Tim took his vitals and listened to his heart. “How do you feel now?”
“Fine. The minute Jack let up, it stopped.” Troy’s color and vitals were normal. He denied any chest pain or difficulty breathing.
Jack pointed out to Tim where he pressed. Tim’s lips pressed into a white, thin line. “Do you want to keep going?”
“To stop would delay the inevitable. I’m okay.” Troy marveled at Jackson’s ability to put his finger on four more spots that produced intense pain.
“Are you up to lying on your belly? Martin’s right here, and we are in the PT room.”
Troy turned and lay on his stomach.Safe.He felt Martin’s hand on his shoulder as Jackson covered him with a sheet. “Are you able to slide out of your shorts and underpants?”
“I’m good.” Troy was beginning to trust Jackson, who found even more pain-amplifying spots.
“Post-op, you’re going to be in a precarious position. Overworking your core can tear the intestine apart. The fact you’re alive tells me one thing: you’re stubborn. That stubbornness can undo the surgery.
“One more test.” Jackson rolled on a stool to sit beside him. “I know you’ve been doing pelvic floor exercises and sphincter exercises. I believe you were honest about doing the exercises, but the surgeons want to know if they perform the reversal, are you able to have control of your bowels?
“Tim will insert his fingertip inside your anus, and your job will be to push him out. After that, he’ll press against your anus, and you won’t let him in. I know this sucks. You can do this,” Jack offered encouragement.
“Tim, remember the plane conversation? This is a big one,” Troy said.
“I promise, you’ll get through this.” Tim walked to the sink to wash his hands.
Martin crouched at Troy’s head. “I’m going to be right here at your head.”
This is stupid; I’m a crybaby for being afraid. Tim isn’t going to hurt me.Troy inhaled deeply. Exhaling, he scanned the room, committing it to memory.
“Remember that time in El Salvador?” Martin asked.
Troy nodded. “We almost lost you. You were being held in a cage below ground.”
“And what did you do?” Martin prompted.
“We had to wait for a quick response force to get you, and then the team out. When we tried to lift the grate over you, the cage threatened to cave in. We had to wait for the right tools. I managed to get close enough to drop water, a protein bar, a camera and mic to you.”
“I was scared shitless. By the end, I was seeing things—and the bugs… You, my friend, talked to me for two days straight.” Martin placed his hand on Troy’s forearm.
When Tim placed his hand on Troy’s hip, Troy jumped. “Take a big breath and let it out. Here we go. One, two, three.” He pressed against his anus. “Another breath and let my finger in.”
Martin made sure Troy could see him. “Remember Iowa’s garden?”
Sweat formed on Troy’s brow, and it took him a moment to answer. He started to laugh. “That piece-of-shit sergeant. It was 110 degrees, and our mission tempo was one loud beat, and he worried about your garden.”
“Good job, don’t let me remove my finger. What happened with the sergeant?” Tim asked.
“Martin was known as Iowa before we called him Farmer. His garden, a gift of drought-resistant seeds from his brother, grew rows of marijuana,” Troy exhaled.
“Good job. Now, don’t let my finger back in,” Tim continued. “The sergeant?”
“He was full of himself and power. He turned Martin in. He wanted him booted from the Navy. Our platoon leader was Ian Chase. I thought the CO was going to string him up.”
“Martin or the sergeant?” Jackson asked.
“Both,” Martin and Troy said together with a laugh.
“Done. Great job. Relax.” Tim stripped off his gloves.
“Troy, you did great. Let’s take down that pain a bit. Tomorrow, 0530, we will see where you’re at with the spots Tim will inject, and we will start your new program. Close your eyes and let the muscle tension ease.” Jackson placed heat packs across Troy’s back and thighs.