Page 47 of Run
I swallow and try to speak, but all that comes out is a croak.
The doctor takes my hand and squeezes it. “You’ve been out for a day and a half so your vocal cords may need a little warming up, that’s all. You didn’t need to be intubated. Just swallow, try clearing your throat, and start again.”
I do as he says. “My name is Ari,” I say hoarsely.
“Do you know why you’re here, Ari? Do you remember what happened to you?”
I nod. I remember it all: my shift at work, Sean, running, screeching brakes.
“OK,” the doctor says calmly. “Why don’t you tell me what you remember?”
I look at a blank spot on the wall in front of me, just over my blanket-wrapped feet. “I stepped out into the road, and a car hit me.”
“That’s right. Actually, it was a pickup truck. Police say the driver and passenger didn’t see you. He tried to stop but it was too late. Fortunately, they quickly called 911 and help arrived within moments.” A beat passes. “Ari, do you have any family we can call? You were brought in with no identification, so you’ve remained quite a mystery to us.”
I bring my eyes to his. What a loaded question. Family? No, I have no family. I never have.
My head shakes in denial.
“What about friends? Neighbors? A place of employment?”
More head shaking.
He frowns. “There’s got to be someone, Ari. You’ve been here for almost two days. Someone’s got to be wondering where you are.”
Thinking it over, I’m sure Sophie is going out of her mind. I don’t know what state the apartment was left after the fight with Sean, but she’s probably reached out to Fonz, so he’s got to be worried. Other than that, there’s no one else. I rest my head back against the pillow and think while the doctor squeezes my hand to comfort me. I don’t even know Sophie or Fonz’s phone numbers. They are programmed in my phone, which is back at the apartment—a place I never want to return to.
“Ari,” the doctor brings my attention back to him. “There has got to be someone we can call.”
The only phone number I know by heart, the one I used to text in secret throughout my youth, is the one number I will never call. Pain spreads through my chest as my head shakes some more. I could send someone to the Millers’ house, or to the pub to leave a message for Lena, but what’s the point?
“OK, we can revisit this,” Doctor Powell finally gives in. “Let’s talk about your condition. You were brought in unconscious. We were mostly worried about internal bleeding, which was kept to a minimum. You have a sprained wrist.” I look down at my arm and see it’s wrapped up. “You also have some broken ribs, which will heal on their own. And you have a broken tibia, or shin bone, as well as a fractured femur, or thigh bone. And, obviously, various lacerations and bruises throughout.”
The doctor lifts his head, but keeps holding my hand in his as he sits upright. “Now, Ari, let me ask: how do you feel, right now?”
I think it over. “I feel OK?”
The doctor chuckles and squeezes my hand. “OKis actually good around here. No one in the hospital typically feels fantastic, soOKis a welcomed response.” He looks down my legs and back up to my face. “Ari, the reason I asked you how you’re feeling is because you do also have a more serious injury. You fractured and dislocated a few vertebrae in your spine, which impacted your spinal cord. Now, it didn’t sever your spinal cord. You’ve suffered what we call an incomplete injury, meaning although you may be experiencing temporary paralysis, we believe once the trauma to your spine is healed, and your legs gain strength, you will be able to walk again.”
He stares at my face as I process what he’s just said, then I look from him to my legs wrapped tightly in the blanket, my feet pointed upward. I pull my hand from his, and with fingertips explore the scratchy texture on my lap, feeling the pressure of my fingers against my thighs. I look at Doctor Powell, who is nodding at me.
“You can still feel touch,” he explains. “The nerves responsible for sensation were uncompromised.”
I try to rub my feet together, but nothing happens. Panicked, I attempt to shift and pull my body into a more upright position, but the doctor stands and places his hands on my upper arms.
“Ari, it’s OK. Your body is in shock right now, and is only beginning the healing process. It’s weak and needs to recover. That’s the only reason it isn’t reacting the way you want it to.”
“I can’t—” I begin but, frustrated, have to swallow again and push out my voice. “I can’t move my legs.”
He nods. “I know.”
“I want to sit up.” I try to shimmy out of his grip and scoot up.
“Ari,” he says gently.
“I want to sit up.”
“Ari. Look at me.”
