Page 81 of Brain Damage

Valerie flips up my gown, revealing the blue plastic briefs underneath, secured in place with four pieces of tape. I can’t even look at Clark. And just when I feel like I couldn’t possibly feel any more humiliated, I hear Valerie announce, “This is wet. She needs to be changed.”

Clark, who has apparently been playing Angry Birds on his phone this whole time or I don’t know what, gasps, “She’s wearing a diaper?”

Valerie frowns at him. “We prefer not to use that word. She’s not an infant.”

“But that’s what it is…” Clark shakes his head. “She really needs that?”

“Obviously,” Valerie replies impatiently. She clucks her tongue at me. “Charly, didn’t you realize you were wet?”

“No, I didn’t,” I mumble. I wish I could crawl under the bed and just disappear. Why can’t Clark just accept this and move on? Besides, if he’s around me all the time to help me to the bathroom, I might not need the briefs when I get home.

Thankfully, Valerie changes me herself before instructing Clark on how to put on my pants. Sweatpants, that is. I wonder if I’ll ever wear anything besides sweatpants. Maybe shorts. Maybe a skirt. Anything would be better than sweatpants. I really hate sweatpants.

Valerie helps me sit up on the bed. Since I’m already wearing my helmet, she’s selected a zippered hoodie sweatshirt for me to wear. I can get my right arm through the sleeve easily, but the left is tricky. Valerie lets Clark struggle with it a bit, and I can hear him grunting on my left side.

“God, this arm is impossible,” he mutters. “How do you do this every morning?”

“You get used to it,” Valerie says.

“Couldn’t we just leave her in the gown?”

“Sure,” Valerie replied. “I mean, why bother ever changing her clothes at all? It’s not like she’s going anywhere important.”

“Exactly,” Clark says.

Even I realized she was being sarcastic that time. I’m pretty sure Clark completely missed it though.

Clark manages to get my arm through the sleeve, but he seems very put out by the whole thing. Honestly, I’m beginning to worry that Clark had no idea what he volunteered himself for.

I feel like he’s one more revelation away from throwing up his hands and walking away forever.

57

In the afternoon, I have physical therapy with Natalie, and Clark sits in for that session as well. Lately, during our one-on-one sessions, Natalie and I have spent more time working on wheelchair mobility rather than walking, since I get to do walking during my group, and anyway, she’s told me repeatedly that I’m mostly going to be using the wheelchair when I get home. But today, Natalie gets me up with my hemi-walker and starts walking me across the hallway.

“She’s been doing much better with walking,” Natalie tells Clark, after I’ve done about ten steps, with Natalie supporting me on my left side and holding me up by the waistband of my pants. I feel like I can’t control my left leg, but a lot of the times it just moves forward on its own volition. It’s sort of weird. Other times, it doesn’t budge, and Natalie has to nudge it forward.

“Yes, she’s doing great,” Clark says in this overly enthusiastic voice. The kind of voice you’d use to tell a five-year-old that their fingerpainting was a masterpiece.

After another ten steps, Natalie and I are both exhausted, so she asks Clark to fetch my chair, and I collapse into it.

“Obviously, she’s going to mostly be using the wheelchair,” Natalie says. “But this is great exercise.”

Clark nods. “Sure…”

“Unfortunately,” Natalie says, “her insurance will only pay for a wheelchair or a walker, not both. So we’ll get the wheelchair paid for, and you’ll have to pay for the walker out of pocket.”

Clark frowns. “Why do we have to buy a walker at all?”

“I just explained to you…”

“Yeah, for exercise, right.” Clark shakes his head. “So let me get this straight. I’m going to be getting her out of bed in the morning, bathing her, dressing her, helping her to the bathroom, making her food, giving her medication. And on top of that, you expect me to try to basically drag her across the room so she gets some ‘exercise’?”

Natalie’s lips form a straight line. “Exercise is incredibly important. For her bones, her general health⁠—”

“Her general health?” Clark raises his eyebrows. “I think it’s a little bit late to be worrying about that, don’t you think? I mean, look at her.”

I hate the way he’s talking about me like I can’t understand him, like I’m not sitting right here. I want to tell him that he’s being a jerk, but the truth is, he has a good point. He is going to be doing a lot for me. And he’s right that it does seem like a waste of time to be focusing on walking when it’s not something I’m going to be doing a lot of.