Chapter 2

Not only was it a good day, but Alba got a cinnamon bun herself, before they were all gone. However, it did take Dani's reminder for Alba to get up away from her desk and to follow her friend to the kitchen. "I don't understand why we can't just get Dennis to set them off to the side for us," she complained good-naturedly.

"Could be because Dennis is a little on the busy side," he stated, hearing her words.

She laughed. "Right? And, if you were on cinnamon bun duty, you would have to make so many because everybody would then want them delivered."

"Oh, you're not kidding," he muttered. "Can you imagine what my life would be like if I only delivered to some people?"

She nodded. "You can get away with it for Dani though."

"Sure, Dani's the boss, and she deserves delivery." He looked at Alba pointedly and said, "Yet you, on the other hand…"

At that she burst out laughing. "Right, message received," she replied, still chuckling.

"You know that you can come get one anytime you want one."

"That only works," she murmured, "if I'm on time for getting them."

He nodded. "Good point.… Still, it's up to you to ensure you're here before the crowd."

She sighed. "Which just means that I get one out of every four times that they come out," she shared, "because, if anybody is five minutes late, they're gone."

He handed her a plate with a big one on it. "This'll help make up for some of those other days."

She looked down at it in fascination. "I don't know how you guys make them so good," she murmured. "I have tried an endless number of times, and I just never quite get that same flavor."

"It's Ilse's family recipe," he noted, with a chuckle. "Not sure she's up for passing it along either."

"No, she probably isn't, and you can't really blame her," Dani added. "Some of these recipes, we have been blessed to have here," she stated, with a smile.

"If you ever needed to make some money—and Ilse too," Alba suggested, "convince Ilse to share some of the recipes and publish a cookbook because an awful lot of people absolutely love her food here."

"And that's not a bad idea," she replied thoughtfully. "Something else to think about down the road. I certainly can't do anything about it right now."

"Of course not," Alba agreed. "Like the rest of us, we're all just so busy. And it never gets any easier," she noted. "Hathaway is a busy place, and it stays busy."

"Yeah, it does, even when we think it'll be an easier day," Dani said, with a smile.

"And yet it's never quite that easy," Alba pointed out, laughing. Then she asked, "How's the new guy adjusting?"

"You can ask him yourself," Dani stated. "He's on your roster."

"Is he? Interesting."

"And is that a note of interest?" Dani asked curiously, looking over at Alba.

"Hey, he was interesting to get to know at breakfast this morning," she replied. "He seemed a little flabbergasted at all the food and just the way the place operates."

"I've heard that a few times. Everybody has their own system and how they make things work," Dani noted. "So it's a little frustrating when they come here with such low expectations, expecting poor food, small servings, and to be treated indifferently. Yet they generally adapt very quickly."

"Oh, I think he'll adapt just fine," Alba declared. "He was working on it pretty fast this morning."

"I think he was just working on breakfast this morning, afraid some of it would disappear."

"Do you think he really did just get portioned-out food?"

"Lots of places do it that way," Dani murmured. "I've always held the belief that it was more important for people to enjoy their food and to be happy and that having good food was a good way to make them happy and healthier too," she explained. "And thankfully, Ilse has always agreed with me."

"You're right," Alba agreed, "particularly people who have a lot of challenges."

"Exactly, but, for a lot of them, they see those challenges as something they'll have to get over, and they might as well just start now," she murmured. "And that can make for a few other challenges."

*

Alba walked intowork the next morning, she came upon Wesley, as he navigated through the hallway. "Are you lost?" she called out to him.

He turned and flashed her a shy smile. "Yes," he admitted, holding up his e-tablet. "I know there's a map of this place, but honestly it's a little confusing."

She nodded. "The new patient wing has added to the confusion. Where are you heading?"

He looked down at his device. "To Dr. Fendrick."

"You're in luck. That's me."

He frowned at her. "I guess I didn't catch your last name yesterday. Sorry."

"Not an issue," she said. "Come on with me. My office is down here. You're a little early."

