Burdens - Chapter 126: Waiting
#126 of Burdens
It keeps going.
Chapter 126: Waiting
Roger spent the rest of the night with Hunter, only to have the wolf return home, much to the fox's disappointment.
There had been no news from his parents or his friends, but he figured that no news was better than bad news.
He needed to recover before he could become independent once again. While he had the wolf to help him with anything he needed, it was not what he wanted in life. He did not want to be helpless, but that was how he currently was, and he refused to accept it.
He thought maybe he could get some advice from the nurse. He always seemed to be helpful, after all.
He pressed the button and waited. It took a little longer than usual, but not by much. He came in with the same smile and demeanor.
The weasel asked him, "What do you need, sweetie?"
Roger nodded over to the chair. "Just a little talk, if that's okay with you."
The nurse gave him a warm smile and nodded. "Of course." He walked around the fox's bed and sat in the chair next to it.
"What did you want to talk about, hon?" the weasel asked.
"Well, I need a bit of advice. Let me be blunt, actually. I'm pretty much useless lying in bed all day, and I don't want to, you know, keep being useless. I don't want to keep depending on others." Roger furrowed his brows and stared at his sheets.
The weasel waited, and when nothing followed, he said, "Oh, I guess that was the question, my apologies. You shouldn't worry about that, dear. You'll recover just fine. You'll be just fine." He gave him a pat on the shoulder and a smile.
"I don't know. It just doesn't feel that way. I'm not even allowed to go wash myself without someone watching me. It's ridiculous," Roger remarked.
"That's just because you're healing. Once you're all better, you'll be back to doing whatever you need to do by yourself. But, you know... not all of it is so bad alone, is it?" the weasel responded.
Roger sighed. "It's humiliating, though."
The nurse responded, "I don't think your wolf friend thinks that way."
The fox hesitated. The wolf, even if he thought that way, would never have shown it. That would not have been the case, though, since it was generally just not in his nature. The weasel was right. "I guess so," Roger responded.
"Is there anything else bothering you, dear?" the weasel asked him. He was not trying to hurry him up, but was genuinely curious.
"Not too much, I guess. Well, actually, there has been something on my mind that I'm curious about. After I, uh, made a mess in the ambulance, Greg told me someone cleaned me up. Do you know who did it?" the fox asked.
The weasel said, "Oh, well, that... that was me."
Roger felt his face flush. "Oh geeze, I'm so sorry about that. That's-"
The weasel held up a paw to stop him from talking. "No, it's fine. It's my job, after all. That kind of stuff happens a lot more than you'd think, especially around the elderly ones. What's important is that you're better now, right? Not what happened in the past."
The fox folded his ears and would not meet the weasel's eyes. "Still, it's... gross. I'm sorry you had to do that."
The nurse shook his head. "Don't even worry about it, sweetie." The weasel then thought for a moment, and added, "At least you're a little remorseful about it. Some patients aren't as friendly."
Roger nodded, but he was not fully convinced. He let the weasel know that he was just going to do his homework and turn in for the night. He requested a bit of water.
The homework was easy, as usual. It seemed like his mental processes did not suffer any from the surgery, and his memory was not damaged. In the span of a few minutes he managed to finish his work for the rest of the week. And then, once again, he was bored.
He went back to using his phone, surfing the web. He spoke a little to the lion, who was apparently very busy lately, but he was enjoying his job. It was different, but at least it was stable, he told him.
The night soon turned to day, and with the lack of things to do, it soon turned back to night without incident. Hunter would visit in the evenings and would tell him about his day and about practice. A big game was going to happen soon, and he was expected to play. Luckily, Roger should be out of the hospital by then.
His parents managed a visit toward the weekend, but it was short lived since the visiting hours would end. Roger was fine with it. Sometimes it was better to just relax in silence.
His classmates had visited him. The labrador had brought some other classmates that he would have otherwise never seen, and they came with well-wishes and balloons and flowers. There were several cards, signed by every student in those classes, for each of the ones he attended. Even the teachers signed them.
There was a letter from the skunk, handwritten, expressing how saddened he was to hear the news that a student of his had been hospitalized. There were encouraging words, and some of praise, and hopeful phrases that he would return safely. A post-script told him that Hunter dearly missed the fox's presence.
Even Hunter's friend, Brandon, had visited him, alongside the labrador. He was as abrasive as he recalled, and he continued to make obscure references, but he was generally amiable.
The days began to blend together. He would get a wash when Hunter arrived, a combined effort of the weasel and wolf. He still felt embarrassed by it, but he was slowly getting used to it.
He had been speaking to the staff less and less, more occupied with sleeping. It was easier to sleep the time away than it was to just watch the dust particles in the air.
The time was drawing near for him to leave. Most of his strength and balance had returned, and his fur was beginning to grow back, but it was still short and felt like suede. The wounds were healing, and that was what mattered.
When the time to leave was only but a day away, he was mostly recovered. They removed the staples and stitches, and he began to bleed from his head, but he was assured it was normal. It seemed like a lot of blood, but it stopped.
They gave him a cast that went around his ears and on his head. He was told it was to hold his skull in place so that it could set without wiggling around. It looked silly, but he knew that the appearance was not important. Recovery was everything, until it itched a little.
On the last day it was time to leave. They gave him a bag full of bottles full of pills and a few tubes of ointment. He was given directions on what to use, where, when, and what to eat and what to drink and what not to drink or eat. He had to take things a bit slow from now on, but they would check his progress soon.
The weasel had given him his number, telling him that if he ever needed advice or to simply talk, to call it or text it. Roger was uncertain if he even wanted to keep it.
The time came for him to go home. It was a Saturday like the day he had arrived.
He could hardly wait.