The Long Game

The long Game

It was a day like any other. I was busy listing to the dispatcher's boring voice waiting for directions on what to do next. I loved the driving I did to make a living, but I hated quiet times like this where I was stuck sitting waiting for something to come in. Being stuck in a car during the heat of the day was unpleasant, but it did pay with the cost of gas to keep the van going unnecessarily.

My personality is such that I always had to be moving or doing something. It had to be a hot or a rush because I was sitting with a bunch of regulars for the downtown business core. I was a courier for Quicksilver messenger, and we delivered small items all over the city. Sitting for me had always been an easy way to frustrate me. This job in a lot of ways was teaching me something I never had patience.

Finally, I got a rush, which meant delivery within one hour, so I went to the address to pick it up. After informing dispatch it was on board, I was told to head on in and deliver it first. I was stopped at a red light on a steep hill heading down towards the business center when the frigging trucker hauling a twenty-eight-foot trailer behind his cab hit me from behind. His brakes had failed. He ended up pushing my back seat into the front. Shoving me halfway through the intersection at the same time. The first responders had to cut me out with the jaws of life.

Using a board, they carefully strapped me in and transferred me to the hospital. After three ex-rays and one MRI, they called the specialist in by this time I knew it was serious. The medical staff informed me that my wife was on her way in.

When she showed up after doing the paperwork, she was escorted in. I could see the genuine concern on her face. I said in an attempt to settle her down I told that no matter what I would heal and get to the point that I would be all the way back.

The specialist told us that my neck was cracked at such an angle that they were afraid it might have been severed completely. The c three, c four, and c five bones in the back of my upper neck that held all my nerves and muscles were broken at a forty-five-degree angle.

They would put me in a halo but as severe as I was, they believed I would no longer be able to walk. It was believed that I was going to be completely paralyzed from the neck down. I was transferred to a nursing home after stabilization near my home to begin the long road to recovery.

My wife of four years was devastated, so was I. She heard and believed what the professionals believed, I did not. I held onto the hope that I would walk. It was the only thing that kept me going. The doctors, the mental health caregivers, the specialists, and my wife all tried to get me to accept my situation, but I would not. I knew I was going to have to play the long game to beat them at their own game.

They all thought I was a horse's ass for not accepting their advice. I was the most mule-headed stubborn person they ever met. The more they thought they were right about my situation the more I became sure that they were not. When they started to talk about my life after recovery, I stopped listening.

To this day there are two things I don't miss and that's looking at the floor or ceiling twelve hours a day. My sanity was saved by talk radio and the roommate I had with me for the last six months.

Mr. Stevens was an old feller who humored me with his tales about his life. The nursing staff hated the talk radio and his old stories. I loved them both and developed a deep respect for the man. He was dealing with cancer and didn't have long to live. Since he was already assigned to hospice care we both knew for him it was not if but when.

Whenever I asked about my situation and what was going on, I was told it would take time to find out what was going on because I had to completely heal first. On a regular basis, they would touch my feet to see what I was feeling. At first, I felt nothing but then it started to come back. I found I could move my toes and stretch my feet. It was a secret my roommate and I decided to keep to ourselves. We both knew that if I showed them, they would write it off to something else other than the sign I thought it was.

At first, my wife showed up after every day at work and would stay with me until about nine at night at the nursing home. But over the year it got less and less. I had gotten the message from her conduct that she could not see herself spending the rest of her life with an invalid and had decided to move on with her life. After about nine months of her bull shit, I finally told her one day that I did not need any more of her sympathy visits.

I had come to the belief that she would wait till I was out of the hospital and out of the public's eyes to tell me she wanted out of the marriage. She was still young and wanted to enjoy life. The problem was she couldn't be honest about it. Not even to herself.

