1. MAX #2
“There’s a call button on your remote. Press it if you need anything,” he continued evenly.
“You may notice unusual sensations in the missing limb. That’s common.
Press the PCA—that’s your patient-controlled analgesics—button if anything becomes uncomfortable.
It will administer an additional dose of painkiller.
Do also call us if the pain increases, though. ”
He waited for some sort of answer from me, but I was frozen by my thoughts. “I’ll check back in later,” he finally said into the silence.
Then he left the room.
I was alone again.
I immediately grabbed the remote and raised the head of my bed until I was sitting upright and had a clear view of where my leg wasn’t.
I tried to sit forward to feel the blank space, but a protest in my ribs forced me to a halt.
Apparently I was banged up everywhere, besides being down an extremity. Or two.
The right leg was throbbing.
The left leg…buzzing like a beehive, even though it was gone.
With a groan, I fell back against the bed and felt to the side for my phone.
Turning the cracked screen on, I saw that I had four missed calls and a handful of texts.
The calls were probably work, wondering where the hell I was when I didn’t show up on my first day.
The texts were probably just friends checking in on me like usual, wanting to know how my new job was shaping up.
Shit, my new job. Which I probably didn’t have anymore, because people didn’t tend to look kindly on employees who no-showed on day one.
I raised the phone to my ear and opened the first voicemail.
Yup, receptionist at No Bugs, wanting to know if I was running late.
Next message: warning that I was late. Next message: was I coming at all? Last message: don’t bother coming.
I owed them an explanation, even if they wouldn’t have me back. I dialed their main line.
“Good morning, this is No Bugs, Inc., where we squash ‘em so you don’t have to! How can I help you?” chirped a cheerful voice on the line.
“Hi, this is Maximilian Dion,” I told the receptionist. “I was scheduled to start work with you yesterday. Wow,” I added absently as it occurred to me, “a whole day gone.” That comment hadn’t been part of the speech I’d had planned for this phone call.
Thanks, heavy meds. She probably did think I was on a bender, especially since I suspected I was slurring my words.
“I wanted to let you know that I’d been in an accident on the way to work and didn’t no-show on purpose. ”
“Oh no, you poor thing!” she exclaimed. “Are you alright?”
“I…” How the hell did I answer that? “I’m not dead,” I finally managed to say uncomfortably.
“But I am in the hospital, and I don’t know how long I’ll be here.
I had major surgery. I know you probably can’t hold the job for me even if it wasn’t my fault I couldn’t be there, but I wanted to check... yeah. I wanted to check.”
“Oh, gosh,” she said. “Don’t worry about that, Mr. Dion!
I’ll flag this for your manager, and if you have documentation of your hospital stay, I’m sure they can work something out.
They’ll probably end up deferring your start date until you’re up and moving again.
We can’t activate payroll or benefits until you begin, but… .” She trailed off, a verbal shrug.
I was going to have to learn to live minus a leg and a paycheck—the latter hopefully only temporarily—but maybe I would still have a job for when I got out of this hospital.
I winced at the thought of how long it might take me to get out of here and working again. “Thank you. I’ll follow up.”
I got the HR email information from the receptionist, and we hung up with the usual pleasantries.
Deciding I might as well clear my phone out of new messaging, I started checking my texts next.
First was a text from my friend Teddy back in New Hampshire, saying hello and reminding me I was supposed to let him know about the new job.
Next, an automated text from my car lender letting me know my payment had been posted.
And finally, spam offering to help me “gr0w” my “p3nis.” A ringing endorsement of my life: I had exactly one person who gave a fuck when I went radio silent for a whole day.
With a sigh, I answered Teddy’s text with a Lonnnng story, bro.
We’ll talk later. And then I put the phone back down on the bedside table.
That was about as much peopleing as I could take for now.
I pushed the phone away and picked up the cup of water also on the tabletop.
I started to take a long pull, but stopped short and put it back down after a single sip, Ibrahim’s voice in my head warning me about overdoing it.
Then I looked around the room, needing something to occupy my brain.
Plenty to see; nothing I could understand.
Ports of some kind on the wall, monitors, panels, a whiteboard covered in chicken scratch.
A TV mounted in the corner up by the ceiling.
