CHAPTER 5
SEVEN DAYS LATER
Pain had a rhythm of its own.
It woke her. Sat with her. Followed her into every attempt… every failure.
Her prescribed medication dulled the edges, but it never touched the center of it. The pain had rooted itself too deeply – like something alive and relentless. It fed on her focus, her strength, her will.
Her resilience was wearing thin. And that frightened her more than the pain itself.
There were options. Stronger ones. Easier ones. Names she’d heard whispered in careful tones—Vicodin. Morphine. Fentanyl.
Sweet relief… at a cost. Their promise of escape sat too close to the edge of something she didn’t trust.
No.
If she was going to survive this, she couldn’t surrender to it … to them. Not her body. Not her mind. That’s where the fight had to begin.
Randi knew, combating her pain was something she had to take control of herself. She felt like she was spiraling away from recovery fast, losing the fight.
Can I? She wondered. I have too or I’ll never be me again.
The moans, groans, and cries of other patients in the room pushing through their own pain hit her like a Mack truck.
She looked in their direction, finding their faces contorted as they fought through the pain of their own exercises, with their hospital gowns drenched in sweat.
There was an elderly man, who had to be in his eighties, a woman older than her, a teenage boy, and little girl around eight who had lost her leg.
She wasn’t the only one fighting, and that realization pushed her even more.
Randi stared at her hand, resting where the therapist had positioned it moments ago.
“You know the routine, Randi. Let’s begin nice and slow.”
She obeyed the order.
She liked the woman – now. At first, Randi was intimidated by the fact she was a retired Special Ops Army Ranger Medic, who transitioned into physical therapy.
She had introduced herself as Trinity, a name not befitting an Army Warrior she thought.
That is, until Trinity explained its meaning when they first met.
“I got asked that all the time while in the Army,” she had said with a chuckle.
“It meant ‘the state of being three’ and religiously was the representation of one God in three persons: the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. My mom thought it was a fitting choice, because I was the last … the last twin of three girls born in my family.”
Randi smiled. Trinity had skills, and not just jumping out of helicopters, but the kind she so needed: patience, compassion, and the ability to build her morale.
“Again,” Trinity prodded gently.
Randi hesitated. It was painful as hell.
“Just try to flex your fingers.”
Randi swallowed, her jaw tightening as she focused. Willed it. Mentally demanded it. Silently coursed it.
Nothing.
Then ... Wait.
Did my middle finger just flick? That would be a hoot, she thought. Like it was reacting, “There. Now screw off.”
It made her inner-child smile, and she tried to repeat it again, just to make sure.
No, damn it. Just my frigging brain playing tricks on me.
Her cheeks billowed, and she puffed loudly, disheartened.
“I am trying, you know,” she scoffed.
Trinity patted her wrist softly.
“I know you are.”
Knowing it, didn’t change anything, didn’t make the fight easier.
Her discouragement surged, hot and immediate. Her breath quickened as she forced her gaze away.
“That’s enough,” she said suddenly.
“Randi—”
“I said that’s enough,” she snapped.
Her voice cracked. Not from anger. From something worse. Defeat. She hated that word. It screamed It made her feel weak and undeserving.
“I … I’m sorry. It’s not working,” she whispered. “It’s not… coming back. Why can’t I get my hand to move?”
Trinity hesitated, then stepped back, offering space instead of pressure.
Randi knew Trinity’s task was to motivate her, help her to overcome her fear, anxiety, and frustrations. She felt safe in her presence. But no matter how hard she tried, her body wouldn’t obey.
Trinity lowered herself to the floor Indian-style at Randi’s feet, interlacing her fingers into a fist and tucked it under her chin. She looked at Randi with concern-filled eyes, gathered her thoughts briefly, lowered her hands, and spoke in a calming voice.
“The human brain can rewire when severely traumatized mentally and physically. This happens with soldiers experiencing constantly the horrors of combat and serious injury. It causes chronic fear, affects rational thinking, which in turn, hinders physical therapy.”
Randi opened her mouth to speak but Trinity quickly raised her palm in warning.
“Please. Let me finish.”
Randi nodded and remained silent.
“Randi, don’t discount your accident and injury. The trauma you suffered possibly altered your brain’s biology, creating this mental roadblock you’re experiencing.”
Randi’s voice was frantic as her eyes bulged with fear.
“Are you saying, I might have brain damage?”
Trinity waved her hands shaking her head.
“Not at all. Those roadblocks could be a lack of muscle control, your subconscious resisting certain movements or exercises because its reminded of the horrible accident you were in. Chronic stress caused by your trauma can also lead to high levels of inflammation and muscle aches, making you feel more pain during therapy that isn’t really that harsh. ”
“So can we correct that?”
“Yes. Your brain has an inherent ability to rewrite itself. That’s my job.
This is only our third session together.
It takes time to determine physical and emotional weaknesses.
Determining any one of those roadblocks may be your root cause, will in turn, alleviate half the battle.
Tomorrow we’ll start with practices to target those.
And eventually it won’t be chronically painful. “
Later that afternoon, Randi stood slowly for the first time. With Elena’s help.
