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“What does that mean for my timetable?”
He looks thoughtful. “We’ll remove the fixators tomorrow morning. It’s a relatively simple procedure done under sedation. You’ll rest tomorrow, then we’ll get you back to PT and OT the next day. My guess is we’ll be discharging you in a couple of weeks.” He pulls out his phone, checking his calendar. “How does two weeks from Sunday sound?”
Mark’s beam is contagious. “It sounds amazing!”
Dr. Paxton laughs. “Yes, it does. You’ve come a long way. I’m proud of you.”
He’s barely out the door when Mark grabs my waist. “Two weeks,” he says, his eyes alight as he pulls me against him. “I can’t believe I’m getting out of here!”
I laugh at his excitement. “Did you think they were going to keep you here forever?”
“It was starting to feel like it.” He scrubs his hand along his stubbled jaw. “We should celebrate.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to play hooky,” he says with a rueful grin, “but I guess I need to work my ass off in PT to make sure I’m ready.”
“I’ll pick up lunch and we can watch a movie,” I promise. “Anything you want.”
“I can’t believe I’m getting out,” he says, still dazed.
“Not just getting out. Going home.”
“Home.” He says the word, testing it. “I can’t remember what that even feels like.” Mark’s home for the last fifteen years has been the Army. Before that, he lived with me.
“My house is just like the military, except I’m not a drill sergeant, you can sleep as late as you want, and the food is marginally better,” I tease. “Now decide what you want for lunch and I’ll have it waiting when you get back.”
Home. The end of this nightmare is finally in sight.
MARK
I show up for my session with Dr. Friedman fifteen minutes early. I’m as surprised to see Dr. Paxton leaving the inner office as he is to see me waiting.
“Captain,” he greets me. “You’re here early.”
“Yes, sir,” I nod. “I have things I need to sort through.”
He smiles. “Ted’s excellent at that. The more open you are, the more he can help.”
I wait for a few minutes in the outer office before Dr. Friedman ushers me into his inner sanctum. Instead of flopping on his nondescript beige couch to glare at the ceiling the way I used to, I sit in one of the two wing chairs, propping my leg on an ottoman. Dr. Friedman smiles, his steel-blue eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. His gray hair is rumpled, like he’s been rubbing his hand through it. “Good morning, Mark. Tell me how things are going.”
It’s a good session. Ever since my blowup, I’m fully engaged in the emotional healing process. I’ve already read two of the books Dr. Friedman recommended. One is about neuroplasticity – essentially, rewiring your brain’s automatic responses. It’s like forging a new path through the woods – the more you use that path, the smoother the trail becomes. In the same way, the more you choose a new thought process or behavior, the more your brain gravitates toward it. The goal is to help me build in a delayed response. I can think logically and respond appropriately when I’m calm. When I’m not, I need to delay my emotional reaction long enough to allow reason to guide my response. The silver lining to my brain injury is that because it’s actively healing, my brain is primed to more easily rewire itself.
The second book he recommended discusses the power of the mind. I was skeptical, but the more I read, the more surprised I was by the mountain of scientific evidence. Studies have consistently shown that catchy phrase, “What you think about, you bring about,” is actually true. The book begins by describing the placebo effect. I’d heard stories of someone taking a sugar pill for a headache, thinking it’s something stronger, and their headache disappearing. I’d always assumed they must not have had much of a headache to begin with. In actuality, their belief that the pill will work allows the brain to circumvent the pain path created by the headache. The brain is hardwired to avoid pain, and when offered another option, it often opts for an alternative path.
Far more astonishing is something called the “nocebo” effect, a term I was unfamiliar with. Basically, it’s the opposite of the placebo effect. In this case, your mind creates a negative self-fulfilling prophecy. A conviction that you can’t do something leads the subconscious mind to direct the body to succumb. One particular study followed an Olympic-level athlete with a spinal injury. He’d never be a competitor again, but his arms and legs were fully functional. Depression from the loss of his athleticism had him convinced he’d never walk again, and no medical expert could persuade him otherwise. He ended up confined to a wheelchair as his body responded to his beliefs. The book cited dozens of similar examples and studies to support the power of one’s thoughts.
Obviously, placebo and nocebo effects don’t occur one hundred percent of the time, but then again, neither does anything else. Reading these books has me carefully considering the weight of my own thoughts.
When my time comes to a close, Dr. Friedman stops me when I start to stand. “Before you leave, we need to discuss one other thing.”
“Sure,” I say, easing back into the chair.
“You said sometimes you wish you’d died in the Sandbox. Is that accurate? Do you truly wish you were dead?”
I hesitate. “Not if I’m thinking clearly. Charlie’s lost so much already, and I think it would break her. I’m all she has left, and she’s all I have. I owe it to her not to give up.” I swallow before admitting the truth. “But when the phantom pains are ripping me apart, and I think about facing life without my leg, without my career, without my identity, without a plan, without anything… sometimes I think it would have been a lot easier.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Yes. It would have been easier to die in the desert. It would have been easier than facing surgery after surgery, month after month in the hospital. It would have been easier than having your fiancée dump you when she found out you’d lost your legs.”
