Chapter
7:
Adjustment
Weeks passed
by, and then a month... I was making progress. I couldn’t walk, but I could get
around as necessary to function daily. It was getting easier for me to help
Harmony lift myself onto the toilet, and into my bed. I went to the support
group meetings every now and then, but I did prefer to talk to Harmony. I
stopped seeing the therapist all together, but I think it was a wise decision.
The guys would
come and see me every now and then. It was difficult for me to look them in
their eyes and not cry. Especially Brian. I did blame him, but I didn’t want
to. I didn’t want to put the blame on my best friend in the entire world. It’s
just one of those inevitable things. Someone had to be a fault - and it wasn’t
me. They would ask me about how I was doing, if I was being treated well, and
they would then just kind of hint around about performing or recording. Did I
still want to do it? Did I still want to be a part of the group? Yes, and yes
again. Yes a million times over. I wanted to record again, and I was willing to
try to perform for a crowd again, but it would take time. None of them could
understand that. Could they not see that I was missing an important part of
myself? Not my legs per se, it was more or less my confidence and my carefree
lifestyle. Both of those things were gone...or all three, if you include the
use of my lower limbs.
I hated the
rehab center. Never had I felt so out of place in my entire life. Looking
around and seeing all these people in wheelchairs. I didn’t belong there.
...Who am I trying to kid?
Every morning
when I would awaken, it was the same old story. I had to be helped out of bed,
into the bathroom, it was all a part of a vicious cycle that would never stop.
This was going to be my life from now on, for life - until I died, and I still
had not accepted it. I probably would never accept it. I was miserable in that
place. All I wanted was to be happy again...and the only way to achieve that
would be to perform again. I could do it. I had to if I wanted to survive.
After my daily
exercises one morning (which was basically just leg stretches), Harmony sat
down and had a talk with me. “Nick? I wanna talk to you, all right?”
I nodded,
“Okay.” Hmmm.... had to be something important if she took the time to ask me
if she could talk to me.
“I know you
want to leave this place as soon as possible,” she began.
Well, duh.
“Who wouldn’t want to?”
She smiled, “I
pulled some strings, and the deal is: as long as you have a skilled nurse with
you, you are free to go.”
I scanned her
face for a smile to appear - signifying a joke. “Are you serious? I can leave
this Godforsaken place?” I smiled happily.
She nodded,
“You’ve had all the necessary preparations, and with the nurse you can continue
your physical therapy...”
“You’re gonna
be my nurse, right?”
“For a while,
yes.”
“How long is
that?”
“Maybe a month
or two. I’d love to work with you for longer, but this place is my job, my
home, Nick.”
“No! No! I can
pay you, and you can come and be my nurse full time!”
“What about my
other patients?” She asked, her eyes scanning my face.
“No! Please
Harmony!" I exclaimed. :You always said I was your favorite patient...now
prove it to me. Please?” I begged.
“I don’t know.
We’ll just see what happens.” I smiled to her as a silent ‘thank you’ and she
smiled back.
Within a week,
she had moved in with me. It was almost like having a live-in girlfriend,
except we didn’t act like boyfriend and girlfriend...which sucked. My love life
was slacking...it was a huge disappointment. I knew it was becoming obvious to
Harmony, because she began suggesting I date. What the hell? How was I going to
get a girl to like me when I was disabled? It was hard enough when I wasn't...
No matter how many times she drilled it into my head that my wheelchair
wouldn’t slow me down, I knew differently.
“Nick, I know
of a lot of girls that would love to date you...”
I rolled my
eyes.
“Guys too for
that matter.”
“Eww.” I said
in monotone.
“If I hook you
up with a friend of mine will you go out with her?” I sighed. Why couldn’t I
just date Harmony? She was a wonderful person, and I cared about her.
“No, please
don’t do that.”
“What if I
told you that I already set up the date?” She asked, her hands planted firmly
on her hips.
“What if I
told you that I’m not going?”
“We went over
this already buddy...you need to stop shutting people out,” She scolded,
pointing a finger at me.
“I’m not
shutting people out!” I said, exasperated.
“When’s the
last time you saw your best friend?”
I tilted my
head to the left, my neck popping. Stiff neck. Grrrr...
“I saw Brian like....three weeks ago.”
“Have you seen
anyone else since then?” Okay, so she was proving her point.
“Just you.”
“See, you’re
shutting people out.”
“I am not!” I
fought back, my eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m serious, Nick.
You’ve shut friends and family out completely. Every time your parents would
come to see you, you wouldn’t even want to talk to them. And Brian, he‘s your
best friend, right?”
“Yeah, but
it’s also his fault.”
“I know that
he blames himself for this. He doesn’t need your blame too.”
“Whatever.”
“You can try
to act tough, and pretend like you don’t need support from these people, but
inside you’re one of the weakest individuals I’ve ever worked with. I’m not
going to lie to you.
“One minute
you’re crying, pitying yourself; the next minute your blaming your best friend
for an accident that happened because of the weather. You’ve shut out everyone
that cares about you, and you won’t even discuss your feelings with anyone. I
already explained to you that your emotional well being is more important than
your physical well being, and your emotional support is diminishing quickly. It
doesn’t matter to me that you’re a singer - you’re still a human being,
and I don’t pity you any more than the next individual. You have to adjust the
same as anyone else does and -”
I stopped her
there. Her words had meaning, and they hurt worse than a gun shot wound. “What
do you mean I have to adjust like anyone else? No I fucking don’t!
It’s a bigger adjustment for me. How am I going to perform on stage? If I want
to go to one end of the stage from the other, and I need to sing... How am I
going to hold onto my microphone and wheel my ass over to that end at the same
time? So, am I going to have to hire someone to wheel me to these destinations?
Okay, okay...what about costume changes? Might as well cross that off. I can’t
dress myself, and it takes a while for people to dress me... And how the hell
am I going to get under the stage anyway? Is there going to be a ramp? It won’t
be too steep will it? - ’cause I don’t wanna fall, ya know?” I was unable to
continue. My voice had began to quiver, and I was tearing up - just like she
said - in pity.
“Everyone has
to adjust to their work environment.”
“You say you
understand, but I don’t think you do. You‘ve never lived a day in my shoes, and
you never will!” I spat angrily.
***
