History of the Trap Vol. 2 - Chapter Three: A Week at the Farm Part 1

 

Chapter Three

A Week at the Farm

 

1

 

It took me two weeks to recover. To recover physically, that is. The damage to my mental well-being, the terrible inflictions to my soul, would take much longer.

The first week was at the high school’s makeshift hospital, carved out of about half of the library.  I lay in a cot, barely moving, bandaged in more places than I could count, the pain barely contained by aspirin.  Advanced pain medications that had been in the school nurse’s office had been quickly used up in the first month of the Trap, and although some medical supplies were found in the meandering basement, none of it was more potent than aspirin. In more severe injuries, morphine would be a substantial comfort, but alas, there was none to be found.

The most embarrassing part was having to use a bedpan the first few days. The most embarrassing part of the most embarrassing part was having to get help from a nurse. And the most infuriating part of that was the first nurse to try to help was Morgan LaDona Tigh.

At first, she was not in focus.  But I squinted hard, deblurred her, and immediately put up a fuss.  Well, as much fuss as I could.  “Get away!” I shouted.  Except it didn’t come out as a shout.  All my will could only manage a hoarse whisper.

“Don’t be such a child,” Morgan admonished.  “I’m a nurse.  This is my job.”

I shook my head and tried to pull away. That didn’t work out so well.  My body was just not listening to my brain.  I managed to use my elbows to push myself up an inch, at most.

“Trust me, you really want me to do this. You think this is humiliating?  Wait and see what happens if you wet the bed.”

I didn’t see anger in her face, like she wanted to hurt me further. I didn’t see guilt in her face, like she felt bad for being the spark that led to my pummeling. I saw cold professionalism that indeed said, I will do what it takes to care of you because that is what I do.

I didn’t care.  I didn’t want Morgan near me.

Unfortunately, that first day, I could not fight her off.

 

The next day, my voice was a little stronger.  “Keep away from me, you murderous witch.”

Instead of getting angry, she grimaced and shrugged her shoulders.  “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but yours will never heal without me.”

This time I was able to lift my arm enough to attempt to hold her away from me.  It was progress, but it was still too feeble to stop her.

 

The next day, I thought I could get out of bed and run from her.  I came close, but she was able to push me back. 

“I need to change out your bandages.  Hold still.”

I told her no, in language I won’t repeat here.

She laughed.  “You’re full of it if you think you can outswear me.  You’re a freaking do-gooder amateur when it comes to slinging the crap.” That is a less colorful version of what she actually said.

“Let me take care of him, Morgan.” 

It was Ginny Estill.  What was she doing here?

“He’s my patient,” insisted Morgan.

“He’s my friend,” Ginny said.  “I think he’ll be more cooperative for me.”

Morgan got right up to Ginny’s face.  As Ginny was slightly taller, she looked up a bit, but that didn’t stop Morgan from full-intimidation mode.  “Let me tell you, part-time newbie. I am the student nurse in charge, and I determine which nurses handle individual patients. This man is mine.  You can’t have him.”

Ginny put her hand on Morgan’s elbow.  “Look, I understand.  I don’t want to go to war over whose patient is whose.  But look at this.  You don’t want a battle between you and a patient, either. Don’t you think there’s been enough of that?  Don’t you think it would be best if we didn’t turn the hospital into a war zone too?”

Morgan paused.  She appeared to wage an internal debate.  Finally, she said, “Fine. You take care of that piece of…”

Ginny interrupted.  “Be happy to, Morgan.  I promise if I need you, I will let you know.”

 

Ginny took good care of me.  I tried to keep my old feelings for her under control.  She was still with Artie.

She had decided to spend a few days a week helping at the hospital.  She still helped Artie and his crew with the cleanup details, but she wanted a change of pace.  Did she want to spend less time with Artie? That didn’t seem to be the motive, as best I could tell. I think she had come to fill in for somebody else and found that she liked it.

In fact, on the fourth day, Artie came by to visit, and as they talked to me, Artie and Ginny had their arms around their waists. It was enough to make Morgan come over and tell Ginny she needed to focus on her other duties.  She didn’t need to linger and canoodle when there were other patients to help.

It was still embarrassing to have Ginny help me. It was hard to have someone you once had such a crush on seeing you so vulnerable.  Still, it was easier getting her help than Morgan’s.

Yes, I no longer had an all-consuming infatuation for Ginny.  But I still cherished her and her friendship.  I loved her then, and I will love her forever. That is one thing the Trap never changed.