"I figured early would allow me time to find the place," he shared. "I wasn't expecting to run into you here."

"I'm all over the place," she murmured.

"And how long have you been here?" he asked.

"Ah, four years now, I think," she replied, looking at him with a smile. "Any other questions?"

"I'm sure there'll be lots. However, after you've had a number of people on your supposed support team," he shared, "it makes you a little leery of some."

She looked at him. "Well, you're welcome to ask any questions you want. Absolutely no reason you can't ask questions of me, since I ask them of you."

"That's good to know."

And she could see from his surprise that he hadn't expected that. She smiled at him. "No secrets here. We're all on the same team, trying to get you back on your feet as quickly as possible."

"Yeah," he agreed, "at least back on one, and I really want to find a way to make the arm work better."

She looked at the stump that he had and nodded. "I have seen some people with a shoulder harness to help support the prosthetic arm and fingers, while the muscles in your arm are built up more."

He nodded. "Yeah, I had one, but it kept soring up the stump," he said. "We ended up taking it off. They're supposed to be modifying my leg prosthetic too, maybe making it lighter in weight. Maybe we'll go with a completely different design. Every time I wear either of them, I end up taking them off and then find myself held back by weeks."

"Then definitely don't wear those," she said. "Be sure to mention any concerns you have with Shane, and he will work on getting you a new model."

"That's what I was hoping," Wesley said. "I didn't want to upset the guys who had been working on it before, but I'm no longer in the same hospital either."

"And I don't know how that works," she noted. "Something for us to look into."

"Or maybe I can get new ones?" he asked hopefully.

She shrugged. "Not my department, but I can put down a note, and we'll see how it goes." She looked at the flap of flesh on his stump. "Did you just have recent surgery?"

"I don't know about recent but three months ago."

"That's pretty recent," she replied, "and any prosthetic shouldn't be worn for probably twice that."

"I was a little eager," Wesley admitted, with a nod. "And, yep, my own worst enemy."

As she unlocked her office and pushed open the door, she shared, "News flash, we're all our own worst enemies."

"Oh, it's not an isolated incident then, huh? I'm crushed," he announced. "I was hoping to be special."

She burst out laughing. "We're all special in our own way," she declared. "The joy is in finding it, and the challenge is in letting it come out."

And those were words to live by, and they stuck with her for quite a while. She thought about him long after the session was over. Of course he would be on her roster. She was taking most of the new patients just because her schedule wasn't as busy as some of the longer-term counselors here.

As she went to lunch later, she caught up with Shane. "Hey, have you met up with Wesley yet?"

"Yep, saw him this morning," he said. "Concerns?"

"No, not necessarily," Alba began. "We're just starting obviously, but I was thinking about whether we could get a prosthetic hooked up for that arm of his. He's only three months out of surgery and has pushed it, so then I think whatever he did use wouldn't be viable any longer."

"I'll contact his former center and see if they've got anything. Some of his files came, and some of them look to still be missing," Shane noted. "However, I did see a few notations in there how his prosthetics were hurting him more than helping him."

"And I think that's a huge issue for him."

"As much as covering it up, or just making it viable?"

"Both," she answered. "We all want to look normal, but I think, in his case, it's more a functionality issue than anything. He wants to be vertical, of course, plus he really misses that lost arm. So anything we can do to make his prosthetics more functional is, as you know, obviously a priority."

He nodded. "He also needs a new prosthetic for that leg too."

"Wasn't that some recent surgery too?"

"I'll have to check his file for sure. I think his leg prosthetic is ill-fitting, and he's got some nerve damage on the underside of his stump, so he didn't recognize this problem because it was out of his line of sight. Plus the nerve damage doesn't send the pain signal when there is a problem. Thus he ended up with a bad skin infection. That's slowly healing, but he'll be a little while getting back to his leg prosthetic."

"Right," Alba noted. "It seems to always be one step forward and then ten back."

"Particularly when he couldn't see it himself and couldn't feel it because of the nerve damage. And that's always tough."

