Forever: A Lobster Kind Of Love Read online

  Comfortable silence filled the remainder of the ride and eventually Winston dozed on the bench seat with my file on his lap.

  As we entered New York City, I watched the skyscrapers from my mobile bed and saw swarms of taxis out the back door windows of the ambulance. There were yellow and black taxis darting back and forth, as they weaved their way through traffic. It was scary because it felt like there were coming right toward the ambulance. After a few minutes, it became this beautiful dance, like bumblebees. It was a crazy but well-orchestrated dance of yellow cabs buzzing around the array of colorful vehicles, red Smart cars, blue Hondas, plush green minivans, sleek black Town Cars, and an occasional Volkswagen bug.

  Eventually, we made our way over the Brooklyn Bridge. Even a small town fisherman like me knew about the Brooklyn Bridge. With its stone columns looming overhead, I watched the skyscrapers of Manhattan grow smaller and smaller as we entered Brooklyn.

  A long drive through two brick posts led us onto a green campus adjacent to a cemetery. It was beautiful, but next to a cemetery? I could see the elaborate headstones and monuments adorning well-manicured rows of the deceased with a small grouping of mausoleums atop a hill in the middle of the grounds. How morbid. If rehab didn’t go well, they didn’t have far to take you. A chill ran down my spine as David pulled open the rear doors and announced, “Welcome to Woodhaven Rehab.”

  Lydia

  It was June, and I’d made the choice to leave Nazareth and had accepted a job transfer to Eastport, Maine. It was an easy transition since I was a nurse; I had my license transferred through reciprocity to Maine. My Pennsylvania office transferred my work history, and with a few phone calls, a new job awaited me in Maine. Now I just needed to get there.

  I also needed to find a place to live. Mason, Braxton, and I had gone on vacation to Eastport about two years ago. I fell in love with the quaint little town; it was like going back in time. I contacted Al, the owner of the Rose Garden, to ask if he knew of anyone renting apartments. He happened to find me a furnished one-bedroom apartment just outside of town center.

  Tonya and Jill, my best friends, have been my rocks. We have known each other since the first day of kindergarten and have been inseparable ever since. They held me, let me cry on their shoulders, came to my house in the middle of the night, and sat with me when I needed them, especially after my nightmares kept me from getting any sleep.

  Now, they were both by my side as we packed my house. They helped me sort through stuff, helped me with my breakdowns, and fed me alcohol while we packed.

  I knew I needed to stop drinking. I was packing up the only life I had ever known and donating what I couldn’t fit into my SUV to charity and that included all of the furniture. How sad that a three bedroom house filled with memories, had been reduced to a packed SUV.

  As Tonya placed the last box in my vehicle, she looked at me with tears in her eyes. “Lydia, I just want you to laugh again, smile and be ‘Happy Lydia’! I hope this move helps you because I need you back. I miss your smile!”

  I cried as I stood there. I hugged each of my girls and thanked them for their help. What would I do without these women?

  I would be alone in Maine. I knew they were just a phone call away, and they had promised they would visit me soon. I just needed some time. I needed to find me again.

  After Jill and Tonya left, I felt my reality setting in. I handed my landlord my keys and sat behind the wheel of my car. Yes, I would get through this; I just needed to be strong. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Pop a Xanax; I was really doing this.

  It was time to drive to the most isolated town I could think of— where no one knew my story. I didn’t want people looking at me with sad eyes. I didn’t want people pitying me. I needed some solitude; I needed to hear me again. I didn’t want to be the widow, but I was no longer the wife, either. I would always be my son’s mother, just not in my new life in Maine. I needed to find my new role, a new me.

  Here I come, Eastport, Maine. With a population of 1,500, Eastport was a proclaimed lobster-fishing town and it would be a 653-mile road trip.

  I could do this.

  I clutched my necklace and knew they were watching from above. Setting my GPS, I pulled out of the driveway and blasted my Roadtrip music playlist. I was ready to find life again and hopefully a brand new beginning for me. I wanted to be just Lydia again. It was time to breathe and be whole again.

