10. River

He couldn't do it anymore. It was what he kept telling himself after months of non-stop physical pain, frustrating limitations and feeling overwhelmed emotionally and mentally. He was frustrated, depressed, and honestly the most prevalent emotion was fear. Because he didn't know what to do, or why the pain was so strong. He didn't know why his body wasn't healing itself or if he would ever be back to the way he was before the accident. If he would ever be able to sit again without being in pain.

But the truth of it was, he could tell himself that a hundred times a day, and it didn't matter, because he didn't have a choice. Whether he felt like he could do it anymore or not, he had to.

He'd gone to see his orthopedist at Skye's insistence, and they'd given him pain meds to try which had given him horrible side effects, and hadn't worked, so next he had tried a cortisone injection in his tailbone, which had been painful as hell, and also hadn't helped. He'd gotten relief for all of two hours, and then the pain was back.

So now he was back to see his orthopedist for what felt like the millionth time, carrying his seat cushion with him, which had become his constant companion. At least at the orthopedist"s office he didn't feel quite so awkward hauling it around, and wouldn't have to deal with people looking at him like he thought he was too good for normal seats, not realizing that he had a serious reason for actually needing it, and would do anything to be able to not have it.

"So we've tried PT, we've tried injections, and medication," the doctor said. "And nothing has helped?"

"Right." River felt kind of ridiculous being here, but he didn't know what else to do. He was in so much pain, he wasn't even sitting down to talk to the doctor. "Is there anything else? Is surgery an option? I know that seems drastic, but that's where I am right now. I can't sit, or bend over. It even hurts to walk some of the time. And I'm starting to have pain in my low back and hips, too." That had started a couple of weeks ago and was just the icing on the cake.

He wanted to keep going, tell the doctor everything else he couldn't do, hadn't been able to do for weeks, now, because of the pain. It makes driving really painful so I can't travel far at all. It's making doing my job difficult, which I just finally got back to. I have to take up the entire couch at home. I can't have any sort of social life. No dates, no church. No movies or restaurants. I still can't run or go rock climbing. But he didn't say any of that. Instead he just said, "I'm pretty extra desperate. I'd be okay at this point with just taking the thing out."

"That's rarely done," the doctor said. "None of the physicians here actually do tailbone removal surgery. It's a major operation. The recovery is long. And the scar tissue resulting can be just as painful if not more so. There"s a risk of infection and damage to the colon. And it takes anywhere from 3 months to a year to even start feeling relief after the surgery. So it may or may not help."

"So, what do I do?" River asked, trying not to let his voice tremble as he spoke.

The doctor spoke with sympathy. "Keep up with the PT and keep using the cushion. I'm afraid that's all you really can do."

When he got back out to the car he rested his head against the steering wheel, and sobbed once again.

Skye

"How did your appointment go?" Skye asked when River walked in the door a little after six that evening. He looked exhausted, crestfallen. His shoulders stooped and his eyes were glassy, like he was in a world far away. "River?" he repeated gently, putting his hand on his friend's arm to get his attention.

"Hmmm?" River mumbled, gazing up at him, his lips pursed.

"How was your appointment?"

"Not good," he said with a sigh. "I asked about surgery. He didn't flat out tell me no, but he said it was rare. He said they don't ‘recommend it'." He put the phrase in finger quotes. "I don't know what else to do, Skye. I can't keep living like this. Not living. I'm scared." He bit his bottom lip as his eyes swam with unshed tears.

"Okay, well I was looking into it," Skye told him, "and I may have found something that can help you. But it sounds pretty unpleasant."

"What is it?" River asked, a spark returning to his sapphire eyes. He'd been through so much the past couple of months and had tried not to get hopeful over new things to try, because so far they hadn't proven effective. But Skye could see the hope in his gaze now.

"I'd never heard of it before, but you may have, in your line of work," he said. "Pelvic floor therapy?"

"I'm familiar with it," River said. "I know they can teach you some stretches and do strengthening exercises and stuff, but that's usually used for women, especially after childbirth. That's not really my problem, Skye."

