Take Me Higher by Pamela Clare
Chapter 19
Megs satin the surgery waiting room, going over different acute rehabilitation facilities with Rain and watching the surgery board. Dr. Schwartz had said the cranioplasty would probably take two hours. So far, an hour had passed.
“I really liked this place.” Rain set a different brochure on the table. She’d spent the past week touring various facilities, asking for information. “It’s in Boulder, which means you’re just down the canyon. It’s got some new weightless technology that assists people in re-learning how to walk. The rooms are nicer and feel more like family suites than hospital rooms. They have pool therapy, private treatment rooms, and an award-winning speech-pathology team.”
“How much does it cost?” Megs was afraid to ask.
“Almost fourteen thousand.”
Megs almost choked. “Per month? Jesus fried chicken!”
The couple sitting across the room looked up from their phones, disapproving expressions on their faces.
Rain waved off the expense. “Helping Mitch heal is all that matters.”
Megs looked at the photos, liking what she saw. “And you prefer this place over the ones in Lafayette and Aurora?”
“Definitely. The place in Lafayette had small, dark rooms and felt very clinical. The one in Aurora smelled like unemptied bedpans and is a lot farther from home.”
Megs wrinkled her nose. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. Thanks for visiting these places. I suppose I should’ve done it, but I didn’t want to leave Mitch.”
“It was no trouble. Your place is here. Sasha wanted to come with me, but the Team got toned out.”
Megs looked at the brochure for the Boulder facility again—the Front Range Rehabilitation Hospital. “I guess I need to fill out an application.”
“It’s available online. You should be able to use Mitch’s tablet for that. How does he like the communication apps?”
Megs had to laugh. “The first thing he made the new program say was, ‘This is stupid.’ Not being able to communicate is really difficult for him.”
“It would be difficult for anyone.” Rain reached into her enormous handbag. “I brought those books of poetry—Walt Whitman and Kahlil Gibran.”
Megs took the books from her. “Thanks so much. Mitch and I have a tradition of reading poetry to each other before we go to sleep. We started doing that back in the dirtbag days in Yosemite, and we never stopped.”
“That’s awesome—or should I say far out?”
“Listen, whippersnapper, that expression was cool in its day.” Megs reached over and squeezed Rain’s hand. “You and Joe have gone above and beyond to help us. I don’t even know how to thank you. I will always be grateful.”
“You’re welcome.” Rain squeezed back. “Here’s the thing, Megs—I know you’d do everything you could to help us if our positions were reversed. Remember when we got eight feet of snow in just a few days and my roof caved in?”
“I surely do. That’s what finally got you and Joe together. I think the whole town was grateful.”
Rain laughed. “Well, before Joe and I got together, you had the Team out there clearing snow off people’s roofs so it wouldn’t happen to anyone else. I’ve heard stories about Moretti going from rooftop to rooftop on skis.”
“I think they enjoyed themselves a little too much that night.”
“And then there was the time when Hawke asked you to tone out the Team to clean his cabin before he got there with Vicki. You, Sasha, and Mitch went over and cleaned up his pigsty so that he could make a good impression.”
“We still rib him about that.”
“The point I’m trying to make is that you and Mitch do nothing every day but save people. We’d be a sad town full of petty, little people if we didn’t repay that love. You two are a huge source of pride for Scarlet.”
The doors from the OR opened, and Dr. Schwartz walked out, a broad smile on his face. “It’s done. It went well. It was completely textbook.”
He motioned Megs to a private room to talk.
Rain said goodbye, leaving all the materials she’d picked up with Megs. “Let us know how it’s going.”
“Thanks, Rain.” Megs hugged her and then followed Dr. Schwartz, remembering the last time she’d stepped into this particular room with him. They hadn’t known then whether Mitch would survive. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s doing really well. As you know, it’s early to be doing a cranioplasty. Most doctors wait for the three-to-six-month mark. But there are a host of complications that are lessened in cases where we can perform cranioplasty early.”
He explained how he’d used the bone he’d removed from Mitch’s cranium along with a custom-made titanium plate to cover the small area where the bone had shattered. “It’s a serious surgery and comes with several significant risks, possibly the greatest of which in his case is infection. He’s getting IV vancomycin, and, of course, we still have him on anti-seizure meds. We’ll keep him in ICU for the next couple of days and then move him back to the neurology floor. If all goes well, we should be ready to transfer him to an acute rehab facility next week. Have you picked one out?”
“We were thinking of the Front Range Rehabilitation Hospital.”
“That would be my choice for him, as well.”
That was reassuring.
“Can I go see him?”
“He’s still in recovery. I’ll have someone come get you when he’s back in ICU.”
Once again, Megs found herself thanking Dr. Schwartz. “If you’re ever in Scarlet Springs, stop in at Knockers or come by The Cave—that’s what we call Team HQ.”