  Ryan

  The first few weeks of rehab mimicked the last few weeks in the hospital, minus all the machines. Regardless of what tests the hospital performed, Woodhaven Rehab did them again. I was considered medically stable so I was not hooked up to any machines or monitors. The first few days they kept the IV lock in my arm to perform the kidney function tests. They finally removed it, but I wouldn’t be happy until they removed the catheter out of my dick.

  That shit was uncomfortable, and the nurse was less than gentle when she changed it for new one. Just because I couldn’t walk didn’t mean I couldn’t feel her manhandling my junk. She looks angry and pissed off all the time. Until I got the hang of my wheelchair, they were leaving it in. I supposed it was better than having a wet bed.

  Nurse AnnMarie wore her chestnut hair in a tight bun, and while she didn’t wear any makeup that I could see, her eyebrows were so perfectly groomed, they almost looked fake. I wondered what she would look like with her hair let out of its bondage and if she smiled for a change. Some dude had probably dumped her or pissed her off royally and now my poor dick had to suffer the consequences.

  “Hey AnnMarie, it’s Friday. What are you doing this weekend besides yanking on my dick?”

  Her head snapped up from her clipboard and her eyes narrowed at me. Yup, just another pissed off female.

  “I’m here all weekend. Why, do you miss me over the weekends? I can always send Rodney to change your catheter, if you prefer?”

  Touché. Well played.

  “Nah. I’m good. Dude has more calluses on his hands than I do. If I wanted it rough, I would just ask you to line your gloves with sandpaper.”

  I thought maybe I might have seen a crackle of a smile, but the overhead PA system beckoned her to the nursing station and the scowl returned.

  Once again, I was alone.

  The weekend was here and that meant it was candy striper time. All these volunteers came every weekend to try to cheer everyone up. There were no scheduled therapy sessions on the weekend, so everyone was usually laid up, or sat around. It all depended on their dysfunction.

  The weekend nurses were less interactive than the weekday staff. Don’t blame us; we didn’t fuck up your weekend plans. I wished they wouldn’t get all pissy. I didn’t ask to be in this chair either. We were both here against our wishes.

  Saturday morning, I rolled out into the community room and saw a group of new people in wheelchairs. They were not patients though because they were just sitting in the wheelchairs and stood up to roll other patients to join them. They all wore neon tank tops with an Alpha logo on them. One of these bright volunteers, a short curly headed brunette, rolled the captive audience to the center of the room. I don’t know why she was bothering to roll Murphy anywhere.

  All Murphy did was tap and drool. I’m not even sure he knew what he was tapping. Pedro, my roommate, told me Murphy was a veteran and had been injured in Iraq. At first, I thought it was some kind of Morse code and even tried recording the tapping, trying to see what it might have revealed. While it might mean something to Murphy, it didn’t equate to anything I could decipher. Just tapping.

  Pedro was a vet, too. He lost a leg in Iraq. Pedro and Murphy were just two living reminders that war was real and there were horrible consequences. He rolled up beside me, startling me, because I hadn’t expected to see him in a chair. He was a walker.

  “Hey man, you coming?” Pedro knew the ropes. He’d been here over a year in recovery. He should be close to getting out of here actually, but today he was in a wheelchair.

  “What�
�s going on over there?” I asked Pedro.

  “It’s Alpha Boot Camp,” he replied.

  “What the hell is Alpha Boot Camp?”

  “It’s a community group that comes in the first Saturday of the month and works out with us.”

  “What’s with the chair, Pedro?” I asked and pointed to the unit’s transport wheelchair.

  “Eh, my leg is bothering me a bit. I kind of rubbed it the wrong way in the prosthetic. They still want me to wear it, but I need to rest it. I can’t sit still so I stole a chair. BOOM! Everyone is happy.” Pedro was always so upbeat.

  People say in the face of death, they have revelations, epiphanies, or awakenings. That didn’t happen to me. The last thing I remembered was trying to tie down our traps on deck, and next thing I knew it was three weeks later. I still didn’t remember much in between, just bits and pieces and mostly loud noise.

