Thinking I’d be able to convince Asian dude to let me bc we had a vibe, were broing out sorta.

He went No way.

Instead let me walk around the circular, or oval, or in any case not rectangular hallway that led around the floor, to all rooms.

Shuffling with a walker.

Accompanying me to ensure I didn’t make a run for it.

All sorts of wailing coming outta the rooms.

Blood-curdling, kill-me-now wails.

Middle-aged heavyset smocked lady, the penultimate morn, to wheel me to X-rays.

Pulling up like Up with ya.

Hop on.

Me wanting to be like You give me a ride? Naaah.

Apologizing the whole time, going I’m sorry, I appreciate it, aw nice turn.

Up ramps, around corners, in-n-outta elevators.

Whippin.

Her going Oh you’re OK, it’s no worries, all nice and all.

Later thinking all that appreciation I was doling out mighta been condescending. Implying she wasn’t a pro. That this wasn’t what she did.

The final morning. Athletic PT guy. To re-teach me to walk.

To sit.

To step.

Had to relearn hips.

No leg-crossing, either sitting or lying.

Only straightforward sitting, feet planted.

No ankle-to-ankle reading-lounging even.

That spine-tip fracture was hairline enough to heal without surgery, but only if sustained symmetrically. No twisting.

My two legs no longer enough to move me.

Needed a third.

To syncopate, outside of my good side, with the steps of my bad.

One of those candycane-handled, rubber-tipped, hospital-issued guys I recognized older ladies around the block half walking with, half carrying on a novelty basis.

One half of crutches.

Not devolving to all fours.

But almost.

To all three-fours.

We practiced steps on one of those adjustable box-jump boxes.

Did stairs.

Same idea as the cane, only in the stair context the railing was the cane.

The most lowkey workout.

Athletic PT dude the most mellow/supportive personal trainer.

Was honestly lowkey stoked about my cane.

That new swag that cane swag.

Martyred out.

The last evening. What mighta made me abruptly dip, the following one.

Autonomous bae texted Hey, need snacks, anything?

Told her They feeding me good in here, although could do a juice. Mainly need nail clippers.

My nails were too long. Were digging into my open wounds, at night, while I slept. Or didn’t sleep. Half-slept, bc the scratching.

Body following mind, going reptilian.

Growing talons.

Autonomous bae said I got you, gimme thirty.

It was after standard visiting hours. I was propped up watching the Eagles. Sunday night game.

They ended up confiscating the nail clipper at the first-floor, metal-detecting security entrance.

Autonomous bae said Surprise I brought P.

P poked his head in next to hers.

They were both so chipper, that shit pissed me off.

Why did it.

They were too caring.

Asking me how I was and shit.

How tf you think I am bro.

Suddenly seeing myself through them, not liking what I saw.

Not one bit.