Chapter 3

When Alba walked into her office a week later, Wesley was already sitting here, waiting for her. "You are, by far, the most eager person I've ever had in one of my sessions," she stated, staring at him.

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"No, it's not a bad thing," she clarified. "It's just an unusual thing. Sometimes I have to actually hunt down my next patient and bring people down here to talk to me," she admitted, with a grin.

"That's those guys who don't want to face their inner demons," he noted, with a nod.

"And, of course, you've already faced yours, is that it?" she asked, a knowing look in her eyes.

"Nope, but I also know that, when it's time to face them, you must face them, and there's really no getting away from it. So you still won't find me running away from you. Besides, I like you."

And there was such an honesty and an openness about his comment that she was again surprised. "Thank you," she replied. "I like you too."

"So does that mean we can have lunch one day?"

She stopped and turned and asked, "Are you asking me out for a date?" She wasn't shocked, but she was definitely amused.

"I guess I'm not the first one, huh?"

"Nope, you're sure not," she said. "At one point in time we didn't allow any dating of the patients, but that's all changed."

"Why is it changed?"

"Well, with Dani herself, as her fiancé was a patient here. And, after you date a patient yourself, it's pretty hard to expect your staff to follow different rules."

He nodded. "So you evaded the question."

"I didn't evade the question," she corrected. "I just haven't answered you yet."

"So I'll take that as a no then for right now. That's okay. I'll ask again."

"And why would you ask again?"

"Down the road, when you know me better," he said, "you're going to love me."

"Wow." She smiled. "Such confidence."

"No, not necessarily confidence," Wesley countered, "but, being in this place, it can give you hope, and it can change your priorities."

"That's true," she agreed. "Have you made any friends?"

"I really connected with Jim, but he just left."

"Jim is a pistol. I don't know if you saw his sons running around the place earlier, with a pair of baby squirrels."

"Baby squirrels?" He stared at her.

"Oh, have you not met Stan in the vet clinic?"

He slowly shook his head. "Nope, I'll say no to that one. I have seen a few animals around, and I was wondering what that was all about."

"Downstairs is an animal clinic, with an awful lot of animals, therapy animals even, that come up to us to help us heal, and we're, at all times, welcome to go down to help Stan with them."

"Help him how?"

"The animals need love too," she said. "We have several dogs and a couple cats around here that are basically residents, and the only rules really are that you don't get to lock them in your rooms and that you can't ever feed them. Most are on special diets, and some have bodies just like the rest of you guys."

Wesley frowned. "I'll have to go look for those. I can't believe I've been here a whole week, and I didn't realize you are healing animals too."

She nodded. "There's a lot of things to understand about the place."

"I did see the pool. And I told Shane how I wanted to get in there as soon as possible."

"What did Shane say?"

"He was all for it but still said it would be a week."

"That's because he wants to see just what you can do first," she explained.

He nodded. "And, of course, he doesn't know exactly what I can do. So from his perspective it's just the smart answer."

"Of course it is. We don't want anybody to have an accident. And I know you would never do this," she said, her bright grin breaking free, "but some people overexaggerate their abilities."

He nodded. "Same thing happens, no matter where you are," he murmured. "However, I do swim." And then he stopped, looked down at his floppy arm, frowned, and corrected himself. "I used to swim. I have no idea what I'll look like now swimming."

"Is it the looks that bothers you?" she asked him.

"The arm bothers me at all times," he admitted, "and that's just one of those sad realities that I have to deal with."

"And why does it bother you?"

"I think because it makes me look visibly handicapped. It brings stares, brings a lot of attention that I don't like. The wheelchair does not, to the same extent. I think people are more acclimated to seeing wheelchairs or scooters or whatever. However, when you have an arm that looks like this, I think it attracts a lot more attention."

"And you don't like attracting attention?"

He shook his head. "Nope, I sure don't. I would rather be the quiet, silent type in the back of the classroom."

At that, she gave him a knowing look. "I don't think you were ever the shy, retiring type in the back of the classroom. I think you were always the one joking around, making others feel better."

"That's an interesting evaluation, Doc," he noted, almost instinctively sliding back and putting his hand in his pocket.

She smiled at that. "You have a different outlook?"

"No, you're probably right," he admitted, "but, if I did it, it was because I didn't like to see other people who were usually made uncomfortable by some people in the classroom."