My best friend from childhood who had never really grown up was my savior for his encouragement was unending. When he wasn't playing in his band, he was always stopping in trying to keep my spirits up. After a few months, because I knew him so well, I was able to discern from his behavior that he had something going on with his life that he was keeping from me. Around that same time that my wife stopped coming regularly, I found it interesting because he seemed to behave the same way.

When friends and extended family showed up it wasn't long till I figured it out that they were all doing the same thing. I knew that something concerning my life outside the nursing home had changed and no one had the guts to tell me. I was spending a lot of my quiet time trying to figure it all out. With my roommate who was becoming close, we discussed all the possibilities of what could be going on.

My wife who I hadn't seen in at least a month came in one day to tell me she was going to Cuba for a girl's holiday for two weeks with her married sister Susan who lived in the city two hours away. I accepted that fact without question. It had now almost been eighteen months since the accident. I had to ask myself why she felt the need to tell me. Since she had left me emotionally a long time ago.

The doctors and specialists kept saying to me only a few more weeks when I asked about my situation. I was tired of their bull shit answers and their refusal to help me get on with things. I was living with the reality that no one wanted to tell me the truth.

I would not have thought anything about it but while my wife Linda was off in Cuba her sister Susan dropped in to say hello. She was in town to spend time with her mother. I didn't ask her about Linda because I knew she had no clue because otherwise, she would not have dropped in.

To understand how I felt you have to know that from our formative years until now. My wife Linda, my best friend Simon and I had been friends. Simon's dad dropped in during that time period and had told me Simon had gone to Cuba too. That was when I knew what everybody didn't want to tell me.

Because of the history of the three of us, I knew what was going on. My best friend had moved in on my wife. They were now involved. That was the big secret everyone was trying to keep from me.

Linda was a beautiful lady with blonde hair, a slender figure and a nice set of breasts. With a voice that when in a song could melt anyone's heart. Many a man had their heads turned by her because she was just that attractive.

My best friend Simon had always wanted her as his lead singer and thought she would be a great front for his band. I had refused to allow that to happen because I wanted to start building a life and was doing university by correspondence. I was in my last year when my life changed. Now I realized that Simon had seen my injury as his chance to steal my wife by getting her to join his band.

I was always on the lean side. My dad said I could eat like a horse and not gain weight. At five feet ten inches I was not a big man, but I did not consider myself small. At the time of the accident, I weighed a hundred and fifty pounds. Yet dad knew everything I ate went into muscle strength, not physical development.

Anyone looking at me always underestimated my abilities. It was not uncommon for me to carry two boxes of printing paper up or down fourteen floors with them on my shoulders.

While they were off together on their pre-marriage honeymoon, I began to plot my revenge. I knew that I would have to plan a long game because everything concerning me was an unknown.

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It was a week after my wife's return from her girl's vacation from Cuba that things began to happen. My good friend Simon dropped in with the darkest tan I had ever seen on him. Since it was the daytime, I had my face facing the floor. He sat on the floor while talking to me so I could see him.

He had brought me back a box of Cuban cigars still wrapped in their original box and a box of wooden matches. We talked for about an hour about what he had done while he was there. He said you can start smoking the cigars as soon as you get out of that bed. I didn't ask him who he went with because I knew. He didn't even ask me if my wife had been in to see me. Odds were if he hadn't of been with her, he would have asked.

Before he left, I conned him to loosen the strap holding my right side in so I could scratch myself. He had to crawl underneath me to do it. Thankfully he forgot to tell the nurses that he'd done it. Now it was just me having to wait for my bed to be turned upright and I prayed that when they rotated the bed, they would not notice it being loose.

My roommate said after he left that it was nice of him to bring me some Cuban cigars.

I said, "Yes it was. I explained that Simon and I had grown up together and had been what I called lifelong friends."

"It sounds like that this relationship is about to end," My roommate said.

"Once I get out of this bed and back on my feet it has to," I said. "My wife has been his mistress I believe for more than six months."

