Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
“Hey,” Kimmie says then, pulling my attention away from myself and pausing her little wave as she’s heading out the door. “I almost forgot, but I was hoping you could also find some time to go sit with Molly for a little bit.”
I frown. Molly’s another patient on my floor, dealing with a thigh-down amputation of her leg because of bone cancer. She’s only in middle school, and her mom and dad both work two jobs to keep them afloat. As a result, she spends a lot of time alone.
“Why? What’s up?”
Kimmie shrugs. “She’s having a hard day. I think a visitor would help.”
I nod gratefully. Ever since Wren suggested it, I’ve spent a lot of time cruising through some of the other rooms on the floor and chatting with other patients. Mostly, patients who are younger than me, and I have to admit, having a little company and some purpose has felt incredibly good. Empowering, even. “I’ll go down there now.”
Kimmie nods and winks, stepping out of the room and leaving me to do the transfer all on my own—a move I have very little doubt is intentional.
I roll my eyes at her and huff, but I also get down to business.
I reach out to grab my wheelchair where it’s folded up against the wall, open it up with both hands, lock the brakes like Pam often reminds me to do, and set it at just the right angle so I can transfer with ease.
With two strong hands, I lift myself up from the chair and into my wheelchair.
I’m honestly pleasantly surprised with myself at how good I’ve become at transfers. Ten days ago, I was still incredibly shaky, and Pam or a nurse had to help me.
But today, not only can I do all by myself, but it didn’t even feel like I had to use a lot of effort.
With a quick unlock of the brakes, I get my angle right and wheel out the door, into the hallway where there’s relatively little activity. The nurses are busy switching shifts, and most of the patients are eating their dinner, so I have the hall to myself as I roll my way down the floor, stopping only briefly to push open Molly’s cracked door and then cruise inside.
She’s got a tray of untouched food in front of her and a frown on her face, but at the sight of me, she actually lights up.
Unexpected warmth spreads throughout my entire belly. It feels really good to cause a smile.
“Hey, Scottie!” she says excitedly, pushing up in her bed and swinging her tray over to the side. I wheel over to the far side of her bed and lock my wheels, settling in for a chat.
“Hey, girl. What’s shakin’?”
She shakes her head, her jet-black bob swishing in the air, and jerks her chin at her absent leg. “Not much, you know?”
“Oh yeah. I know.” I snort and glance down at my legs. “This morning, I realized I forgot to put on underwear. Thankfully, I remembered pants.” I make a silly face at her. “Could you imagine if I would’ve had my butt cheeks out when Dr. Hurst came in to see me this morning?”
Molly howls with laughter. “He would have gone full tomato!”
I honestly don’t know what it is about Dr. Hurst, but the man has some crazy skin. It’s like any minor emotion—frustration, irritation, happiness, anger—makes the blood flow to his face like a faucet.
“So, it’s not just me, then?” I grin. “Dr. Hurst’s face gets really red sometimes, right?”
“So red!” Molly says through a giggle. “Like a lobster, Scottie. For reals.”
We both laugh at that, and I cheer a silent victory that I’ve managed to put so much joy on her face. “Has your mom been by today?”
“Yeah, this morning.” Molly nods. “I gave her the painting you and I did the other day since I didn’t have a card for Mother’s Day. Hope you don’t mind.”
I laugh. “If anyone should mind, it’s your mom. You and I aren’t the best artists.”
Molly snorts. “I know. She still loved it, though. Said she was gonna hang it in our kitchen right over the table.”
“An appropriate place for a painting of bacon and eggs,” I hum with satisfaction, and Molly shakes her head.
“I still can’t believe that’s what you wanted to paint.”
I shrug. “Listen, I had to give in to my cravings somehow, and I don’t think my stomach is ready for the real thing.” I jerk my chin toward her tray and then point at the banana on the right-hand side. “I am hungry, though. Mind if I have your banana?”
She shakes her head and hands it to me, and I peel it gratefully. “That chicken noodle soup is actually good, you know?”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Better than Campbell’s, in my opinion. Not quite as good as the kind at my college, but pretty good. Try it.”