  “Ryan, you coming?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I followed Pedro into the growing semi-circle of wheelchair occupants for Alpha Boot Camp.

  For the next hour, the perky curly haired brunette, Carla, and her band of merry men and women, bounced around and worked out. In between each workout, sets of pushups and crunches, they would stop and do a set of dips and seated crunches in a wheelchair. I didn’t understand why these perfectly healthy “normal” people were hanging out at rehab early on a Saturday morning, working out with a bunch of cripples?

  I had to admit, it wasn’t easy. All it consisted of was little hand weights and sitting in my chair doing dips and such, but for the first time, I felt I’d earned my afternoon nap. I had always kept in shape, just not in a gym.

  Working on a lobster boat for most my life kept me in shape. Slinging traps was no easy business. Since rehab, I napped out of sheer boredom.

  Now, my arms burned, my stomach ached, and I was very sweaty. Hopefully, I’d be able to bribe AnnMarie into giving me a shower since she was here this weekend. Maybe if I was lucky she’d give me a sponge bath.

  I nodded to the orderly Rodney on my way back to my room. The burly nurse lifted me out of my chair and gently placed me in bed on top of the covers.

  “Thanks, Rodney.” I didn’t want to get too comfortable if a shower was in my future.

  “No problem, Ryan. Need anything else?”

  “Nah, man, I’m good. Can you ask AnnMarie to stop by? I would like to grab a shower.”

  “No problem, I will let her know.”

  “Thanks, Rodney. I’m just going to relax for now.” Rodney seemed to have a soft heart. He spoke about his wife and his little girl often, but I didn’t want him lathering up my ass. He had a picture of his little girl on the flipside of his ID sleeve that hung around his neck. Feeling comfortable in my bed, I began to drift. That is until I heard a female voice.

  “Hey, Casanova,” I pried my eyelids open and there was AnnMarie holding a basin and a loofah. “Good afternoon, sleeping beauty.”

  “Hey AnnMarie, what time is it?”

  “It’s after 3:00, Ryan.”

  I rubbed my eyes trying to fully wake up. “Wow, I must have dozed off.”

  “Well, honeymoon is over. I heard you wanted a shower.”

  “Yeah, I worked out with those Alpha people. I got all sweaty.” AnnMarie smirked, so you knew a cheeky comment was coming next.

  “Rodney has been here all day. He could have given you a shower.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather you wash my backside.” I winked at her.

  She lifted a brow. “Well, since you didn’t want the readily available help, you’re going to earn your supper.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You are not going to be here forever, Ryan. It’s a good thing you worked out with the Alphas today. You’re going to need those exercises, especially when you go home. Just like you are going to need to be able to shower independently. So, it’s time for you to start washing yourself. No more bed baths.”

  “I can’t stand in the shower. How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Ryan, seriously, you know how many handicapped and disabled people there are in the world living independently? They all manage to shower. The first step is teaching you how to transfer. So, let’s get Rodney in here.”

  “Whoa, come on AnnMarie, you said you would give me a shower.”

  “I am going to help you take a shower, but first Rodney is going put you in your chair. Relax, your butt is safe.” I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cringe at her comment.

  Rodney came in and lifted me like I was a feather and gently placed me in my chair. He patted me on the shoulder and wished me luck, then went back to whatever he was doing.

  “Okay Ryan, let’s go to the shower room.”

  “Oooh, you getting naked, too, AnnMarie?” I wiggled my eyebrows at her.

  “Nice try, hot shot. Let’s see if you still got jokes in a few.”

  The shower room was down the hall and basically a big room that was tiled ceiling to floor with big showerheads on the wall and shower massagers on sliding poles. A plastic bench with a back on it and a handle on one side sat next to the wall.

  AnnMarie walked to the far wall and put on a raincoat and rain pants, slipped out of her crocs, and put on a pair of flip-flops.

  “Planning on getting wet? That gives a whole new meaning to wearing a raincoat for me.”

  “Well, someone has to make sure you don’t end up on the floor. Come on, hot shot. Remove the armrest from your chair, let’s get this shower started.” I removed my right side armrest and handed it to her. I was still fully clothed, so I was not sure how this all was going to work.