She nodded. "I used to work with a family whose ten-year-old son got run over by the mother. It was a horrible accident," she muttered, with a wave of her hand. "It left the boy paralyzed, and he was forever breaking his legs because the pain didn't register. They had no idea because he didn't know how to tell them. Regardless, he must have been active, breaking his legs over and over, so in a constant state of trying to heal."

"God," Shane muttered, "things like that just make me heartsick."

She nodded. "He struggled a lot. As he got a little older and more capable of looking after himself a little bit better, it became easier."

"Easier but still hard," Shane noted, "especially when your own family member caused it."

Alba nodded, grimacing. It had been an awful accident, and she felt for both the mother and the son because there was no good answer for either party in that situation.

As they walked into the dining area, she smiled and said, "Dani's done a wonderful job with that new kitchen addition."

Shane nodded. "It's taken us a little bit to integrate it with the proper employees, though. We could use more staff."

"Always," she agreed, with a laugh.

They both stepped into line, and she smiled up at Dennis. "Hey, Dennis. How are you doing today?"

"I am doing peachy," he replied, showing her a beaming smile.

"You have got to be the happiest go-lucky person I've ever met."

"And maybe it's all a front," he muttered in a dark whisper. "Maybe I'm really a serial killer."

"Yeah, you couldn't be a successful serial killer, as you would probably get your prey to laugh and then apologize to everybody afterward for having bad thoughts."

He burst out laughing at that. "I'm all about helping my fellow man. You know that."

"And that's why you do so well here," she murmured. "You're in the same mind-set as the rest of us."

"And now that we have that many more patients," he noted, "we are struggling to sort out the food."

"Shane and I were just talking about how we needed more kitchen staff."

"We do have two more kitchen helpers coming," he murmured. "So that will help here."

"And twenty to go overall," Shane added in a dark tone, but then he laughed. "Yet we'll make it, as we always do."

At that, they both grabbed their lunches and headed off to a table. As she walked out onto the deck with Shane at her side, she asked, "Inside or outside?"

"Outside, before it gets too hot," he decided. Then he pointed over to one because, sure enough, Wesley sat all alone.

She nodded. "Hey, Wesley. Do you mind if we join you?"

He looked up, pleased. "I would appreciate it. It's hard being the only man sitting at a table. You start to wonder if everybody's avoiding you."

"Nah. You're just the new guy, finding your way. You'll be among many friends soon."

He nodded. "Been the new guy a couple times now. It still sucks."

She looked at him and then nodded. He was serious. "Did you really notice much of the new guy syndrome in the other centers?"

"Yes," he stated, "there was always a little bit of it. A lot of times people hated being there, so a new guy was a change of scenery, a distraction, a good thing in a way. But sometimes there were issues, a little bit of a hierarchy going on, and a new guy had to find a spot to fit in." He shrugged. "As much as I'm okay to fit in, I don't go out of my way."

"And why is that?" she asked, unable to help herself as a counselor.

"Because, when you try to fit in," he explained, "you're always the one who's giving. It's really important for people to establish who they are right from the beginning, not going out of their way to be jerks, but also not to cross the line so that other people can take advantage."

Shane nodded. "That's an interesting take on the world."

"It's a take based on being in the navy and boarding schools before that," Wesley shared. "And the various VA centers, although different, were still very much the same."

Not a whole lot anybody could say at that point, and they all tucked into their lunch.

Wesley lifted his head for air. "Is the food always this good?"

"Always," they both replied in unison.

Wesley grinned. "In that case, I have died and gone to heaven. I didn't know there would be soup today," he shared. "Yet that curiosity alone had me asking for it, and it's absolutely divine."

"It's a beef and barley soup with an Ilse twist, so it's probably got kale and other healthy stuff in it," Shane noted. "Anything to make it healing and to get more vegetables down you."

"I like my vegetables just fine," Wesley stated, "but I have to admit the soup is really good."

"So where are you off to after this?" Alba asked.