"And sometimes you would have staved it off before it ever got there. Thus it became just a modus operandi for you—something that you could do right out of the gate when somebody came along, or when you were in an unusual situation. Not only did it make others feel better, but it made you feel better."

"Got me all figured out, do you?" He gave her a flat stare.

"No," she replied, "not at all, but that's what you're here for. For you to figure out. No, not at all," she repeated. "That's for you to figure out. I'm just here to help direct you."

"Well then, maybe direct me into being more comfortable with this arm," he suggested, "because I can see that's something I'll have to live with."

"It is, indeed. Even with a prosthetic on, that arm won't look the same."

"Nope." He grinned though. "I was thinking a Terminator kind of arm would be cool."

"And it would be cool," she agreed, "and a prototype like that is possible, but it takes money. And I mean some serious money."

He nodded. "Ever since I found out about my arm, I've been hunting the internet, looking for gifted designers, wondering just what was out there that I could feel better about wearing."

"And?"

"I found a woman in New Mexico. Kat somebody or other. I might contact her."

"I do know her—know of her," Alba shared. "More than a couple people here have gotten stuff from her."

"I imagine it's pretty amazing, and some of her designs are pretty specific. Of course she's also missing a leg, so, if you're somebody who's utilizing your own tools, I am sure that helps."

"I think it does help," Alba agreed. "Plus I imagine, just even being in that field, that you're there because you love it. And, when you love something, it's easy to work at it until you're really good at it. Is there something that you're really good at?"

"You mean now?" he asked. "No. I used to think I was really good at some things, but I don't know if they're possible anymore."

"Some things like what?"

"You already know about the horseback riding and swimming. Woodworking too. I made my brother and his wife a cradle for their daughter, when she was born," he shared. "Sometimes I look at it, and I wonder if it's even possible to go back to that."

"And yet you have one good arm," she pointed out.

"Yes, and, to a certain extent, that's partly why I want to get the second arm up and running properly," he said. "Just to hold the wood in place, to lift boards, to hold them against table saws, things like that, two hands would be much better."

"Much better, yes," she noted, "but, if you can find a way to make it work without that, you might be able to do it just as well. It will all take adaptation."

"I get that, but, if I can get as far down this pathway as I can," he noted, "there's a lot less adaptation. And I already have to get back and relearn certain things."

"Like what?" she asked curiously.

"Standing, walking, bending, crouching—movements that I took for granted before, which I can't do as easily now. Just because, when woodworking, I would naturally squat and eyeball a line," he explained. "That won't be so easy anymore."

"No, it won't be easy, and you're right. Again it'll take some adjusting. However, it's definitely all within the realm of possibility."

He smiled. "You're definitely a glass-half-full person, aren't you?"

"I am, but you're not a glass-half-empty guy," she pointed out. "You're just sitting there, waffling in the middle, wondering where you belong."

*

Wesley stared ather in shock. "Wow, more insights."

"Am I correct?"

"Maybe," he murmured. "I hadn't really considered that."

"Well, consider it," she said. "You can go either way. You can be somebody who takes what you got, maximizes it to unbelievable levels, and makes everybody else in the world jealous; or you can stay in that supposed shy retiring back seat that you think you are sitting at, and you can let the world pass you by because you don't think you can get good enough to go back to doing things."

"I can get good enough to go back to doing things," he declared. "I just don't know if I can ever achieve the same level I had before."

"Don't even think about having the same level," she said. "Strive for so much better. Go beyond that. Go to something that's absolutely stupendously advanced. And you might surprise yourself."

*

Throughout the nextfew days, Wesley understood that Alba was just doing her job, giving him inspirational lines to live by. However, he had to admit that, as her words stuck with him for days afterward, she was really good at her job. He only saw her once a week, and sometimes he thought that wasn't enough. At other times, like now, when he was thinking about the words that she'd dropped on him, it was too much because definitely some core truths were in there that he didn't really want to think about.

Yet she wouldn't let him sit back and be that shy, retiring type he wanted to play. She was right. It was a role, something that he tried to do to make uncomfortable situations easier for him. And then, when he was comfortable, he stepped forward and became his natural normal self. Often some of his friends had mentioned that it was such a contrast to actually get to know him, as he was so different now than how he'd initially appeared. Wesley knew why, and he just didn't want to share how uncomfortable he'd been to begin with.

*

As Wesley workedhis way through the days, he found himself getting more and more tired. He mentioned it to Shane.