Ok, well, TV it was, I supposed. The remote was strapped to the rail of the bed.
I flicked on the power and started flipping channels, looking for something that would hold my interest. Nothing.
I cycled mindlessly through the same channels over and over, until there came a gentle knock on the open room door.
A woman stepped in, professional but not medical. Tablet in hand. “Hi, I’m Janey Collins. I’m a social worker and I’m part of your trauma team. I’m here to support you with logistics now and as you get ready for discharge.”
I waved her in. At least it would be a diversion.
She settled in a chair at my bedside. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Not so nice for me,” I said with a snort. “I mean, I’m sure you’re wonderful, but I’m stuck in a hospital bed needing a social worker, so…”
“No, I get it.” She smiled. “Not anyone’s favorite way to meet new people.
” She glanced at the tablet. “This is just the start of our conversation. If you get tired or your pain levels rise, let me know, and we’ll finish later, okay?
I’m going to ask you a few questions about your living situation and support system so we can start planning. ”
Planning? My plans had all gone up in smoke since yesterday morning. Barely managing not to be rude, I gave her an acknowledging nod. “Go ahead.”
“According to your driver’s license, you’re Maximilian Dion,” she started, “and your address is in Concord, New Hampshire. What are you doing all the way out in San Francisco, Mr. Dion?”
“Max. And I live here. Now. It’s new,” I explained awkwardly. How long was I allowed to take before I had to get a new driver’s license after moving, anyway? If they kept me in the hospital for a long time, would I be late? Fees?
Did the DMV make exceptions for “I lost a body part and forgot”?
Janey nodded at my awkward explanation. “What brought you here to live?”
“Work.”
“Oh, what do you do?”
“I’m a software product tester. Or, I was going to be. Not so much now, since I’m stuck in this bed.”
She nodded again and made a note. “New job or relocation?”
“It’s new. Well, assuming I’m not fired as a no-show and it’s waiting for me when I get out. I need to email their HR to find out what’s going on with that.”
“Ok. And had you secured a place to live before the accident, Max?”
Fuck. She was asking the tough questions.
I shook my head. “I’ve only been here for a few days.
Living in a hotel on my company’s dime. I was planning on starting apartment hunting this weekend,” I said, then winced as I realized that yeah…
no. “Guess that’s not happening, either,” I added bitterly, gesturing down the bed at myself.
She made another note on her tablet, her expression steady even in the face of my bitterness. “Okay. So finding you housing is going to be our first barrier to discharge.”
“First? Just how many are there going to be?”
She glanced up briefly. “It honestly depends on a lot of things. Right now, I’m just documenting what needs to be addressed before you can safely leave the hospital.”
A list. I could make those, too. To-do number one: yell at the doctor who took my leg, because what the fuck. I doubted Janey’d approve of that one, though, so I didn’t tell her that and instead just nodded as if I understood and agreed with her idea.
“And your insurance?” she asked, and I startled, because shit. Hospital bills.
“I can buy CObrA retroactively, I think,” I said tentatively, trying to think through what would be needed for me to do that.
Well, no matter how many steps were involved, I’d better be able to ultimately get it. It was going to be expensive, but still not as expensive as this hospital bill was going to be.
She tapped her pen on her tablet and made a thinking noise. “Do you know whether your new employer’s benefits had started yet?”
“I don’t think so. I hadn’t even signed the final paperwork yet. It was gonna be first thing this morning. Uh, yesterday morning, I guess. When I called them a little while ago to let them know what happened, they said payroll and benefits wouldn’t kick in until I start work there.”
She hummed and tapped at the screen in her hands. “Is there anyone local…or otherwise…we should contact? Emergency support? Friends or family?”
I couldn’t hold back a snort at that idea, which made me think of my mother, who was probably doing some snorting of her own back home. Hers would just involve meth rather than derision. “Nope,” I said, popping the ‘p’. “Only child of an only child, and my mother is worthless.”
She held my gaze, expression steady and surprisingly unsurprised. “Understood. So you don’t have reliable family support.”
“Not a chance. Unless she can snort me or shoot me up, she doesn’t give a fuck about me.”
Another note was made. I really wanted to see what she was writing about me. “Anyone you would like us to contact? Who could support you?”