Chapter 7

Alba walked through the next couple days, as everything appeared to be back to normal. When she saw Wesley for his next counseling session, she looked up and smiled at him, as he wheeled his way into her office. "And yet there's that painful expression on your face again," she noted.

He nodded. "Yeah, apparently I'm having some issues," he muttered.

"Do you want to reschedule?" she asked in concern.

He hesitated, shook his head, and replied, "Let's see if I can get through this."

"It's not supposed to be something to get through," she teased.

"Then you really have no idea how most people view sessions with somebody like you."

At that, she burst out laughing. "I do have a pretty good idea," she corrected, "and you're right. Most of the time, it's not well received, is it?"

He shook his head but managed to grin. "On the other hand, I don't mind in the least. At least this way I give you warning that I may not be there for dinner tonight."

"And you don't have to give me warning," she said gently.

He nodded. "I know, but I… It bothered me that I didn't even make that effort."

"And I wouldn't have expected you to, not when you are so sick," she stated. "Don't ever feel guilty about stuff you don't need to. As a society we tend to rack ourselves over with guilt, and it's not something that's ever necessary here."

"Maybe not," he agreed, "but that doesn't really make me feel any better."

She chuckled. "Okay, understood."

He smiled at her. "It's… it's kinda hard because I was just more focused on me."

"And you're here to focus on you," she reminded him.

"I get that. I do." But obviously he was struggling to even maintain any semblance of lucidity.

"I'm making an executive decision," she announced, getting up and walking around her desk and coming behind him. "We're canceling today's session, and you are going to your room and going to bed. I will alert the rest of your team."

He stared at her. "Do I look that bad?"

"Yep, you sure do. Have you had a doctor check you over?"

"I was supposed to go last time, but I didn't make it," he explained. "By the time I got rescheduled, it seemed to be a nonissue."

"And yet it's now raised its head a couple times. Therefore, it's now an issue," she declared. She pulled out her e-tablet, checked on the medical doctor's schedule, and murmured, "He's in today. I'm taking you right there."

"Hey, it's not that big a deal," Wesley argued, but she wasn't listening. She pushed him down the hallway, until she got him to the medical doctor's office.

The receptionist looked up and smiled at her. "Hey. What's up?"

"We've got a problem," she replied and quickly explained the situation. "This is the second scenario. He was supposed to come earlier and see him after the first scenario but didn't."

"In that case," the nurse stated, "let's get him right in."

Wesley protested the whole way, but neither of the women listened.

By the time he was in his own exam room, Alba told him, "Now let me know how you are afterward."

He groaned. "It's really not a big deal. You're making a fuss over nothing."

"Good," she said, "I hope it is over nothing. But, on the off-chance that it isn't, we'll keep making a fuss until it's settled." And, with that, she closed the door gently on him.

As she walked past the nurse with a wave, Alba took one final last look to the room Wesley was in and walked away.

*

Wesley stared upat the doc, who was studying him with a measured look. "Yeah, I know," Wesley admitted. "I'm overdue to have this checked out."

"I'll run some tests." The doc stood, and, with the nurse joining them, he said, "Let's get some blood drawn, and we'll run him through the standard tests. Seems he's running a bit of an infection."

"I don't know where I would've got it from," Wesley pointed out, "but I am tired."

"And that's always a sign that we need to take care," the doc noted. "Your immune system's compromised, and your body is already struggling with a lot going on in its world," the doctor explained. He checked Wesley's blood pressure and his temperature, and, by the time he was done, he nodded. "We'll run the blood through our usual tests. I'm hoping it's just a simple cold."

"Me too," Wesley replied. "So why the exhaustion?"

At that question, the doctor took one step back, looked at him, and stated, "You tell me about that."

Wesley frowned. "I haven't been overdoing it—at least I don't think so."

"And how much stress are you putting on yourself?" he asked. "Do you realize what a killer stress is?"

"I hadn't really considered the stress of it all," he admitted. "I've been here a few weeks, still getting the hang of things. I figured things were calming down."

"And they probably have," the doc noted, "but they may have calmed right down into something like this because that's not unusual either."

"You mean, after a period of stress, and you're finally feeling okay, then everything blows up?" Wesley asked in amazement.

"Often it does happen that way. Your body relaxes and has a chance to deal with everything you've thrown at it, and, in its process, it's giving you a message that you need downtime."

"But I don't have very much time here," he muttered.

"You have enough time," the doctor declared firmly. "And, if we need more, then we apply for more," he added. "But right now? Your body needs rest."

Wesley groaned. "That won't make for easy sleeping."