Shane nodded. "You have that initial flush of Hey, I'm here. It's all new. It's all different. It's all great," he explained. "And then you have that buckle in and get the work done stage. Afterward you have that realization where the work will still be there, even if you can't complete it, and nobody else can complete it but you. When you're the only person at a job, and you leave something to do, it'll still be there waiting for you the next day because you don't have other employees to pick up the slack. That's what this rehab work is like," Shane declared.

"There are no other employees to pick up the slack. This is just on you, you, and you," he said. "So, if you don't do it today, it must be done tomorrow. And, if you don't push yourself today, then you're just adding extra tomorrows to your workload.… So, once you start in on this path, a certain level of fatigue settles in, when the realization hits you that this is all about hard work."

"I had a lot of hard work at the other place," Wesley argued.

"Sure, so then why are you working so much harder now?"

"Am I?" he asked, studying Shane.

"I would say so. Look at how much progress we've already made."

And the problem with that was, Shane was right. They had made a lot of progress, and Wesley was so happy to see it. Yet he was a long way from where he wanted to be. Still, there had certainly been progress. He could at least now hold a napkin under his little wing. He stared at it. "I wouldn't mind getting into designing stuff like this," he muttered.

"It's quite a specialized field, but an awful lot of people started in their own garage, before they built up to something much bigger and better," Shane noted calmly. "I won't ever tell anybody to not go down a chosen pathway. I'm all for it, even if the pathway doesn't turn out to be profitable or where you want to be. Still, you will learn a lot about yourself in the process." And, with that, Shane asked, "Now, how about the pool?"

Wesley looked at him in shock and then in delight. "Seriously? You're not teasing me today, right?"

Shane laughed. "Nope, I think it's time we go see how you'll do in the pool. Some of the muscles that you need will be ones that we work on in the water," he explained. "So go get changed, and I'll meet you down there"—and he looked at his watch—"in say, fifteen?"

"Sure," Wesley replied. "I guess I can't go into the pool without you, can I?"

"Nope, you sure can't. You wait for me," Shane cautioned. "Not only are there all the lovely little injuries that you could get by having an accident, there's all those lovely liabilities that get us into trouble if we don't follow the book." And, with that, Shane added, "Go. You're on the clock."

Wesley settled into his wheelchair and made his way to his room. He was tired. He was already tired. The thought of going in the pool was almost euphoric. Yet he figured that he would also have to do some work, but it would be a different kind of workout—at least that's what he told himself. With some trepidation, he headed to the pool because he didn't know how he would handle it at all. He really wanted to get into that water, but, as he stared at it, he realized a part of him didn't even want to see how little he could do.

"So what's the problem now?" Shane asked.

Wesley turned on him. "What do you mean by now?"

"Swimming is now new again to you," Shane began, "so you're sitting there, staring at the water, as if it'll bite you."

"Yeah," he agreed. "It just occurred to me that, without one of my arms, I might sink."

"Before, were you a sinker or a floater?" Shane asked, with a grin.

"I was always a floater," Wesley declared.

"So do you really think that's changed?"

"I have no idea," he admitted, "but my body composition's definitely changed, and the scar tissue's changed, and everything else has to adapt, so why not that too?"

"Good point," Shane noted. "Hop in and let's see."

Wesley slowly got up on his one good leg, grabbed the railing, took a gentle hop over, and jumped into the shallow end. He knew that Shane had observed how Wesley was playing it cautious, but, wow, Shane wasn't the one with a missing leg and a missing arm. Wesley wasn't even sure how he would swim now. He could kick with one leg, but would that do anything? He could move one arm. Would that do anything? Or would he just rotate, like some spinning top in the water?

When he bounced up to the surface, the one realization that really hit him was the fact that he was actually in a pool. After all these years he was finally in a pool. Whether the outcome was good or bad, having that water surround him, over his head, on his face, it was delicious.

"Now," Shane suggested, as he crouched in front of him, "I want you to just bounce around and get used to that feeling of being in there. See what one leg feels like. See what one arm feels like."

Wesley shot him a look and declared, "You know I'm terrified, right?"

"Yep, that's why you need to figure out what your body feels like in this whole new environment. We'll spend a lot of time here, and we have a lot of muscles to work on, and we have a lot of exercises to do," he shared. "So the best thing you can do right now, and for the next few minutes, is just relax and figure out where your body's at."