"No, but I was looking at their website and it looks like they can also move your tailbone back into position manually, which might help. I know the chiropractor didn't work but this is a little different ‘cause they manipulate it from the inside. It's worth a shot, right?"

Skye watched as River's face went ashen and he swallowed. His chest started rising and falling as his breathing picked up. He recoiled and backed away from Skye, shaking his head. "No," he said, trembling. His voice was soft when he spoke, his lower lip quivering. "I can't do that." Then he walked into his room and shut the door.

When Skye knocked on River's door seconds later there was no answer, so he opened it slowly and walked in to see River lying on his side in bed, eyes closed, his legs drawn up and his arms crossed over his chest. He took deep breaths in and out, and Skye noticed that the bottle of anti-anxiety meds on his nightstand was open and he was gripping the ring on his middle finger, twisting it around, trying to ground himself.

Fuck, what had he done? He'd made River have an anxiety attack. He hadn't meant to. He had just wanted to help, and the pelvic floor therapy had sounded like a legitimate option. God, he was so stupid.

He made his way over and sat on the edge of the bed next to his friend, then began to rub his back. "You're okay, Riv," he told him gently. "You're okay."

River started to breathe more evenly as the tears descended once again. Skye never minded when River cried, except that it broke his heart every single time, and he was pretty sure he'd seen him crying more in the past month and a half than in the last ten years combined. And all because of his tailbone. It wasn't just that, though, Skye knew. Not just the physical pain, but the reality of what it meant. Of how limited he'd been, how much this injury was affecting his life.

Remarkable how such a small part of your body could cause so much pain by being dislocated, how it could inhibit so many aspects of your life that you would normally not even think about; how something so unremarkable as sitting was something he was now realizing he'd taken for granted over the past twenty eight years. How he could sit down without thinking twice about it, without having to carry a seat cushion everywhere he went in order to take the edge off of the pain. How he could travel, or ride a bike, or go to a theme park, and how River couldn't do any of those things now. God, he never thought he would see being able to sit down as a blessing. And he hated this for River. He doesn't deserve it. And he would give anything to make it better.

River sniffled and removed his glasses before wiping his eyes and nose. "I'm sorry, Skye," he murmured finally, his breath still shaky. "But I don't think I can do that. Even if it means living with the pain. I'm sorry you did all that work for nothing."

"Fuck the work, River, I don't care about that," Skye said. He rubbed River's back a little while longer before he asked, "Is it because of what happened to you?"

River nodded and sniffled again, then wiped his eyes once more.

"River, you don't have to do it, okay? You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. It was just an idea. And I didn't think of how it would trigger things for you. I'm sorry. I should have thought of that."

"It's okay." River gave him a soft smile.

"Hey. I do have something else that might help you. I'll be right back." Skye left and came back a minute later with a rather large box. River propped himself up on his elbow, looking at him curiously as he unpackaged it and pulled out a giant wedge pillow.

"I thought this might make it easier for you to recline in bed," Skye said, hefting it over.

River moved aside as Skye set it down behind him. He waited for Skye to lay his pillow on top of it, and then he rested back against it to try it out. Skye's chest expanded and his heart leapt when River smiled. Then more tears slid down River's cheeks.

"Are those good tears or bad tears?" Skye let out a breath when River smiled again.

"Good," he said. "It's helping. I can actually sit for the first time in months without being in horrible pain. This is amazing, thank you. I can't believe I didn't think of it." He could sense the relief, appreciation and gratitude in his friend's voice and the way he was looking at Skye with those beautiful blue eyes. "How did you find out about this?"

Skye shrugged and flushed. "I researched."

"You did all of this just for me? On your own time, without me asking or anything?" River was looking at him in the way that made his heart beat faster and his stomach fill with butterflies, his eyes so warm and tender.

"I, uh," he stumbled over his words, blushing. "Yeah, I guess." He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, gaze darting to the floor. "You want some dinner?" he asked, "I can bring it in here."

"That would be nice. Thank you." There was that smile again. The one that made him weak in the knees. The one that sucked the air right out of his lungs until he felt like he couldn"t breathe.

He might just as well chuck the tank he had in front of the ice wall now, too, ‘cause that whole damn wall was melting right in front of him.