"Are you not sleeping?" the doctor asked, eyeing him.

"Not recently, no," Wesley replied. "I have a tendency to wake up in the night and then have trouble going back to sleep."

"Do you want sleeping pills?"

"No, I don't want sleeping pills," he stated instantly. At that, the doctor frowned. "I know. I know. I need sleep."

"So, if you won't take sleeping pills, maybe you need to do some meditation or stretching exercises, something in order to unwind in the evening."

"I didn't think I was having a problem," he shared. Yet there was that level of fatigue that he half recognized on the inside. "And honestly I guess I've been tired for a long time."

"I would think so," the doctor confirmed.

"But it's a different kind of tired than not just getting sleep. It's a tired of the whole process. It's a tired of having to be here. It's a tired of dealing with a body that's less than perfect," Wesley explained.

"It's about making sure that you don't overwhelm yourself with stress about your future."

"Yeah, you got a magic solution for that?" Wesley asked, staring at the doc. "Like a magic solution for getting my arm back or my leg back or my career back?"

"No," the doctor replied bluntly. "And that's also why it's important that you see people here and that you do what you need to do to get your body back on target."

"It's trying. It really is."

"And, in this case, your rehab program is probably too intense," he suggested. "Even if you aren't aware of how much stress you're putting on your body, I suspect it's a classic case that you are pushing ahead too fast, even if you aren't aware of it."

"Maybe," he muttered. "But I wasn't—" And then he stopped and nodded. "So what do you suggest?"

"Bed rest."

Wesley groaned at that. "How about the pool and the hot tub?"

"Absolutely, as long as you're not following an exercise program or doing something like laps," he pointed out. "If you go, and you relax, and you just float and unwind, then that's fine. If, in the process, you move around and help your system to just calm down, that's fine too. But I don't want you doing anything that'll make your body feel as if it has to do more."

"For how long?"

"Give it a good two days, and come back to see me. We'll take it from there."

The doctor was pretty emphatic about it all. And not a whole lot Wesley could say or could do to convince the doc otherwise. As Wesley slowly made his way back to his room, he wondered whether there was anything else that he could do. Or was it literally just a matter of staying in bed for the next couple days, other than the occasional floating in the pool and a dip in the hot tub. And that limited prospect almost stressed him out more. He should have mentioned that.

As soon as he got back to his room, he sent Alba a text. Just stressed and tired and doing too much apparently.

She sent back a sad face emoji and a text. A few days, just take a couple days. It could make a big difference.

He added, I can go in the pool and the hot tub, as long as I don't try to "do anything." The phone rang just as he hit Send.

"And that's a really good reminder," she greeted him with. "Even though you're not aware of doing so much, in the back of your mind, you're always working out what you can do, what you can't do, going forward. And that's stress. It's hidden stress, but it's there. It's in the background at all times," she explained. "That's what the doc's trying to get you to avoid doing."

"And how?" he asked, staring at his phone in amazement. "How? This… This life that we live, this is the hand I've been dealt. This is what I have to face. So, how am I supposed to make it any easier on myself?"

There was a smile in her tone, when she replied, "We work on it, both physically and mentally. And that's something we'll bring up in the next session."

"Which, if I listen to him, can't be for a few days."

"Good," she said. "It's scheduled for next week because today was obviously a wash. Maybe I'll bring that forward." She seemed distracted, as she checked out her schedule.

He brought up his e-tablet too and muttered, "I don't want to leave it too long."

"No, and physical exhaustion is one thing, but mental stress is a completely different thing," she shared. "We do have to nip that in the bud, before it gets any more prevalent."

"Yeah, good luck with that," he muttered, hating that there was just so much bitterness in his words.

Her tone softened. "I know it's hard to step back, but you are doing wonderfully well."

"It feels as if I was doing wonderfully well, and now I've suffered a major setback."

"The setback would happen no matter what," she stated. "All you were doing was hiding the fact that you had adjusted well, but now the deeper issues, the bigger issues, are surfacing, as you finally get some of the other issues off your plate. These have the freedom to come up, and now we must deal with them."

"Yeah, but to spend a couple days on bed rest?" he asked, with a wealth of disgust in his tone.

She laughed. "Well, if that's the case, I'll bring dinner to you tonight."

"Oh my God," he said, "that means I have to eat in bed too. That was rough when I was sick here a few days ago."

"Sure, and, if you don't listen to the doctor, that's where you'll spend an awful lot of the next couple months," she pointed out calmly. "So be thankful for a two-day reset than a two-month reset. Also, at 5:00 p.m., watch for me, as I come around with plates."

