Dying For A Chance (8 page)

            “Through the time that we've spoken I have come to the conclusion that you feel as though you are not alone. I have brought Father Phillip so that he might help us move through those feelings.” Father Phillip leaned over and shook my hand. What was this? I was completely unprepared for meeting a priest. Was this supposed to be an exorcism?

            Nic was hovering closer to the window, he looked nervous and for the first time since I'd met him he didn't throw out a witty remark or mocking face. I glanced over to him quickly and hoped they didn't notice. Would an exorcism work, would it take him away from me? Nic tipped his head in response, he had no clue either.

            Father Phillip seemed to sense some of my concern. I mean, I was sitting as far from him as I could without slipping off the opposite end of the bed. The man was bound to pick up on some vibes. I trembled when I looked at him, he was an intimidating man. He looked kind enough but there was such a seriousness behind his eyes. It lurked in there at the back and threatened to pop out.

            “Hello Samantha,” Father Phillip grinned wholeheartedly at me. “I want you to know that I believe you are experiencing some left over spiritual energy from all of the traumatic things you have been through recently.”

            I looked at Dr. Gannushkin to confirm that she was really going to side with this guy. She smiled kindly through her spectacles and I got the idea that this was some kind of set up.

            “Please listen to Father Phillip, Samantha. We all want what's best for you.” she looked at the Father and he spoke up again.

            “In my experience I have felt a good deal of spiritual energy and have had the privilege to assist some spirits in the transition between life and death. I'd like to do that now, with your permission.” Father Phillip stood up and gripped the edges of his bible. He made the sign of the cross.

            “I am a friend of all spirits. I come to you from the mortal world as a friend and together we will help you crossover.” Father Phillip glanced at Dr. Gannushkin and then closed his eyes to continue.

             The way the two of them had exchanged glances and the way they talked...it was almost like this was planned. Nic tried to laugh it off but he looked sick. I couldn't blame him, he had fought hard to stay here and if there was a chance that this would work...I wasn't about to let it. I gripped the blankets around me and made a sudden moaning noise.

            “Ooohh” I wavered on the bed for a moment and then lay back on the pillow and put my arms around my head.

            “Samantha?” Dr. Gannushkin leaned over the bed and Father Phillip put his bible down to stare at me.

            “Dr.” I said as weakly as I could manage. “I, I'm not feeling well.” I let out another moan, this time much louder and we got the attention of a passing nurse.

            “Everything alright here?” the nurse walked in began to check all the machines I was stuck to.

            “Perhaps we can do this another time.” Dr. Gannushkin rose from her chair and gave me a very meaningful stare. I hadn't been as convincing as I'd hoped. The Dr. patted my arm and wished me get well, her spectacles sparking angry. Father Phillip hadn't seemed to understand he was meant to stop so he'd picked up where he'd left off and was walking around the room, bible clutched and preaching to the furniture. That was when I looked around and noticed Nic. He was sitting by the window again but I could barely make him out. It was as though he had become another ray of light. He was speaking to me but I couldn't hear his voice. I snapped my head to the Father, he was still going on and on. I didn't know what to do...so I fainted.

            I didn't actually faint. It was a trick I had developed in my many foster homes during my more dramatic teen years. It was a good way to get out of a class I didn't like and I'd become pretty good at it.

            When my head hit the bedside table all chaos broke loose, Dr. Gannushkin came running back to the room, the nurse burst into action and Father Phillip broke his chanting to come to my side. I dared to peek an eye out and look for Nic.

            He was solid as ever, holding his head in his hands and looking exhausted but much more solid than a few seconds ago. He looked up at me and tipped his head.

            “Alright, I guess that's one for you,” and his mischievous smile returned.

