For all their efforts to put us at ease, I realized I had tensed up from the moment I saw them. I had to own up to a fear of seeing Ben awake and in this altered state, of reacting in the wrong way, of doing or saying something that would hurt him. What if Ellen Raice had been the smartest one of us all?
Dr. Riley laid out a set of statistics in what was obviously a speech he had given to other patients’ family and friends on other occasions. Most of them went right past me. “It has been estimated that every week, about three thousand people in this country undergo an amputation,” he was saying now. “But as high as that number is, awareness about limb loss is shamefully low. As far as Ben Sheridan is concerned, of course, there’s only been one such surgery. And he’s right, because each case is unique.”
After a pause, he said, “Let’s just talk about Ben’s case.”
He started by listing the things Ben had going for him. Ben was young, healthy, and intelligent. He had knowledge of anatomy — even of amputation. He was in experienced hands, at a hospital that had an excellent record of success with cases like Ben’s. “And because he works for the college, he has good insurance coverage — insurance coverage, I am sorry to say, makes a great deal of difference in what we can do in terms of prosthetics, physical therapy, and other aspects of post-operative care and rehabilitation. Ben is already benefiting from that, because we were able to immediately fit him with a prosthesis.”
“Immediately?” Jack asked. Not wanting to get the nurse who had let me see Ben in trouble, I kept my mouth shut.
“Yes. As soon as the sutures were closed, a prosthetist was able to fit him with the first one he’ll wear.”
“Psychologically,” Jo Robinson said, “this approach makes some difference. He awakened from surgery and saw two feet at the end of the bed; even though he knows one is a prosthesis, he has a chance to make a more gradual adjustment to the change in his body image. And later, it will help him to develop his walking pattern.”
“So he will be able to walk again?” I asked.
Dr. Riley looked at me and smiled. “Ms. Kelly, with this type of amputation and the prosthesis we have in mind, he should be able to run, jump, swim, ride a bicycle, play soccer — you name it. So, barring any unforeseen complications, there are few if any activities Ben was doing before the surgery that he won’t be able to do again.”
I thought of Ben’s work and had my doubts. “Hiking over uneven ground?”
“An amputee recently climbed Mount Everest,” Dr. Riley said. “If Ben puts his mind to returning to an activity, or taking on new ones, I wouldn’t bet against him. I’m not saying he will be able to achieve all of this immediately — he has to heal from the surgery, and adjust to this change in his body. There will be pain, and a period of adapting to the use of the prosthesis. I don’t want you to think I am minimizing any of that. I’ll leave the rest to Jo, but as I say, if any of you have questions later, feel free to contact me.”
“Perhaps it would be best if we went in to see Ben before he falls asleep again,” Jo said as Dr. Riley left. “Then we can talk later, if you’d like.”
I picked up the stack of blue books and we followed her down the hall.
He had dozed off, but as we came in, he awakened, and mustered a smile for us. “I see you found Nellie Bly and Company for me,” he said to Jo.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“I’m so loaded up with morphine, I’m not feeling much,” he said drowsily. “How about you? You weren’t looking so good yesterday.”
“I’m okay now.”
“Frank and Jack — I didn’t get a chance to properly thank you.”
They both disclaimed any need for thanks.
“How’s Bingle?” Ben asked.
I started to give a cheery little answer, then changed my mind. “To be honest, I think he’s depressed. Jack got in touch with the man who’s keeping Bool, and we thought a visit might perk him up a little, but then we were afraid that if they were separated again, it would be hard on him. The man who’s keeping Bool doesn’t mind having another bloodhound around, but he thinks Bingle is . . .”
“Obstreperous?”
I nodded. “His exact word for it, in fact.”
“Yes, that handler’s favorite word for Bingle.”
“But Bingle’s not ill-mannered! He’s just — spirited.”
Jack laughed. “Ben, he’s got Frank and Irene’s dogs bowing and scraping to him.”
“I’ll bet he does.”
“The cat hasn’t been converted yet,” Frank said. “I’m afraid Bingle was a little taken aback at Cody’s unwillingness to be chased.”
“Good for Cody,” Ben said. He smiled, but he seemed to be wearing down. “Irene, you’ve done so much for me already, but—”
“Name it.”
“I rode with David to the airport; my car is still in the driveway — an old Jeep Cherokee. Under the left rear bumper, there’s a spare house key in a magnetic holder.”
Frank rolled his eyes at this; since he had made me take a similar key holder off my own car, I knew he thought of them as one of those “first things a thief will look for” items. I was grateful that he didn’t say anything to Ben.
“If you would please use it to go into David’s house,” Ben went on, “there are some of Bingle’s toys in the garage. David keeps — David kept a separate little toy chest for each dog — not that he spoiled them, you understand. You’ll also see a cabinet with his food in it, and instructions for feeding him — David put them there for me.”
“Anything else you need? Can I get anything for you?”
“Maybe later.” He hesitated, then added, “For now” — he gestured toward the prosthesis — “they’re waiting on me hand and foot.”
Frank, Jack, and Jo Robinson groaned.
“Hey,” Ben said, “it wasn’t so bad, considering it was my first post-op amputee joke.”
We were halfway down the hall when I realized I still had the bluebooks in hand. “I’ll be right back,” I said.
Just as I walked back into his room, I heard Ben moan. It wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t — as I briefly suspected — because I had returned. When he realized I was in the room, he looked embarrassed.
“Not enough morphine after all?”
“I thought I was alone,” he snapped.
“Ah, now there’s the Ben Sheridan I’ve come to know and love. I think I would have left here wondering what they had done with him.”
To my shock, he began crying.
“Ben . . .”
“I don’t know what the fuck they did with him either,” he said, wiping at his face. He drew in a halting breath and said, “Shit. Ignore this little display, please. It must be the drugs.”
“Or maybe it’s that part of your body has been taken from you.”
“Not now, okay?” he said angrily. “Christ. Not now.”
“Okay.” It wasn’t hard to capitulate.
“Why did you come back?”
“Ellen Raice.”
That brought him back under control. “What?”
“She came by. I won’t even try to repeat everything she said.”
“She told you to, you know — say ‘get well soon,’ ” he said, imitating her voice and mannerisms perfectly. It made me laugh. He smiled and said, “Not very kind of me, was that?”
“No, but that’s the great thing, Ben, you don’t have to pretend to be kind around me. I know you’re an asshole, remember?”
“Too true, I’m afraid. Now I just realized.what you have there. She brought the damned final essays in, didn’t she?”
“Well,” I said, not able to resist, “as she put it, it’s something you can do without a foot.”
His jaw dropped, then he gave a shout of laughter. “I wish I thought you were making that up.”
I shook my head. “Shall I take them back to the college for you?”
He hesitated, then said, “Oh, what the hell. She’s right. Maybe I’ll actually be able to bear reading them. I’ll end up devising excuses to be loaded up with morphine at the end of every semester.”