"Medical doctor, medical records, blah, blah, blah, blah." He looked over at Shane. "I get that we have some testing still to do, but when do we actually buckle down and get some work done?"

"It'll be this week," he replied comfortably. "What is it you want to start with?"

He lifted his floppy arm and said, "This one."

"And what do you want to do with it?"

"I want to make it strong and, at a maximum, usable," he replied. "I do not know what that means. I'm still missing an arm, so there are obviously limitations, but is there anything I can do to make it usable? Can I get strong enough that I can, I don't know, even pack a book or my e-tablet or something under there?"

"You can't now?" Shane asked, studying his arm.

Wesley shook his head, tucked a napkin underneath, and replied, "I can't close it tight enough," as the napkin fell to the floor.

"What about something bigger, like a towel?"

"I can hook it in there," he replied, "with my good hand, but I still can't keep a lock on it enough with my floppy arm to hold something there."

"Yep, we can definitely start with that arm," Shane declared, studying the stump up to the shoulder joint. "Good thing you mentioned it. I probably would have started with the leg."

"The legs are great, once I have the prosthetic on," he shared. "I can get around, and I can stand vertical and can get that whole I'm a healthy adult male vibe again, but the arm is what makes me feel handicapped, and I don't like that."

*

Wesley really enjoyedlunch, but he also really enjoyed the inclusiveness of it. He didn't feel as if he were the odd man out, although he was half-expecting that new man syndrome. Still, he knew the new guy stigma would still be here to a certain extent, but Shane and Alba had both gone out of their way to make Wesley feel welcome. And he was grateful that Shane appeared to be open to listening to what Wesley wanted to work on. That was also a relatively unusual thing in Wesley's world. Everybody seemed to always have an idea of what needed to be done, and nobody ever asked him for an opinion on what he should be doing or what he wanted to do. So this Hathaway House approach gave him hope.

Several days later, Wesley rolled into a session with Shane.

He held up an odd contraption in his hand and announced, "We'll work on this today."

"And what is that?" Wesley asked.

"For strengthening the various arm muscles," Shane replied. "So, consider how we would work with the upper arm and the traps at the gym. This contraption goes about it a little bit differently."

As Shane explained it, Wesley realized that would help him use his floppy arm to push forward, to pull back, to stretch, as in raising and lowering it. The contraption was a series of weights that he would start with to try and clench under his floppy arm. And, of course, his first attempt was a complete and dismal failure. He shook his head as he watched everything fall to the floor time and time again. "Dang it," he muttered.

"It's not a case of failure. It's a case of this is where we start, so recognize it as your beginning point and go on from here. Everybody has a bottom level, and this is your bottom level, your starting point, for that arm."

And, with that mind-set, Wesley grimly tucked into trying to build up his floppy arm a little bit. He could do some of the pull forward muscles, which he could see would be helpful if he ever had something attached to that arm that he could pull with. However, right now, it seemed to be just one of those useless motions.

But Shane wouldn't listen to him when he mentioned that. "No," he countered. "You can't think in terms of the arm only doing one motion. It has to work as a unit in order to maintain long-term function. It might give you some short-term results, but what you'll end up with are long-term problems that won't be consistent." He added, "You want this long-term, I presume."

"Yeah, of course," Wesley replied. "Are you seriously telling me that it'll hurt to focus on being able to clench more?"

"Yes," Shane confirmed. "It's very important to do it in balance. Think of muscles as generally being paired off, but it's broader than that. If this muscle gets too big, then this one will overcompensate, and it will stop these others from working," he explained. "So we can't have that. You need it all."

Then Shane made Wesley go through the whole range of exercises again. By the time he was done, Wesley was just angry. Angry at the lack of an arm, angry at the part of the arm he still had, angry at what was left for muscles, and, yeah, he had to admit it, angry at himself for not doing better. Plus he was kind of pissed at Shane for showing him just how bad that floppy arm really was. "When I only looked at it for not being able to clench something," he admitted, "it didn't seem all that bad."