  “Okay, now this floor is sand tile. It’s rough. You can’t feel it, but it will grip your shoes and your feet. First, you are going to transfer with me. This method is so the nurses can help you until you can help yourself independently. We are going to dance.”

  “I’m a fisherman, not a dancer, so, you are going to have to lead.”

  “First, I’m going to put your feet on the ground and go toe to toe. Then, you are going to give me a hug, and I will lift you up to standing. Then, we will swivel into the bathing bench, like a slow dance. Got it?”

  We went through the motions, and it seemed easy enough, but I could see how some of the weaker or smaller nurses might have a hard time lifting me.

  “Once you are on the bench, then you take off your clothes. It’s always easier to grab onto something like clothing than just skin. Okay, let’s get you back into your chair.”

  Puzzled, I asked, “But I haven’t gotten a shower yet?”

  “I told you that you were going to earn your supper. We have two more transfers to practice and then you can have your shower.” The next two transfers were harder, both on her and on me. The first had me sliding from my chair to an even parallel bench using the pad that lines my chair. The last transfer, I had to slide myself over using the drain holes in the bench and the armrest to pull my dead weight across the bench. By the time I was fully seated again, I was exhausted.

  “Good job, Ryan. Now you can get undressed.”

  “Wait, aren’t you going to help me?”

  “Ryan, you are a grown man, who I am sure has been dressing himself a long time. I want you to think how are you going to get undressed.”

  Annoyed, I quipped back at her, “I thought there weren’t any therapy sessions on the weekends?”

  “Who said anything about therapy? You are taking a shower. Time’s a wasting, Ryan. It’s Chicken Parmesan and Baked Potato night. You don’t want to be late for that!” I pulled my shirt over my head and threw it at her. Then, I tried to figure out how I was going to get my pants off.

  “Just wiggle them down, little by little and rock back and forth. That bath bench is weighted. It’s not going anywhere. Use the handle and the armrest to hold on. One hip at a time.”

  Good thing these were just sweatpants and stretchy. It would’ve been a bitch to get out of jeans. I managed to rock back and for
th and removed my sweats and boxers down from my waist and past my hips. Now they were sitting at my knees in a bunch. I realized I still had my sneakers on. Fuck me.

  “I will help you the rest of the way. Not bad for a first shower. Let me grab your shoes and pull these off.”

  AnnMarie untied and removed my sneakers, socks, and finished yanking off my pants and boxers. It wasn’t the first time, and probably wouldn’t be the last, that she had seen me naked.

  She reached over turned on the water and let it run while she grabbed my toiletry basket and handed me my loofah. She squirted some body wash onto it and let me wash myself. The hot spray felt good against my skin as I slid the shower massager down the rail and pointed it in my direction. This was the first actual shower I’d had in months, and it was divine. I almost felt human again.

  “Is there a razor in there that I can use, AnnMarie?” I really wanted to shave. I usually only grew a beard while out at sea. It kept the wind and salt off my skin while fishing, but now it was just annoying and as long as I was in here, I wanted to shave.

  “Sure, are you a shaving cream or soap kind of guy?” She asked as she fished around for a fresh blade to attach to the handle.

  “Cream if you have some.” Beggars couldn’t be choosy. One way or the other, I was getting a shave today. There was a mirror on a flexible and extendable arm connected to the wall. Whoever designed this place knew what they were doing. I lathered up my face and got to shaving. I swiveled the mirror to get to the hard to see and reach spots, and in no time, I was fresh faced once again.

  “You look like a new man, Ryan.” AnnMarie said enthusiastically.

  “Thank you. I have been known to clean up nicely. But now that the water is off, I’m catching a little draft. So, how does this work getting clothes back on?”

  AnnMarie handed me a towel to dry off with. I dried my body, the bench around me, and then tossed the towel on the floor. She rolled up a fresh dry towel and then told me to lean over to one side, the same way I’d wiggled out of my clothes. She tucked half the rolled towel under my butt. I shifted to the other side, and she rolled out the bundle, so the dry towel was now draped over the bench underneath me.