first person to shout at me or to tell me to dive into a waterless swimming pool, and you surely will not be the last." Monica laughed.
"I don't see any bumps on your head, so I guess you didn't take the suggestions to heart," she said.
"Not those type of suggestions," he answered. "My head wasn't built for bumps and empty pools are notorious for causing injury to persons taking a quick dip."
"Do you have a swimming pool at your house, Doctor Stepanic?" asked Monica. "Yes, I do."
"The apartment building where I live has a pool, too," said Monica, her eyes shifting to the left and holding a stare for ten seconds before returning. "I used to spend a lot of time in the water and enjoyed getting a tan."
"Don't worry, Monica." said Doctor Stepanic, "there will be many things you will remember in your life that you have done or were planning to do in the future, and although we can't cancel out the past and blank out memories, we can do something about tomorrow and perhaps, a little about your destiny. The work will be pretty much up to you, and there isn't any doubt about you having the toughest part in our play. I can't tell you what is in store for you, Monica, but we can put forth some effort and help you to survive with your present affliction."
"A doctor who sounds like a philosopher. Now this is really something," said Monica.
"Some of my friends have likened me to Socrates, from time to time after listening to some of my long-winded speeches," said Jim. "You certainly do expound on words," laughed Monica.
"If my sounding like a great philosopher is making you laugh rather than cry, I guess my ideas can't be too bad, or maybe you are laughing because they are so terrible you can't cry."
"You could have been a preacher or one of those fellows who rides the circuit telling everybody to repent and give their small change of ones and fives," Monica said.
"I often thought about doing exactly what you suggested," said the doctor, "but I could never get up enough nerve to ask people for money just by telling them something they wanted to hear."
"You are going to charge me for something I didn't want to hear," she said, "what the heck difference does it make?"
"When you come to a point, you certainly don't spare the jab," he smiled, "do you Monica?"
"I don't mean to sound rude or to offend you, Doctor Stepanic, but I really enjoy speaking with you. You are very easy to converse with and you respect other people's opinions and quite a few people do not operate the way you do, especially doctors."
"My wife should hear you talking about how great I am and maybe she would listen to me."
"She is as nice as you are, I'd bet," said Monica.
"Hey, I have to get out of here and look in on some other patients," Doctor Stepanic said after glancing at the digital wristwatch on his left wrist. "Your fiancé, Bob, will be in to see you tonight, and I won't be back to see you until tomorrow. I want you to behave this evening and try to look ahead with everything you have going for you."
He squeezed her right hand with his left and said, "Don't quit, Monica, there are plenty of people rooting for you."
The doctor strolled to the door and Monica said, "See you, Socrates." He smiled and waved his clenched fist of his hand.
At seven-thirty that same evening Bob walked into the room occupied by Monica. He walked to her bedside and gently kissed her on the forehead. She didn't move, because of her sound sleep, so he backed to the cushioned chair at the foot of the bed and sat down intending to stay until Monica awakened.
When visiting hours were over at nine, Bob was still sitting in the chair waiting for her to show signs of the living. A nurse came around to the room and informed Bob that visiting hours were over.
"But, I didn't even get a chance to talk with her," he argued.
"I am sorry, sir," she responded, "but, visiting hours are over and we have to enforce the rules."
"Rules are rules," he agreed and left the room.