Saving Sam (The Wounded Warriors Book 1) (9 page)

Sam wavered in and out of reality, a mesh of thoughts bombarding his mind. Though he was aware of his surroundings to an extent, his perception held a dream-like quality. He kept searching for Jorge while he expected to see Amy, but instead, he only found the sterile hospital ward filled with unfamiliar faces. This added to his distress and bewilderment.

Major Hansen escorted him, with the help of an orderly, to the psych ward he was being assigned to. Though the overall facility was cooler in general, which was welcome in the scorching weather of central Texas, the unit seemed even colder by comparison. Transferring Sam over to the unit's staff, the doctor promised he'd be back to see him later and then he disappeared behind the nurses' station at the front desk, near the entrance. No doubt, Major Hansen was giving his initial orders for treatment, which was Sam's most coherent thought so far.

Sam was quickly moved through the in-take process where all his belongings were collected and documented. He was given a set of scrubs to wear as his new uniform and shown to a small room that had two beds. One of the low lying, hard plastic beds was occupied by a young, dark-haired soldier. The man looked up from his book long enough to acknowledge Sam as he passed the end of the first bed and made his way to the second. Though he could feel the soldier's eyes on him, assessing him, Sam felt no inclination to return the look.

In addition to being contained on a secure floor without individual patient phones, the room was devoid of other normal hospital accommodations, such as a television. The oversized bay window by Sam's bed had a tint which held back the worst of the heat while still allowing light to penetrate the glass, filling the end of the room with faint moonlight, highlighting the emptiness. Outside of the beds, only two hard plastic chairs along with two plastic shelves and nightstands, all with rounded corners, adorned the space; one for each patient.

“Sam, take this medicine and then try to get some rest,” the nurse directed him.

“What is it?” Sam asked, though he knew he wouldn't really absorb the answer.

“It's a sedative,” the nurse informed him. “We want you to try to sleep before the doctor comes to see you again.”

“Where's Jorge? What happened to Amy?”

“Just rest for now and we'll figure all that out later,” the nurse promised as she tucked Sam into the simple bed. “You'll feel better after you've slept.”

With that, she pulled the privacy curtain, dividing the room in half. The curtain pushed the other occupant's reading light back, allowing Sam to rest in shadows. The nurse mumbled briefly to the other soldier before she finally left the room. It didn't take very long before the sedative took effect. Sam had already been worn out, which seemed to make the relaxant work all the faster. The weariness that overcame him made Sam grateful to place his head on the soft pillow and to fade into the forgiving nothingness that consumed him, pulling him into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

“What do you mean he's not coming home?” Amy shrieked. “Where is he; where's Sam?”

Janie looked at Dusty sadly. Though she could sympathize with her friend, she hadn't expected her response to the news to be so dramatic. Obviously, Dusty hadn't expected her emotional outburst, nor was he equipped to face it; he looked as though he was ready to sprint from the room.

He's had to deal with too much tonight.
Janie thought, feeling her own sense of weariness, hurting for her boyfriend. “Dusty, why don't you go lie down a spell while I talk to Amy?”

The stoic cowboy shot Janie a grateful look that revealed his relief. He gave Janie's cheek a quick peck, leaving the room in haste, not wanting to be detained in the distressing scene any longer. Sighing, Janie closed her eyes and resolved to handle the situation on her own. Amy regarded her friend with tear-stained cheeks and quivering lips. Her body was tense and the anxiety radiating off of her slammed into Janie like a tangible entity.

“Amy, honey,” Janie began softly, slowly reaching out to grasp Amy's shoulders. “The doctor said Sam needs to stay in the hospital until he's stabilized.”

“He needs to be with me,” Amy insisted weakly, choking slightly on her tears.

“Amy,” Janie murmured.

“I need to be with
him
,” Amy said in an even smaller voice, looking at the floor with such devastation that it sent a buzz of pain through the older woman.

“You need to go to the doctor,” the chef insisted. “We need to make sure you're okay too. Now that you know Sam is in capable hands, there's no longer any reason for you to refuse my taking you.”

“I don't want to go to the doctor!” Amy bellowed, pushing her friend away from her, breaking their contact. “I just want to go to Sam!”