"Well, make it lots," he grumbled, "because, if I have to sit here and do nothing, I'll want to eat."

"And maybe you need to eat," she noted. "And maybe we need to get you some of Dennis's special green drinks."

"I don't like the sound of that," he replied in horror. "That sounds like, you know, kale kind of stuff."

At that, she burst out laughing. "And you could be right," she agreed cheerfully. "Dennis does have quite the shakes, nutrient shakes. I'll go talk to him now."

"Oh, great," Wesley muttered. "And here I was hoping for a steak."

"Maybe you'll get the steak too." And then she stopped and clarified, "Maybe you get the steak, as long as you have your shake."

"That sounds like blackmail," he protested.

"Yep," she agreed, "whatever works." And, with that, she hung up.

He stared down at the phone, but a smile was on his face. He settled back in his bed, hating the fact that he was even here. It's not where he thought he should be at this point in his life, and yet it really didn't seem to matter what he thought because this is what had been presented. Wesley looked up to see Shane, leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. "I know. I know, I know. Apparently I've had a setback," he admitted, raising his one hand in frustration.

"Remember how I tell you to speak up when the exercises get past a certain tolerance point?"

Wesley frowned, his gaze cutting away.

"I get it," Shane began. "You want results. You want 'em fast. You have this deadline in your head, based on funding, or just getting out of here and on with your life. I totally understand. But remember that Dani is a whiz at getting more funding, at getting you more time. So give that thought a rest. This is your body sending you a message. Listen to your body," Shane stated, "but I don't want to lose all our gains."

Wesley looked at him hopefully. "So you'll get me a pass to work out?"

"Nope," he replied, "but you will do a whole lot of stretches from bed."

"Really?" he asked, frowning at him in disgust.

At that, Shane laughed. "That's exactly what I meant, stretches. And, if we can get you into some of those yoga poses, even better."

He stared at him in horror. "No, no, no, no, no, no. You don't understand. Yoga's not,… not part of this equation."

"Yeah, how come?" Shane asked, keeping his face straight.

Wesley glared at him. "I don't do yoga."

"Whether you do yoga or not," Shane replied, "these stretches are non-negotiable. We might as well just get started right now."

"How is that bed rest?" he asked, immediately trying to backtrack.

At that, Shane laughed. "Bed rest is one thing. Stretches are a completely different thing. Believe me that the doc will be all over this."

"Maybe we should check with him to be sure," Wesley suggested craftily.

Shane studied him, with one eyebrow raised. "Really? Are you trying to avoid stretches? You can do a full-on rehab workout, but you can't be bothered to do a few stretches, huh? Or you'll cry like a baby?"

"I'm not a baby," he countered instantly. "And stretches are one thing, but I've already been threatened with Dennis's green drinks," he muttered in disgust. "Now you're talking yoga."

As if on cue, Dennis appeared around the doorframe. "What did I hear about my wonderful green drinks?" he teased, holding up a large tall glass. "This is chock-full of nutrients, greens, vitamins, and even a mineral supplement," he declared, with a mock frown on his face. "I'll have you know that these are highly prized."

"Sure, if you're a horse," Wesley complained, staring at the vivid bright-green drink coming toward him. The two other men smiled.

"You'll get through it," Shane noted. "Remember that, if you want to recover, if you want to get on and to have a full life, you must build up your strength, so that setbacks like this don't continuously happen."

"It's hardly continuous," Wesley protested.

"Twice in two weeks is continuous in my book," Shane declared. "I'm trying to stave off a third one."

At that proclamation, not a whole lot Wesley could do but take his medicine.

Dennis held out the drink, and Wesley slowly accepted it. "Does it taste as horrible as it looks?" he asked, grimacing.

"Doesn't matter if it does. All of it down, right to the last drop. And you'll get at least one a day, maybe two," Dennis promised. "Then, when it's gone, all gone, you can have dinner."

He groaned at that. "Again with the blackmail," he muttered.

"Yep, whatever it takes." And, with that, Dennis was gone.

Shane looked over at him, a smile on his face, and shared, "They're actually quite good."

"Sure, if you're into grape nuts and granola and a lot of green vegetables," Wesley grumbled. "Personally I prefer my sausage and eggs and hash browns."

"Yeah, I get it, but that won't be the answer right now." And, with that, Shane motioned at the drink and said, "Go. Bottoms up." And, with that, he disappeared too.

At least they left him on his own, yet oh my God. Wesley looked at the drink, plugged his nose, and started to drink.