"That's because you were linear in your thinking again," Shane pointed out, "and you can't be. I promise, when we get you there, you'll do all sorts of things with it."

He stared at him for a long moment.

Shane flashed him a grin. "Go talk to any of the guys around here—preferably ones who have been here for a little while, who are further along the rehab track," he added, with an eye roll. "And they will tell you that I'm right. We have our methods, and the reason we stick to them is because they work, and anytime we take a shortcut, or we let somebody else take a shortcut," he noted, "there's a problem."

Wesley thought about that later at dinnertime, when he was sitting at a table with a whole group of guys. He had rolled past them, when somebody had called out and suggested, "Hey, a spot's here if you want." After introductions and a little bit of sharing brief backgrounds, Wesley began, "So Shane has a few interesting techniques."

At that, the others started to laugh.

"Yeah, he does. He's also won multiple awards for his work," one of the men shared. "Took me a long time to believe him. I thought he was full of horsepucky and told him so, over and over again."

Wesley stared at him in fascination. He was a huge guy, missing both legs, just stumps that didn't even reach the end of the wheelchair, plus he was missing his right arm. "And?"

"It took me a while, took me a lot of faith, to follow through on everything he told me," he admitted. "Now? This arm?" he indicated, as he lifted what he had for a stump, which went just past the elbow, "is now strong enough to do things. I have multiple prosthetics, one with a hand, one with a hook. The kids love that one," he muttered. "And one with a cup, where I can carry things around."

"And what about the legs?" asked one of the other guys.

"I've only been here working with Shane for about a month now," he pointed out. "And I haven't seen the progress I want yet."

"And that's probably because you're trying to jump ahead or you see somebody who's doing better, and you want to be that person," interjected the guy whose name was Jim. "And that won't be the way to do it. It takes as long as it takes. Plus, Shane's got some very specific reasons for what he does. Trust a little bit."

At that, Wesley nodded. "Well, I just got here, so I won't judge until I get further down the line."

"You're already judging," Jim pointed out, with a grin. "And that's to be expected. You probably came from all kinds of other centers, where you were told you could do this or you could do that, or, hey, this might work, that might work. At the end of the day, when nothing worked, you're depressed and fed up."

That was so close to the truth that Wesley just stared at him in shock.

Jim nodded. "Believe me when I say that most of us have been there. Most of us came from somewhere else to be here. Very few of us got in here right off the bat, without having a lot of prejudiced and judgmental thinking before we got here. Most of us, and I don't even know why," he admitted, "but, for a lot of us, this became a last-ditch place. The last place where, maybe, if there was a miracle in the world, we would find it here."

Wesley sat back and stared.

Jim nodded. "I've been here for six months because I came as a basket case, on a stretcher, and I couldn't even sit up. Yet you can see me now. Also I can play basketball. I can be outside, participating in sports." He added, "I really suck at tennis, but I'm getting better every day."

"Tennis?" Wesley asked, staring at him.

"Yeah, tennis. The problem is, as fast as I am, I'm still not quite that fast, if somebody wants to get, you know, really mean."

"You mean, for example, give you a serve that you can't return?"

"Right. So far we're playing nice," he shared. "Then, every once in a while, I play a real game, and I get my butt whupped," he declared cheerfully. "But sometimes the butt-whupping is a whole lot less than the time before, and I can see that there's real progress yet again. When I didn't think there could be any more progress, I continue to surprise myself at how much better I'm doing."

"How much longer will you be here?" Wesley asked him.

"I'm going home next week," he shared, his face lighting up. "And, man, am I ready to go home. Even though the food's this good, I've got twin boys, who are four years old, and they want,… they want Daddy's hook back," he said, laughing out loud. "And believe me that I just want to go home again to my wife."

"Hey," Wesley added, with feeling, "if you've got family to go to, all the best for you, man. Obviously this place has been a godsend for you."

And it will be for you too," Jim declared. "Seriously, just give it a chance."