The room tilted slightly beneath her.
“Easy,” Elena said beside her, one steadying hand near her elbow. “Short steps only. Your body needs to remember how to move again.”
Randi nodded faintly, taking a careful step forward.
Then another.
Each step was uncertain. Each a quiet victory. She suspected infants felt exactly like this when attempting their very first steps.
They moved slowly down the corridor, the world outside her room feeling both foreign and strangely alive. The hustle of blue scrubs and white lab coats approaching from every direction, voices intermixing, directing, ordering, reacting and life continuing.
She hadn’t realized how much of the normalcy she’d missed.
They passed by a brightly colored door. She could hear cheerful, giddy laughter as it drifted out from a two-inch opening located at the bottom of the closed door.
Randi twisted to the right and paused.
“What’s in there?”
Elena turned slightly to glance in that direction.
“Oh, that’s the preschool section of our Pediatric Wing. Ages three to five”
Another burst of laughter. Small. Unfiltered.
Randi smiled, pointing at the door and asked.
“Can we…?”
Elena studied her for a moment, remembering what her PT recommended in Randi’s therapy report … reinforcement of positive visualization. She smiled softly.
“Most definitely but not for very long, okay?”
The room was alive with color.
Walls were painted in soft murals. Tables scattered with crayons, markers, and paper. A pint-sized table seated for eight was occupied with six adorable munchkins in different stages of recovery or treatment. Some were drawing, some coloring, others simply watching.
Their eyes turned toward her as she entered, curious of the stranger, wearing a hospital gown like them, her hand tucked in a sling massively wrapped in sterile gauge, with the tips of her fingers only exposed.
“Hi,” one little green-eyed blonde with Shirley Temple curls spoke, her voice bright despite the IV taped to her arm. “How did youse get dat boo boo?”
Randi smiled without thinking and raised her bandaged hand. It felt… natural and she took a step forward unassisted.
“Well, hello there, sweetie,” she replied. “I fell off a horse who got scared by a bunny rabbit.”
Elena chuckled, her smile broad. Quick thinking.
“A bunny rabbit?” the child squealed with hearty laughter.
The other children joined in too.
A boy whose head was buzzed short and partially wrapped with surgical gauge spoke up, with huge doe-shaped eyes, that were curiously expressive and the color of a blue moonstone.
“Did da bunny get hert?”
“Oh, no. It hopped away faster than an arrow could fly.”
The children gasped with surprise.
Randi looked at Elena with hopeful eyes.
“I’d like to stay awhile, please. Can you come back in a little while?”
The little blonde pointed to the empty mini chair beside her and patted the seat.
“She sit here.”
Randi’s eyes pleaded with promise.
“I’ll be good.”
Elena nodded, knowing it would do her good.
“You have an hour.”
Within seconds, she was seated at the table, joined by the most adorable children with the faces of angels, wide expressive eyes, curious minds, and a sweet innocence that held her captive. Their small voices asking questions, little hands showing her drawings, stories tumbling over one another.
There was no hesitation.
No pity.
Just connection.
“Do yew wike ta color?” another young boy with a black patch covering his left eye, holding out a red crayon. “Yew can have mine if yew wike red.”
Without thinking, her primary hand lifted from her sling without thought.
Randi froze, realizing what she had just done.
Then slowly… She reached the rest of the way.
Her fingers tried to close around it. They almost closed, then the crayon slipped and hit the tabletop. Her eyes grew large.
They moved. My God! They just moved a little.
Silence.
Her breath caught, her chest tightened as heat rushed to her face, leaving trails of red. She willed her nerves to calm as her eyes went all misty.
Stop! Not here. Don’t cry in front of them, her inside voice demanded.
But before the moment could break -
A small hand reached out, picked up the crayon and placed it gently back in front of her.
“It okay,” the little girl said simply. “You’s can try again.”
No pity. No sadness. Just belief.
The little boy beside her nodded in agreement. His right arm was amputated below the elbow.
“You’s just gots ta practice. I colwer with this hand now,” lifting his left hand, “Not my odder no more.”
Randi blinked rapidly, something inside her shifting.
She looked at them.
Really looked. She wanted to squeeze him and suck his cheeks rosy red.
And for the first time in days — she felt the weight of loss, fear, self-pity ease a little. That little mattered. Considerably.
She smiled, softer this time. Real.
“Okay,” she whispered. “I will.”
They beamed at her like she’d just promised something important.
And maybe she had.
An hour later, Elena entered and silently watched the interaction, her eyes swelling over the interaction she was witnessing between Randi and the children. They were encouraging her, creating cracks in the wall of fear and indignation she had built around herself.
When Randi finally realized that Elena was standing there, the smile she offered wasn’t forced or empty, it was genuine and beautiful.
Elena stepped in and the children reacted to her presence, knowing that their time spent with Randi was coming to an end.
“Stay. Pweeze stay. Can she stay wit us?” Their little voices begged unanimously.
Elena closed the space between them to help Randi rise.
“I promise I’ll be back tomorrow,” Randi replied, as she slowly stepped away from the table. “Thank you for helping me.”