"How did you figure it out," He asked? "Did you hear the rumors from the nursing staff talking in the hall?"

"No, I learned by mistake that both had gone to Cuba at the same time," I said. "Knowing the three of us history together it was easy to figure out."

It was after the shit change at seven pm that I started. I was now facing the ceiling. I started slowly working. With my right hand lose enough to move it wasn't long till I had it free. I then undid the strapping on the right side then I reached over I undid the left side of my upper body.

With my upper body free, I slowly pulled myself up with the hand bars until I was sitting up. My roommate quietly cheered me on. To this day I remember him raising his closed fist in support and hold it there. I knew for him it required a lot of his strength.

The halo's weight felt a bit heavy, but it was not dominating my body thanks to my normal upper body strength. My roommate came over with his wheelchair and lowered the side railing. I freed my feet section and swung my feet towards the floor. I inched over on the bed until I could reach the dresser.

Opening the drawer with his help, I found a pair of blue jeans and a blue jean shirt which I managed to put on me with a struggle. I was still in bare feet. My only focus was the craving to go outside to smoke a cigar.

I unwrapped the cigar box and stuck two of them and the box of matches into my shirt pocket. My partner in the double room who was an older gentleman had a walker and I asked him if I could borrow it. He didn't say a word. With a huge smile, he just rolled it over to me using his wheelchair to help him.

"Elevators to the right," he said. "Nursing station to the left. Let me wheel myself out to distract the night nurses' attention. I can hold their attention for a few minutes. Just leave me a couple of matches and let me have one of your cigars. Okay."

I smiled and said, "Don't just take one of them take three or four out of the box. Just so you know I'm headed out the front door."

I left him eight wooden matches on my dresser and put my wallet in the back pocket.

I waited for about five minutes to lower myself to the floor. My first few movements were slow, but I managed to get to the elevator and get on it without being seen. Without my roommate's walker, I may not have made it. My balance was uneven, my legs stiff and unwilling to move. Yet I persisted. A few minutes later I was leaning against the outside of the building in bare feet with the walker in front of me smoking my first cigar in over a year. I have to admit that I was enjoying it. That Cuban cigar had never tasted better in my life.

When the nurses got my roommate back to our room all panic broke loose. I guess their feeble brains couldn't figure out what I had done. I think their worst fear was what was going to happen to them because of their losing a bedridden patient. I was enjoying the fresh air, the time of the night, and the cigar in total contentment. I felt free.

I was proud because just the fact that I was standing was proving that what I had believed all along had not steered me wrong. I was right, they were wrong. All it had taken was me keeping the faith in myself and waiting for the body to heal itself. I didn't realize until much later how much this ordeal had changed me.

I watched with a smile on my face as the police cruiser pulled up with siren screaming and red lights flashing as I relaxed while puffing on my cigar. The police officer got out and walked over to me shaking his head. I had not even buttoned up my shirt for I was enjoying the cool evening air on my chest.

"You have got the whole nursing staff in a panic. I guess you not as in bad health as they said. You know I am going to have to take you back in," he said. "So, throw the cigar away and let's go."

Using the brick wall for my support I lifted the walker up towards him and said, "Not till I have smoked these two cigars."

Seeing how strong I appeared to be he got smart and backed off. I think he was trying out how to handle the situation without doing further damage to me.

Moments later the local specialist handling my case and my family doctor showed up to join us. All three tried, in turn, to no avail to get me to put out the cigar and go back to my room. I just told them quite bluntly where to go and how to do it. I had come out for a smoke or two and was not moving. To be honest I had listened enough to the brilliance of their bull shit for so long that I just didn't give a dam.

It was suggested they contact my wife perhaps she might be able to reason with me. Dr. Madill was shaking his head as if he was trying to figure out how he could get me to cooperate. Yet the doctor was smiling. That told me a lot.

Before the police offer spoke into his walkie talkie I said, "Better have dispatch call Peter McLaughlin at --- ---- and ask him where his son Simon is playing."

