Page 12 of Pieces Into Place

“Then I guess we are done,” I tell her, the finality of things sitting on my chest like a heavy anchor.

“What about Annie?” she sniffles.

“She can stay with me tonight. I’m heading home tomorrow. I still don’t know when I’ll be able to go back to work.” I don’t bother telling her anything about Smitty. She’s no longer part of my life. She excised herself out of my heart with a dull, rusty knife.

She nods in understanding. “I am sorry, Kane.”

“Goodbye, Kathrin,” I reply. She gets up and hugs the dog, planted firmly at my side, and then turns to look at me. I make no move to stand or give her access to me, so she turns and walks out for good.

Chapter five

Kane

Today is my meeting with my physical therapist and neurologist to discuss my progress. Driving to my appointment, my mind is already venturing into work mode. I will need to get something squared away for Annie and my house while I’m out of the country, but I’m sure it won’t be a big deal.

I have been working so hard these past six weeks to get my life back. I’m doing everything I’m told to do and then some. I’ve channeled all of my anger, all of my sadness, and all of my resentment into healing myself. Thankfully, I haven’t had any more seizures and was granted permission to drive again. Slowly, but surely, my life is beginning to return to normal.

Once I arrive, I’m led to a conference room where I sit on one side of the table, and they sit on the other, looking suspiciously contrite. A nervous energy slowly replaces my good mood as the tension emanates from the other side of the table.

My physical therapist starts first. “Kane, you’ve made excellent progress,” he says guardedly. “You’re nearly back to 100 percent. I am very impressed with how hard you’ve worked and how far you’ve come in such a short period of time.”

I nod, acknowledging the praise. I don’t care what he has to say. I know I’m in great shape. What I need to hear is my progress from the neurological perspective. I have been through countless tests to determine the extent of my brain injury, and in my opinion, I’m fine.

Dr. Adler begins speaking softly, “As you know, you have obtained a tremendous amount of trauma to your brain with your recent accident. We categorized your injury as severe and coupled with smaller concussions you’ve experienced throughout your career, we believe that the damage to the tissue may have long-lasting effects.”

My shoulders tense, and I crack my knuckles under the table. My leg bounces as I dig my fingers into my thighs, trying to control the anxiety that is currently taking over my ability to sit still. “What are you saying, exactly?”

“It means there are concerns that you may experience long-term problems with cognition, behavior, or emotions. Unfortunately, there’s just no way to tell.”

My hands begin to sweat, and I wipe them along my pants in rapid motion until they burn against the denim of my jeans. “So if there’s no way to tell, you’re rolling the dice with my future?” I question. I’ve spent countless hours researching brain injuries. I know much of it is a game of chance. “Yes, those things can happen,” I state knowingly, “but I can also be fine.”

The doctor nods his head while the therapist simply looks at me with pity. “That’s true, Kane. And for a normal person, we wouldn’t be concerned. If you were an accountant, you’d return to work tomorrow.”

If I were an accountant, I’d shoot myself in the face, I think.

“But with what you do for a living, we can’t take the chance of your decision-making being compromised. You need to be able to communicate effectively and have full control of your emotions,” he adds with a sigh.

My world starts spinning around me. It’s not as if he is telling me anything I don’t already know. I am the one who does the job, so I am the one who is aware of everything it requires, but it truly never once occurred to me that I am broken beyond repair. A pit of acid forms in my stomach as the weight of his words settles heavily into my chest. It bubbles and burns before traveling up to my throat, causing me to swallow thickly.

“I’m sorry, Kane,” he continues, “but we can’t allow you to go back into the field. There are just too many unknowns.”

“I want a second opinion,” I say calmly.

“We’ve had your scans and tests reviewed by the best physicians in the country. Everyone agrees,” he replies.

Panic sets in as my body goes into fight or flight mode. I don’t know what to do with myself, but I know I can’t sit in this white conference room with the shitty art on the walls and the cheap, worn-down chairs.

I stand up with a force that knocks my chair over behind me. I don’t give either of them another chance to speak, leaving the office without another word, afraid that if they continue, I will lose my temper and accomplish nothing but proving the doctor right.

As I stare out my kitchen window into the woods behind the house, attempting to make sense of what is happening, the weight of the conversation with the neurologist starts to settle in. I’ve done my best to deny everything he said, especially that these symptoms would prevent me from returning to my job.

Hours later, after what felt like an eternity spent reflecting on all that had been said, I slowly started to understand the gravity of the situation. I can no longer ignore the fact that my brain injury poses a risk to both myself and my team if I return. It’s a bitter pill to swallow but it doesn’t change the truth – I simply can’t be safe in a life and death situation if I’m not at full strength.

I’ve been told that I have two options: remain in the Navy and work a desk job or accept an honorable discharge. The thought of leaving behind what I’d worked so hard for makes me want to throw up, but at least then I won’t be stuck living within this dull routine that is slowly killing my spirit. I’ll rot away behind a desk and my already blackening heart will disintegrate into a powdery decay. By tomorrow morning, I’m expected to give them my answer.

I already know the option I’m going to choose, which is why I feel so fucking miserable right now.

I motion to the bartender for another whiskey, and feel the heat of a gaze coming from my right. I turn to see a brunette with heavy brown eyes, her lips slightly parted in an expression that seems both hungry and inviting. Her form-fitting dress hugs her curves in all the right places, making me contemplate my dry spell since my breakup with Kathrin. The thought of having someone new between my sheets sends an electric thrill through my body and I can’t help but return a lascivious smile, making sure she knows that the interest is mutual.