            My relief at seeing him stable again was short lived. I noticed Father Phillip scanned the room like he had just heard an unpleasant sound. He looked directly at the corner where Nic had spoken from. I knew that he wasn’t going to give up so easily.

~~~

            As it turned out, we didn’t have to worry about either of them right away. Word got around from the nurses that their visit had caused some ‘unnecessary distress’ and they were forbidden from coming to see me until I was completely recovered. My little act had bought us some time, but I had no idea how long it would last.

            Nic figured that the best thing to do would be to get me recovered as fast as possible so they didn’t get another chance. He promised to help me day and night with my therapy. I was eager to spend the time with him.

            I know what you’re thinking. A 19 year old ghost...seriously? It’s the worst kind of cliche’ and if one of my friends had told me she was obsessed with a ghost I would have slapped her for being silly. I was in a world filled with warm and caring men who didn’t turn into smoke when they had a bad day. I began to think that I was suffering from some sort of Florence Nightingale type of effect. That’s when we were moved into the therapy wing of the hospital.

            It was like living in the YMCA. There were hooks, ropes and pulleys on the wall. Boxes, treadmills and dumbbells lined the hallways. They even had a mock car and grocery store set up on the main floor for people who had to completely retrain. I was more than a little nervous about the whole thing. My ability to stick to something wasn’t exactly impressive and my tolerance for pain was literally pathetic. I brooded on our first day in the therapy wing.

            “What’s got you in a bunch?” Nic was playing with the ropes on the wall. They had even put some basic machines in each of the patient rooms. I felt like a lab rat, as if every time I pulled one of those chains a scientist somewhere would make a check mark ‘good, very good....now give her the cheese.’

“I don’t think I can do this.” The bed I had was exactly the same as the last, same white sheets, same bleachy smell. I balled it up into my hands and tossed it to the end of the bed. I looked down at my pajama’ed legs. At least this new ward let me wear normal clothes. I’d had a nurse pick up something for me...she found a pink and green daisy printed flannel set. I was less than thrilled but it was all she could find. I grabbed hold of my left leg and pulled it off the bed and onto the floor.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Nic’s voice wasn’t amused. “You’re gonna fall and break something more important than a leg.” his warning went completely unheeded.

            “I can’t do this Nic,” I breathed fast thinking of the best way to get my clothes, get a taxi and escape the ward. I had visions of all the action movies I’d seen and none of them were really helping at that moment.

            “Sit down, Sam.” Nic appeared closer to the bed and put his hands on my legs. His cold arms felt reassuring but his closeness created a warmth in my chest that was distracting.

            “I’m serious Nic, this isn’t something I can do. It’s going to be tough, it’s going to be painful and I’d rather walk with a cane than go through all that.” I pushed against his arms and found they were surprisingly solid. Touching him gave me a tingling sensation. “I’m sorry. I am really sorry, I know what you’re giving up to help me but it’s just not happening.” my eyes watered in frustration and I scrubbed at them.

            “Listen to yourself,” he didn’t sound mocking or mischievous in any way. He sounded really mature. “You’re giving up before you even see what you need to do. I know you’re scared, I know what that feels like. I’m not going to let you do this alone and do you want to know something?”

            I nodded through my watery eyes and stared at his confident face. I wondered how much of life he’d gotten a chance to live before the crash. Had he been someones lover, had he been kissed?

            “You have more strength inside of you than you can imagine. I saw it. When I first brought you back, I knew that you were special.” no one had ever told me I was special before, not the way he said it. He said it like it was an organic fact of the universe. I slowly took my hands and placed them on the sides of his face. They felt cool and tingly.

            “Thank you” I didn’t know what else to say. Thankfully I didn’t have to because the night nurse walked in, chastised me for trying to get out of bed and helped me back under the covers.

We spent the rest of the night watching classic movies on the TV. Nic had convinced me to give them a try and I found that I actually liked them. We laughed and poked fun at all the old shows until I fell asleep to warm fuzzy dreams. It felt good to have so much happiness, even if I knew deep down that it couldn’t last.

            The first few days of therapy were a mess. It was a straight up disaster. My leg refused to move for any of the exercises that the therapists wanted me to do. When I was supposed to stand I crumpled, when I was supposed to kick I wiggled. It was embarrassing.

            Nic said I did great, he was thrilled with every defeat and sat across from me all day. He stayed with me through every minute, giving encouragement and advice. A few times I had to tell him to shut up because he was just a little too supportive.

            That evening Nic helped me to find a comfortable position on the couch in our room, he gave me pillows and ice packs. Every muscle in my body screamed for me to stop this mad torture. I groand in misery.

            “Don’t be such a drama queen,” he chided. “You did great out there today, you’re going to do this. I have total confidence in you.” He smiled as he replace an ice pack that had gone melty.

            “Why are you so sure about this?” an intense itching had started at my back and I swiveled back and forth ttrying to reach it. Incredibly unattractive but totally worth it once I found the culprit spot. I pointed my spoon, loaded with applesauce at him. “What if some people are just not made as strong as others? Have you thought of that? What if...my people were designed to be quitters and I’m just fighting nature?”

            He laughed at my attempt to squirm out of therapy. “I never believed that. In every therapy unit I’ve ever been to there was always this one kid who looked small and weaker than everyone else...those were usually the kids who did the best.” He shook his head, “Nah... I think success is measured by what you put into it, no matter what you have to start with.” It sounded like one of the inspirational posters I had seen hanging on the walls.

            I hoped he was right, judging by my first day I got the impression that I was going to have to put a whole lot more into it than I was capable of. I tried hard the following day and the day after that. Stretches and exercises encompassed my entire day. By the end of each I was exhausted and fell straight to sleep, often still on top of the covers and Nic would have to pull them over me. He was true to his word though, he stayed with me for every painful leg raise and tiny victory even though there weren’t very many of those. We had gotten into a great routine where he would analyze what I’d done that day and how I could work smarter the next day and use less energy.

            On the last day of my first week of therapy the nurses got together and gave me a T-shirt that read “Never say “I can’t” because we’ll make you do it anyway”. They were an odd group with an even odder sense of humor. I suppose you would have to be to make people work that hard for their own good, I saw more than a few other patients break down in tears. I hadn’t gotten to that point yet but my therapist promised me we would get there.

            “Alright Samantha, let’s do this one more time.” We had already been walking around the mini track and stretching with the yoga ball so I wasn’t eager to believe the therapist when he said we were almost done. They had a way of making just one more time turn into seven or eight more times.