He asked me, "Why?"

I said, "Because my wife has been his mistress for more than a few months. If I know Simon, he will keep her near so she's most likely with him."

It was the first time I saw three men's faces go white in my life. It made me think that they all knew or were coming to realize what a problem I was becoming. My statement had forced them to admit by what I said that my wife was not going to be of any use to them. They were back at base zero in trying to figure out what to do with me. I knew they were afraid of doing anything physical to me because of my condition. For once I was in complete control of the situation and I was not letting it go.

"Dr. Madill, could you please call my dad and tell him to come to pick me up. Let him know I want to come home." I said.

My family doctor and my dad were good friends. He replied, "Dam it Donald, I will call him only to get him to talk some sense into your thick head."

I grabbed the walker and started to inch towards the street sidewalk since my dad only lived eight blocks away. The police officer stepped in front of me to block my progress. I knew that my action was pushing the doctor into doing something. He now would understand how determined I was.

Dr. Madill said, "Donald stop, I promise you I will let you go. You're strong enough but you're weak. You have accomplished so much today already on your own. I just don't want you to overdo it. We are still coming to terms with that the fact that your standing and walking."

The doctor called my father, telling him to get to the nursing home quick. There was a situation that he felt he could be a help in The specialist went to say something.

"Peter don't you dare say a word. According to your thinking, he's not supposed to be walking. It's his mule headedness and stubbornness driving him," Dr. Madill said. "Let him be. If he were not so agile you might have been right. Donald just is mean enough to be doing this out of spite. The question we need to be concerned with is how in the hell was able to get out of the bed by himself."

It turns out that Simon was not playing in some b style bar that night because, by the time my dad showed up, Linda my wife in name only now was pulling in still driving our second car. For her, what she was seeing could not be real because on her face was a look of total disbelieve.

For my father, it was a moment filled with pride and joy because his oldest son was standing tall and proud. For him it was something he had been led to believe by others was something he would never happen again.

So, I said to him, "Like grandfather always said tough times don't last tough people do. I might need your help climbing in the passenger side of your truck."

Without saying a word my dad smiled and watched me take another puff. I think he was giving himself time to come to terms with what was real and what was not.

He walked over beside me and said, "Take your time son. I am going to call your Mom to get the first level bedroom ready. It's yours for as long as you need it. Are you sure you want to leave the hospital?"

I gave him a look and my dad cracked a smile. "Gentlemen I know that look he's not going to give anyone a choice. He's leaving with or without my help. If he falls, he will just get up and try again. He's that determined."

Linda approached in shock not knowing what to say and I just stared at her as if she was dead.

The police officer stopped her and said. "I hate to tell you that your husband knows about your relationship with Simon McLaughlin. He was the one that requested we call his father in order to get ahold of you. For now, I think you best leave."

Linda looked at me as I spoke. "Dad looks like one of the walking dead has come. What else has been Simon being doing besides screwing my wife?"

"Living in your home, driving your second car, and using your name to get credit until I got the lawyers involved," He replied. "With Linda's approval, he was using your name."

I started pushing the walker as I inched towards the passenger side of his truck.

I paused and turned to Linda with a stone-cold face and said, "You tell Simon what you just saw and thank him personally for what will be coming upon you both once I am fully recovered."

The look of terror on Linda's face made it clear she had gotten the message loud and clear. She knew the only chance for Simon was to run. She knew me well enough to me when I said something, I meant it.

I said, "Linda, you tell Simon that is days of making music is coming to an end. He took possession of what I valued with his hands. So, when I'm ready I will be taking his."

The police officer had to catch her. Simon's hands are how he made his living such as it was.

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My dad walked with me slowly as I moved in bare feet towards the passenger side of the truck. Once my dad had helped me climb in, I shut the door. I rolled down the window and asked my Dr. to return the walker to my roommate.