Janie had finally had enough. She had dealt with a despondent and confused Sam, an incompetent and lost Dusty, and a whining, love-sick Amy for too long. Enough was enough and 'no' was no longer a viable response. No matter what it took, she was getting Amy into her vehicle so she'd receive the medical care Janie knew she needed.

“That's enough, young lady,” she snapped. “You're going and that's final.”

“No!” Amy squawked, bursting into a new wave of tears.

“Yes,” the older woman said in a tone that told Amy her fate was set. “Get your bag and get into the car.”

“No,” Amy said weakly, more as a question than a rebuttal.

“Let's go,” was the only response as Janie ushered Amy outside.

The drive to the Resolute Health Family Urgent Care seemed to only last minutes, minutes spent entirely in silence, save for Amy's ragged crying. Though the older woman just wanted her friend to cease her wailing, she was at least pleased that Amy had stopped fighting her about going to the doctor. The last thing Janie wanted was for Amy to refuse care, because that would leave Janie without authority to force treatment. Though she was Amy's best friend and sort of a surrogate mom, having known the younger woman most of her life, Janie had no legal authority.

When Janie threw the car into park, Amy looked around with a shudder. “I don't want to do this.”

“No one wants to go to the doctor, Amy, but you have to.”

“I just want to be with Sam,” Amy sniffled.

“But you can't,” Janie barked, making Amy flinch, then added more softly, “You both need to get to a healthier place before you can be together again.”

* * *

Amy nodded her acknowledgment as warm tears trailed down her face. Though she wasn't happy about being there, she lost all her will to fight and resigned herself, getting out of the car and following Janie into the building. The chef did all the talking, completed all the necessary paperwork, and it wasn't long before they found themselves situated in a small area, sectioned off by heavy curtains that moved along a track secured to the ceiling.

Curling up in a fetal position on the gurney, the situation felt surreal to Amy. She just wanted this nightmare to end.
How had such a beautiful moment of making love to Sam turned so horribly wrong?
As if in response to her silent inquiry, a sharp pang sizzled between her legs. Not wanting to alert anyone, Amy tucked her hands between her thighs, acting like she was warming them, but applying pressure to the region in an attempt to minimize her discomfort.

* * *

The chef slumped into a cold chrome chair, ignoring the hardness, luxuriating in a moment of rest. With Amy lost in her own mind, crying finally contained, Janie was able to close her eyes for the first time that night. She took a deep, cleansing breath, exhaling her tensions. Opening her eyes again, she watched the small doctor as she came around the worn-out curtain divider.

“Amy?” the doctor called, placing her hand gently on the side of Amy's calf.

Amy opened her eyes and came to life a bit from the touch of the physician. “Yes.”

“Are you okay?” the doctor seemed concerned as she took in the young woman's appearance, glancing askance in Janie's direction. Janie nodded. “It says here that you were raped?”

“No!” Amy exclaimed with a fresh wave of tears flooding her eyes, trailing down her face, following the stains left from previous outbursts.

Janie looked up at the ceiling in exasperation as the doctor asked, “Can you tell me why you're here then? What happened?”

As Amy mumbled her explanation in a jumble that was colored with sniffles and sobs, the tiny physician handed her a box of tissues from the bedside table. “I was having sex with my boyfriend and things just got… a little rough, that's all. I wasn't raped!”

“But she
was
hurt,” the chef contributed without hesitation. Though she loved Sam as much as she loved Amy, Janie wasn't going to let this pass without being seen to. She wouldn't stand for her best friend letting her injuries go untreated, no matter how much of a fuss Amy wanted to put up.

“Is that true?” the physician asked kindly. “Were you hurt?”

A guilty look crept over her face and Amy responded hesitantly, saying, “He didn't mean it.”

“I'm sure he didn't, but why don't we examine you to see just how bad things might be, huh?”

When Amy allowed the doctor to perform the examination, Janie felt some relief. Sam and Amy had always had a strong connection, but one that was tainted with troubles. Though Janie had hoped this would end differently, she'd doubted it would, and so far, she'd been right. That made her feel ancient, and she struggled to hold back tears of her own. Though two people might find themselves in love with one another, that didn't always make the relationship healthy, and the attempts to be together could prove destructive beyond repair.