"Well, my body is screaming out for the other leg," he stated. Yet, in truth, his body was relaxed. He sank down to the bottom again and realized that the one leg did just fine pushing him back up. The one arm did just fine pulling up too. When he broke through the water's surface again, he watched as Shane took notes. "It's really unnerving when you're writing notes all the time."

He grinned. "I've heard that a time or two."

"And yet you don't stop."

"How else will I get down info on what you can do and what you can't do?"

"Oh my God," Wesley muttered. "I'm in the pool for the first time, bouncing. What could you possibly write down that would be important?"

"Here's one fact," Shane pointed out, "how you're in there, willing to see what you can do and what I will tell you to do. And that's very important."

"It doesn't feel very important right now," Wesley complained, as he shifted to his back, attempting to float, using his good arm to try to hold himself up. He sank on the one side. He bounced back up, frowning.

"Your flipper is not helpless," Shane reminded him.

Wesley frowned at him, looked down at what he had remaining of his left arm, and started moving it slowly back and forth. And then he tried the same floating motion again, flopping to his back. With his one arm and the flipper both moving, he just barely stayed afloat. But—and this was the thing that was really important—he did stay up. When he got his remaining foot back under him again, Shane was grinning at him, like a fool.

"It shouldn't be that big a deal," Wesley grumbled, staring up at him and then back down at his flipper.

"Yet it feels like it, doesn't it?" Shane asked.

"Yeah, it does," he conceded. "I still have a long way to go, though."

"You sure do," Shane agreed. "Now, just cutting across the shallow end, I want you to do one length with just your legs."

Wesley frowned at him. "Yeah, you used the term legs. I only got one. I won't make my way across even the short side of this pool with only one leg."

Shane shrugged and declared, "A dolphin has one tail. So maybe just back that thinking up and try."

He glared at him and shook his head. "I'll just sink again."

"If you sink, then use your arms to pull yourself back up again."

At the edge of the pool Wesley braced himself and then pushed off, trying to get as far as he could propel himself, before he had to try and get that one good leg to do something. But the partial leg was already moving too, almost instinctively. Wesley was balanced awkwardly on the surface, leaning to the one side, but the one good leg—rather than kicking—was almost moving as if a dolphin tail itself. When he got to the other side, he hit it harder than he expected to. He put his leg down for balance and turned and stared up at Shane.

And once again Shane was grinning at him.

"Okay," Wesley conceded grudgingly, "some of this might be doable."

"A lot of it's doable," Shane stated. "We just have to get your mind to go there."

And that was the part that worried Wesley. He was already tired. He didn't think he could do much more today.

"Right now," Shane began, "I just want you to spend some time and float and move and just play in the water. You have no idea what it's like anymore, and now that we know that we have something there to work with," he noted, "we won't do any practical exercises today. You've already done a full workout, so just play in the water for a bit." And, with that, Shane grabbed a deck chair and sat down beside him.

"Do you have to babysit me?" Wesley asked.

"I have to babysit," he confirmed, with a nod.

"So I'm never allowed out here on my own?"

"Depends. Right now we don't have anybody out here," Shane noted, "so one of us has to be here. After we see where you're at and after you pass a certain level of tests, that's a different story." He added, "But right now? Yep, I have to be here."

It felt as if he were being babysat, an unnerving and oddly disquieting sensation. It'd been a long time since Wesley had been in a position like that. Yet he would not look a gift horse in the mouth, and he just threw himself into the water, turning, twisting, just enjoying being in the pool again. He stuck to the shallow side, so he could always put down his one good leg and touch the bottom of the pool.

And then slowly, over time, he crept down a little bit farther toward the deep end. Shane was right; Wesley needed time to just see how his body handled this. And, whenever he got into a bit of a panic, he grabbed the side of the pool and hung on for dear life. After one particularly embarrassing incident, he looked over, but Shane wasn't even looking at him. "What's the point of being on watch," Wesley asked, "if you don't watch?"

"Oh, I saw that," Shane replied. "but you still handled it yourself."

Wesley frowned at that because, of course, Shane had seen it. Wesley questioned whether he would be okay in here. He didn't want to drown while he was in the pool, which had been another disconcerting thought. Yet, so far, he'd done just fine, outside of feeling as if he were being tested by Shane. Yet wasn't that what Shane had done since day one? It was his job here. He tested Wesley to see his current capability, to see his improvements over time. Wesley sighed, remembering Shane's words about getting his mind to agree to what his body could do. With a nod, he decided to tread water in the deep end and maybe do a lap from there back to the shallow end.