The children waved happily, their gleeful words of farewell filling the air.
Elena guided her back into the hallway.
“You did good,” she said quietly.
Randi glanced back once more.
At the children.
At the color.
At the life inside that room.
“I want to come back,” she said.
And this time - it didn’t sound like defeat. It sounded like the beginning of something wonderful starting anew, a possibility of becoming whole again – of becoming Randi.
Miles away, beneath high ceilings and quiet reverence, Brew Clay stood still for an entirely different reason.
The Walker Art Center, at first glance, was an iconic building characterized by a white, geometric gallery in the main entry filled with sculptures and distinctive- textured metal facade that expanded the length of the building.
When he entered, he noticed there were multiple levels of galleries also available to separate the art forms and showcase modern and contemporary paintings, photographs, and other sculptures. Because it was his first visit, Brew sought assistance in locating Randi’s solo exhibit.
It was quieter inside than he expected. It wasn’t empty. There were plenty of people moving about even for midday. It was hushed. Visitors stopped, studied, praised, shared reactions in quiet tones, with reverence.
It was as if the space itself understood the weight of what it held in admiration.
When he entered the room where her pieces were being displayed, he halted with shocked amazement. Slowly, he stepped further inside, his eyes scanning the room, counting a total of twenty frames, varying in sizes marked 16x20 and 24x32.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed in whispered wonderment. His heart skipped, his pulse quickened.
He haltingly circled the room once around and gradually revisited what he felt were masterpieces. He spent minutes with each piece, standing in silence, his hands in his pockets, admiring what his eyes witnessed.
He didn’t know art. He was aware of what he was feeling.
Not in the way others here likely did. But he knew precision.
He practiced it every day in his operating room.
It was in the thick texture of her strokes, the illusion of them being three-dimensional.
The colors she chose were vibrant and perfectly blended.
He knew control, and what he saw… it was something far beyond both.
Each piece carried movement, emotion, energy, interacting with light and shadow. She somehow magically infused … pressed life into every raised stroke; every layer built with intention and something deeper… something felt.
He stepped closer to another canvas, studying the thick ridges where light seemed to rise from the surface itself. He was drawn, magnetized. It wasn’t just technique. It spoke to him - had a voice.
His chest tightened slightly. His mouth went dry as he moved even closer and stopped. Completely.
The painting was slightly larger than the others. He hadn’t noticed that before. It presented itself as deeply emotional, lost. It held him prisoner.
A young girl stared back at him, sitting in a field of wildflowers, golden light like an aura surrounding her, petals scattered in soft color around her small frame. She was twelve maybe. Wisps of her hair were caught in the wind and her hands rested loosely in her lap.
Those eyes, haunting and golden tresses. It was her, a younger Randi, an emotional self-portrait of a child lost, her eyes captured the aloneness, the broken emptiness and loss.
.
That hit him hard, feeling her loss personally. It wasn’t loud, nor dramatic, but deep, cutting deep, settling in his gut.
Brew exhaled slowly.
He knew that look.
He stepped closer, reading the small placard beside it.
Untitled. Randi Caleb. $2500. It was worth every penny. He did not hesitate. He turned around, his eyes scanning for someone on staff, wearing an employee tag suspended from a chain dangling from their neck. He spotted a person near the entrance and raised his hand.
It was the same woman who had directed him earlier and approached.
“I’ll take this one,” he pointed to the portrait that captivated him.
The attendant looked at the piece, slightly surprised.
“Of course. It’s… one of her earlier works.”
“I know,” Brew said quietly.
He didn’t explain. He didn’t need to.
“Would you like it noted for the artist?” she asked.
Briefly he thought, then shook his head.
“No.”
Another beat.
“Keep it anonymous.”
Because his choice wasn’t about recognition. It was about understanding, and something he wasn’t ready to name, or share, or acknowledge.
Not yet.
By the time he returned to the hospital, evening had settled in again. The pace was quieter, his routine was familiar, the patients he needed to visit were relaxed, their charts updated, and all seemed under control.
The only thing was, except he wasn’t. His visit to Randi’s exhibit had affected him deeply, more than he could have ever expected possible.
“Dr. Clay,” Elena called softly as he approached the nurses’ station. “You’re back.”
He brushed his fingers through his hair, nodding.
“How’d she do today?”
Elena hesitated.
“She? You have five patients on this ward.”
He chastised himself silently and attempted humor to cover his foolish error.
“What? You’re not a mind reader too? My apologies.”
She smiled with acceptance.
That was the reaction he needed to see.
“She had a very good day and spent a short while in the children’s ward.”
He registered shock surprise.
“She what?”
“It was a very therapeutic visit for both her and the children. She experienced slight movement in her fingers and asked if she could visit the ward again tomorrow. The full report has already been uploaded onto her file.”
He nodded happily.
“That’s wonderful news. I think it’s time to move her upstairs and lift the visitor restriction. I’ll sign the change as soon as it’s ready.”
Elena nodded.
“I’ll get them ready for your signature right away, Doctor.”