“Well, there are definitely some lesions visible inside the vaginal canal,” the doctor informed Amy. “It's going to take a while for the tears to heal. Though I'm sure you aren't interested in having intercourse anytime too soon, I must warn you against it anyway. You don't want to cause further damage, prolonging your recovery.”

“Is there anything to help her heal quicker?” The chef wondered with motherly concern.

“Unfortunately, there isn't a lot we can do to help, except to advise taking Tylenol for the pain and practicing abstinence for a period of time. Also, you'll want to follow up with your regular physician in about a week for good measure.”

* * *

Amy nodded while Janie thanked the little woman. Janie followed the doctor from the small portioned area, talking to her in hushed tones in the hallway while Amy dressed herself. She was humiliated and sore, but the worst of her pain was from her heartache. She dreaded the idea of returning to the ranch, knowing Sam would be gone when she arrived home. All she really wanted was to feel his arms wrapped around her and to be lost in the comfort of his nearness. Knowing that would be impossible made Amy's stomach churn. She'd never felt lonelier in all her life.

* * *

Sam sat on the edge of the low, hard bed, hands clasped, head hanging low. Major Hansen was seated in the round, bulbous chair closest to him. Thankfully, his roommate had left for a therapy session, leaving him alone with the doctor, affording them privacy as they talked.

“So you thought you were back in Afghanistan and almost struck your girlfriend because you mistook her for an insurgent?” The doctor asked.

“Yes, sir,” Sam affirmed, his tense body screaming his guilt and sorrow. “I don't know what happened.”

“Sam, from everything you're telling me, it sounds like you have post-traumatic stress disorder,” Major Hansen voiced his diagnosis. “Your flashbacks, delusions, and agitation are all classic symptoms. How are you sleeping?”

Sam gave a little shrug. He didn't want to admit to his insomnia for fear of validating the diagnosis.
Post-traumatic stress disorder?
He thought to himself.
Makes me sound like a pussy.

“I guessed as much,” the doctor surmised from the uncomfortable dismissal. “And what about your eating; how's that been?”

Shaking his head slightly in a negative response, Sam replied, “I eat when I'm hungry.”

“What does that mean? Give me an example.”

Sam was frustrated and snapped a bit, “I don't know. Normal, I guess.”

“I need you to be more specific, Airman Wallace. Are you eating three times a day and how much are you eating at each sitting?”

“Hmmm, I guess, ah…” Sam tried to think more about it, encouraged by the official way Major Hansen had addressed him. Counting his meals in his mind, he realized why the major wanted to know. “I guess I'm eating maybe once a day, sometimes a little more. I didn't realize it, but now that I'm thinking about it, I guess I've only eaten when I've been with Amy, and I can't really tell you how much. Not enough to make much of an impact on my memory, apparently.”

“Uh-huh,” the doctor remarked. “Do I have permission to interview your dad and Amy or the woman you mentioned, Janie?”

“Why?” Sam didn't really have an objection to his family being interviewed, though he didn't like the idea of subjecting Amy to something he knew would make her uncomfortable. He just wanted to understand why this was a necessary step.

“Sometimes we can get a better picture of what's happening from the observations of those who know you best and who have spent the most time with you.”

“Sure,” Sam consented with a noncommittal shrug. “Okay, if you think it'll help.”

“Thank you,” Major Hansen said as he started to rise from the chair. He extended a paper towards Sam and added, “Although, technically, we don't require your permission, I'd like you to sign this consent form, if you would please.”

Without hesitation, Sam took the form and signed it. Being in the military, this wasn't a necessary step, but it would make his medical records more complete. Passing it back to the major, he asked, “What now?”

“Well, for now, I'm going to start you on Buspirone and Fluoxetine. They'll help balance your moods and give you some relief from the anxiety attacks.”

Sam shot the physician a look of worry. “What are those?”

“Buspirone is widely known as Buspar. It is commonly used for treating generalized anxiety, but it'll also help immediately relieve some of your symptoms without posing risks of dependency. The Fluoxetine, which is the generic form of Prozac, will take closer to a month before you'll notice its affect. However, Fluoxetine is one of the most effective ways to treat PTSD,” the doctor explained. “You'll need to take the Buspirone three times a day while you'll only take the Fluoxetine once a day. I'm going to start you on 40 mg of Fluoxetine, but we can up that to as high as 80 mg if we need to.”