“Thanks. I might take you up on that.”
Mitch gradually becameaware of his surroundings. A persistent beep. Women’s voices. Her voice. His own moans.
“Are you in pain?” Warm fingers held his hand.
He had a headache, and his abdomen hurt, too.
“I’ll get him some morphine.”
“Thanks, Debby.”
What had happened? Had he fallen again? He had fallen—or maybe it had been a rock. He couldn’t remember. He’d been in the hospital.
“Here’s the morphine.”
When he opened his eyes later, he found Megs sitting beside him.
“Hey, handsome. The surgery was a success. Your skull is back on your head and out of your abdominal wall.”
What the hell was she saying?
“Dr. Schwartz said it went well.” She smiled. “You’ve got a little titanium plate, too. I guess I can call you a metalhead now.”
He couldn’t quite comprehend why that was funny.
“If all goes well, they’ll transfer you out of ICU tomorrow evening, and we’ll be able to move you to a rehabilitation facility in about a week.”
A rehabilitation facility.
Fear snaked through Mitch, cold and dark.
What was wrong with him? What if he never got better?
Before he could work out the answer, he was asleep once more.
Megs walkedbeside Mitch’s wheelchair as they left the hospital, the nurses who had cared for him so diligently these past three weeks standing near the exit and applauding for him. Did he understand why they were cheering?
Megs thanked each of them as she passed. “These nurses saved your life. They’re happy that you’ve recovered enough to leave the hospital.”
Mitch waved, a baseball cap covering his shaved head and scar, the cervical collar still around his neck. He had been excited to get out of that damned hospital gown and into real clothes and, apart from helping him with balance, he hadn’t needed her help getting dressed.
The LPN who pushed the wheelchair stopped outside the van. “Here’s your ride.”
Two paramedics greeted them and helped transfer Mitch into a new wheelchair, steadying him so he wouldn’t fall. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah.” Mitch nodded.
That was one of this week’s new additions to his vocabulary.
Megs knelt so he could see her face. “I’m going to get into my SUV and follow you to the new place. These guys are going to take care of you. I’ll be right behind you, and I’ll see you soon.”
“Yeah.”
She hurried to her car, which already held Mitch’s belongings and her bags from the hotel, and followed the transport toward I-25. Some part of her couldn’t believe they’d come this far, that they were leaving the hospital.
She drew a breath, allowed herself a moment to feel nothing but gratitude.
Damn, they’d gotten lucky.
It wasn’t a long drive—maybe forty minutes. Still, it felt strange to be away from Mitch for so long. She knew the medical staff in the van would take care of him, but, given his short-term memory problems, she wasn’t sure he understood what was happening. She didn’t want him to think she’d abandoned him or disappeared.
Megs turned the radio to her favorite classic rock station and started to relax as she sang along to the Doors, the Guess Who, and James Taylor. She might have said that today’s music sucked by comparison, but Lark, Rain’s older daughter, had recently said that hating modern music was a sign that someone was truly growing old.
So Megs wouldn’t say it. Oh, hell, no. She would just think it.
She was singing along to Boston’s More than a Feeling when she reached the top of McCaslin Mesa on Highway 36. She stopped singing, her heart seeming to swell. The Rockies stretched out before her as far as the eye could see, first the foothills with their green pine forests and then the snow-capped high peaks. Scarlet Springs was tucked in at the base of those high peaks just up Boulder Canyon. They weren’t quite home, but at least they could see the mountains now.
She followed Mitch’s transport van into Boulder, turning into the facility’s parking lot. Immediately, she could see where some of that money went. The grounds were immaculately landscaped, the building artfully designed.
She climbed out, grabbed Mitch’s stuff, and walked over to the van where the paramedics were unloading Mitch. She kissed his cheek, pointed. “See the mountains? We’re closer to home.”
His gaze fixed on the high peaks, and he drew a deep breath, the sight as stirring for him as it was for her. “Mmmow…”
“Mountains. You almost got it.”
While staff settled Mitch in his room, Megs spent the next hour filling out paperwork, getting a permit for her vehicle, meeting the medical staff who would care for Mitch, and listening to the director go over the rules. Megs would have to sign in and out any time she entered or left the facility. The front door would be locked at 10 p.m., after which no one would be admitted. Mitch would have meals with the other residents in the cafeteria, and Megs was welcome to join him. His treatment schedule would be available online and would also be posted inside his room.
Megs did her best to absorb all of this and carried a folder full of documents to Mitch’s room on the second floor. The place was plain with a few generic-looking prints on the walls, a TV, a chest of drawers, a few chairs, a nightstand, and a double bed. The bathroom was accessible with grab bars and a shower with a bench.
