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)
I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if it will lead anywhere. I don’t know if I’ll ever respond to her again. But I guess something is better than nothing.
I set my phone down on the table and stare out the window. The sun has already set, and the sky is starting to turn to night. Views of skyscrapers and light Wednesday evening traffic fill my view. When I see an American flag blowing with the wind, a little sigh of longing leaves my lungs.
I can’t remember the last time I was outside. I can’t remember the last time I actually felt the sun on my face or the wind in my hair.
My whole reality has been hospitals for the past several weeks. Even when I’m working with Pam, we always go to the PT room on the fourth floor.
I look down toward the ground and note the little outdoor courtyard that sits in the center of the hospital. It’s completely empty, and I decide that maybe, just maybe, I should try to go down there for a little bit.
Technically, I don’t have clearance from Dr. Hurst to leave the premises, but…I’d still be on the premises, right?
Feels like a good enough explanation to me. Plus, now that I’m wearing my own clothes and I’m no longer hooked up to IVs, the only identifying information is my bracelet, and that’s easily hidden beneath my long-sleeved T-shirt.
I grab my wheelchair from its spot on the wall, lock the wheels, and perform the transfer into my wheelchair like it’s part of my routine now. It’s not a struggle physically, mentally, or even emotionally—which is maybe the most shocking. It just is.
When I wheel past the floor-length mirror just outside my en suite bathroom, I realize I’m smiling. It’s a sight that’s becoming more and more frequent these days, and a surge of pride bolsters me as I wheel toward my door.
Slowly, I peer out toward the hallway and the nurses station. When I don’t see anyone in sight, I make a break for it. As quick as my hands will let me, I wheel down the hall and toward the bank of elevators.
Every few seconds, I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is there to try to stop me, and I’m relieved when I manage to reach the elevators without a single staff member noticing.
If Kimmie were on shift, she might be pissed if she found out I did this, but Amanda is my nurse again this evening. She’s sweeter than pie, and the most I’ll get is a disappointed look on her face if she ends up noticing my absence. The risk is most definitely worth the reward.
Once I’m on the elevator, I hit the button for the ground floor, and the cart whizzes to life. And when I reach the lobby level, I wheel over the threshold without much difficulty and head toward the hallway I’m pretty sure leads toward that courtyard.
I offer a confident smile to the woman working the main desk in the center of the lobby, my expression conveying, I’m just a random girl wheeling around. Nothing to see here.
The woman doesn’t think anything of my presence and goes back to looking at whatever is on her computer screen.
Phew.
When I reach the automatic doors, I stop in my tracks when I realize I’m not heading toward the courtyard. Instead, I’m heading straight out the main entrance of the hospital and right into the busy city.
Shit.
I almost turn around, but then I remember the lady at the desk, and since I don’t want to raise any red flags before I can feel the wind on my face, I keep heading straight, through the automatic doors and toward the sidewalk.
For a Wednesday evening, the sidewalks aren’t that busy, but anxiety has my heart racing at record speeds. I’ve never had to maneuver through pedestrian traffic like this. Hell, I’ve never even navigated anything but smooth hospital floors.
The concrete makes the wheels of my chair vibrate, and I force myself to breathe through the stress. This is no big deal. You can do this. And more than that, you can enjoy it.
Anxiety and fear of the unknown try to wreak havoc on my mind, but I keep reminding myself that I am capable of doing hard things. It’s what Pam always tells me during our therapy sessions. I can do hard things.
I’m a half a block from the hospital entrance at this point, and when I reach a crosswalk, I let myself stop for a long moment, out of the way of foot traffic, just to take it all in. Spring is in the air, and the breeze is lukewarm against my face. Trees and flowers are blooming from planters on the sidewalks. And there’re a lot of people already enjoying outdoor dining at restaurants.