I got my answer almost before I finished the question. When Newt stepped into the room, another man followed him. One I’d never seen before.
Based on his uniform, he clearly worked at the hospital, though he wasn’t wearing the same scrubs as a nurse. Taller than Newt, though not as tall as me, he had a lean athletic build, and a very enviable set of braids.
I couldn’t help staring.
When I was younger, I’d considered putting my hair in braids, but I never had the patience to let it grow out enough. Then when I joined the military, uniform regulation meant I had to keep my hair cut high and tight. After living with the same haircut for so many years, it felt too late to change my style now, but seeing this other man now reminded me of when I was younger.
His braids were down to his shoulders, and I could tell that they were his natural hair and not extensions. I remembered the long, frustrating process just trying to grow an inch of hair, and I was impressed by his fortitude.
“This is Frankie,” Newt said, gesturing to the other man. “He’s one of the physical therapists here at the hospital and has recently started working with our John Doe.”
“Ha! One of,” Frankie laughed as he bumped Newt with his hip. “More like the only physical therapist at this point.”
It was clear the two were friends, because despite being rudely brushed aside, Newt didn’t look upset at all and actually smiled.
“There’s still Carlton.”
“Ha!” Frankie laughed again, louder this time as he rounded the bed to get a better look at the John Doe patient. “Please. Carlton is two years from retirement and doesn’t do shit. Honestly, I’d be better off with a leaking blowup doll as an assistant than having him around.
It was then that Frankie seemed to remember a guest was still in the room. He jerked his head to look up at me, braids swaying around his face, and his expression turned wide.
“Oh, um. Sorry. That was unprofessional. I mean… we’re just a little understaffed is all, but it’s fine.”
His embarrassment made me laugh out loud. “Don’t sweat it. I was on active duty for twenty years, and some of the foulest mouthed people I ever met were some of the best soldiers. There’s literally nothing you can say that I haven’t heard before, or worse.”
Both men breathed an audible sigh of relief, before Newt reached over and slapped Frankie’s arm.
“You’re lucky this time, but your mouth is going to get us in trouble one day.”
Frankie rubbed at his arm but otherwise didn’t look particularly upset.
“Perhaps, but today is not that day. Now, didn’t you say the patient in room T563 needs to be prepped for surgery? You should probably get on that and leave me to fend for myself.”
Newt looked like he was about to argue more but then paused to check his watch. Frankie must have been telling the truth, because Newt immediately seemed to forget everything else and hustled out of the room.
I reached out to grab my bag and get out of the physical therapist’s way but stopped before I even touched the strap as a new idea occurred to me.
“If you’re short staffed, is there anything I can do to help?”
Frankie considered it for exactly three beeps of the life support machines before he shrugged to himself and smiled.
“Yeah, I don’t see why not. This is the kind of stuff we’d let a patient’s family or friends help with if they were here, and it would be easier with a second person.”
Frankie directed me to the other side of the bed, where I needed to simply help hold the John Doe up in a sitting position.
At first, I was too afraid to grab onto him. Most of the John Doe’s upper body was wrapped in bandages, and I couldn’t stand the idea of aggravating his burns, even if he was unconscious. However, Frankie assured me that the man’s burns weren’t as delicate as they looked. A significant portion of the flesh had already healed, and the parts that hadn’t healed yet were scabbed over.
“The bandages are mostly to protect the newly healed skin and the skin grafts,” Frankie explained, partially unwrapping one of the bandages on the John Doe’s forearm to show me. “You can touch. It won’t hurt him, so long as you don’t yank him around too much.”
Despite Frankie’s assurances, I still grimaced as I carefully slid a hand under the comatose man’s back. The exposed skin under that bandage was alarmingly thin and pink and looked about as sturdy the first fall of snow. Yet, just as Frankie had said, the burns were no longer open or raw, so I would have to trust his judgment. He was the expert, after all.
When I sat the John Doe up—making sure to support his head the whole way—I was surprised to find he weighed almost nothing. I’d expected him to be light. Just from looking at him I could tell he was on the thin side, but until then, I’d only seen him lying in bed under the hospital blanket and the few brief times I’d patted his shoulder hadn’t given me an accurate picture of the condition of his body.
The man must have hollow bones like a bird. It was the only explanation. If it weren’t for the bandages weighing him down, he probably would have floated right off the bed.
For a moment, as the John Doe leaned within the cradle of my arms, I nearly dropped him from the shock of how little he weighed. Yet, Frankie showed no surprise at all as he picked up one of the man’s limp arms.
“For comatose patients, it’s important to still keep the body moving,” Frankie explained as he gently manipulated and stretched the arm in his grip. “Not only does it help prevent bed sores, but it keeps the muscles from atrophying and promotes better circulation which helps the body heal faster.”