Mitch sat in his wheelchair in the middle of the room, looking lost.
“What do you think of your new digs?” Megs sat on a chair beside him. “This is the acute rehabilitation hospital. Now, you can finally focus on getting better. They said I can be with you during treatment. I can also stay overnight.”
Mitch tapped in a message on his tablet. “When do we go home?”
He’d been playing with the voices, and this one had an English accent.
“I liked the Aussie accent better.” She took his hand. “I don’t know when we’ll go home. This must be overwhelming, but this place can give you the kind of treatment you need to recover. The faster you recover, the sooner we’ll get to go back to Scarlet. I know you can do this, and I’ll help in every way I can.”
There came a knock at the door, and a young Latino stepped into the room. “Hey, Mr. Ahearn. I’m Rodrigo Pérez, a member of your physical therapy team. Are you ready to get to work?”
Mitch seemed to steel himself, his jaw set. “Yeah.”
Megs rested a hand on his shoulder. “That’s my man.”
Mitch stepped carefullyinto the shower, Megs beside him to hold him steady. He was mentally and physically exhausted from his first day at this new place. He accepted Megs’ help turning on the water.
“Is that too hot?”
“Nnno.”
Megs closed the shower curtain. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
He sat on the shower bench because of his balance and let the water sluice over his skin, the hot spray soothing muscles that were sore from…
He wasn’t sure why they were sore. From the accident that had landed him here? From his injuries? From today’s therapy?
“That weightless treadmill was interesting. They were all very impressed with your level of fitness.”
Mitch had already forgotten about that, but now that she mentioned it, he, too, had been impressed with the machine. They’d told him they would take that data to create therapies specific to his problems. But would any of it work? Or would he always be like this—dependent, unable to speak, fragile?
He took the soap and a washcloth and scrubbed his skin clean, finally able to get his incisions wet. He rinsed and then reached for the shampoo. Then he remembered he didn’t have hair yet. He had asked Megs to buzz off the long parts to make it the same length as the area around the incision. He stuck his head beneath the spray for a rinse and tried to figure out how to turn off the water.
“Do you need help?”
“Nnno.” By the time he was dried off and in a pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, he was both exhausted—and too keyed up to sleep.
Megs helped him get settled in bed, arranging the pillows so that they supported his neck and arm on the side with the fractured clavicle. A nurse came for vitals and to dispense meds. Then Megs dimmed the lights and sat in the chair beside him.
She picked up the Walt Whitman book he’d given her so many years ago.
“Nno.” He pointed to his journal.
She set Walt aside, picked up the heavy, leather-bound tome, and went to the bookmark. “We left off with Everest. After that, there were more Himalayan climbs—Cho Oyu, Shishapangma, Lhotse, Makalu, Nanga Parbat, Annapurna, and the others. I don’t feel like reading about K2, if that’s okay with you.”
“Yeah.” Mitch was fine with that.
K2 had been sheer physical misery. He’d always told those who asked that the Savage Mountain, as K2 was known, hadn’t killed them because they were too damned stupid and stubborn to die.
Having summitted all the world’s highest peaks, Dean had left professional climbing after K2. A short time later, he met and married Beth. They had settled in Ridgeway, Colorado, on a small ranch, while Mitch and Megs entered the world of competitive sports climbing. They’d won the men’s and women’s world championships in their first year, setting money aside for when they could no longer climb.
She turned the pages, and something fell out and onto the floor. She bent down, picked it up, unfolded it, and laughed. “Oh, my God! You kept a copy—the infamous nude cover. I want to read that. Is that okay with you?”
Mitch smiled, nodded.
“I need to get a drink of water. Do you need water?” She checked his plastic pitcher and carried it out into the hallway.
She’d been so patient with him, so thoughtful. Though he remembered very little, he knew she’d been beside him through this entire ordeal. He also knew that, in some ways, this had been more difficult for her than for him. He didn’t remember the accident that had put him here, but she did. He knew that, whatever had happened, she’d been the one to pull him through. He could see the ordeal written in her eyes every time she looked at him.
She returned quickly, set his pitcher on his bedside table, and sat in her chair, water bottle on the table beside her. “I remember when François called and told us that Sports magazine wanted us for an interview and cover shoot. You asked what they had in mind. We both thought they’d want photos of us climbing. François said they wanted us to be completely nude. You were hesitant, but I was all for it.”
If he’d been able to, Mitch would have told Megs that he hadn’t been surprised at her reaction. She’d always been willing to throw caution to the wind, especially if there was any chance of upsetting gender stereotypes or pissing off society’s prudes.
“When the magazine hit the shelves, the press went crazy. I guess you could say the cover went viral, though the phrase didn’t exist back then. People’s big objection wasn’t that we were naked, but that your hands were touching my breasts.”
Megs took a drink and began to read.