Chapter 18
Dominique ‘Dolo’ Shaw
“You’re struggling because you trying to walk all gangsta and shit.
Nigga, you gotta walk normal. You gotta slowly ease back into the gangsta walk.
That’s not going to happen right now. You in a hospital.
Ain’t nobody in here that you gotta impress,” I talked shit to my little brother, as I stood in the far corner of his hospital room, with my phone in my hands, recording him, and the slow progress that he was having with the physical therapist.
He was in his hospital gown, but he made sure that I had it tied super tight at the back, saying how he didn’t want anyone seeing his ass.
He was in hospital socks, with the grips on the bottom, so that he didn’t slip.
He stood there on legs that were a little weak because he had still been complaining about some of the pain that he was in.
There was an IV pole to the right of him, and it’s what he was holding onto, so that he could take small, baby steps.
The physical therapist was standing right there to the side of him, keeping one hand near his back, just in case he stumbled a little bit. She would be right there to hold him up.
The doctor had already informed us that Diego’s recovery was going to take time, and judging by the way he was moving, I already knew that he was telling the truth.
His movement was very slow. It was hard for him to stand straight up, so he was hunched over a little bit.
The doctor wanted him out of bed today. He explained to us yesterday that he was going to start his sessions with the physical therapist today, saying that moving his body around would help keep his blood flowing, help his lungs recover, and strengthen him back up.
Diego had to complete this shit in order for him to go back home.
The joke that I cracked caused him to laugh a little bit, while holding at his chest, as if he was in pain.
“Chill out with the… jokes nigga. My fuckin chest still hurt,” he shot, his voice coming out a little weak.
With his lungs still healing, his voice wasn’t as strong as it used to be. These days, when he talks, he would have to take a lot of deep breaths. I’ll take that over not hearing his voice again.
“Yes to what your brother just said, Diego. You don’t have to perform for us in here. I just need you to take slow steps for me. Even if you can only take one step every minute, I’m fine with that,” she coached him.
Her name was Amari. Young therapist. If I had to guess her age, I would say that she was probably 22 or 23.
Black girl, and she was pretty as hell. Even when she walked in the room, Diego damn near broke his neck, following her with his eyes all over the room, as she moved around.
It was just like a nigga to be in this fucked up situation but was still trying to check the bitches out.
She was dressed in her pink scrubs, and she had long locs in her hair, that were pulled back into a low ponytail.
You could tell that Amari had a passion for what she did.
It was the way she talked to Diego. The way she motivated him to get out of the bed and just stand before he took his steps.
I had to add her onto the list of people that I needed to gift with something for taking care of my brother once it was time for him to leave.
“I’m supposed to be… out of breath like this? Every little step I take, I feel… like I’m breathing heavy,” Diego voiced, looking down at Amari, who was still standing on the side of him.
“That’s normal, Diego. Your chest sustained a lot of trauma. Your body is learning how to fully function again. You have to give your lungs time to heal. Come on. All I want you to do today is make it over there to your brother. Do that for me, and you can get back in bed,” she instructed.
With a nod of his head, he breathed deep heavy breaths, letting out grunts, as he made his way over to me.
The thing is, I wasn’t even that far away from him.
The average person would have made it over to me in less than two seconds.
This was hard for Diego, so in a little under ten minutes, he made it over to me, and that’s when I dropped the phone down on the table, and feeling proud as hell of him, I wrapped my arms around him, making sure to be careful because I didn’t want to cause him any pain.
“Good shit, nigga. Good shit. I’m proud of you man,” I said, pulling away from him, and I playfully played with the curls that sat on top of his head. You could tell that my words made him happy because he smiled.
On his way back over to the bed, I held one of his hands, and Amari took the other one.
We gave him the help that he needed, so that he wouldn’t have to do it all on his own this time.
Once he was in front of the bed, I lifted him, placed him on top of the sheets, and he allowed for the back of his head to hit the pillow.
He was breathing a little heavy, as if he’d just finished running a race.
Seeing that, I immediately looked over at Amari, fully prepared to ask her if that was normal, but before I could even ask it, she answered for me, letting me know that he was fine, and this was normal.
The cup that was filled with ice water, Amari picked it up, placed it to his lips, so that he could sip out of the straw.
He ended up drinking all the water, and Amari sat the cup back down on the table.
After that, she went around, checking his monitors, looking over at his IV, making sure that it didn’t get twisted around during his walking, and getting back in bed.
She had me lift him for a second, so that she could straighten his blankets, and pull them over him.
Diego was still on pain medication that was keeping him tired, so I’m sure that after all this walking, he was going to knock out soon.
After that, Amari made sure that he was cool, asked him if he needed anything else, and once he assured her that he was fine, she let us know that she would be back tomorrow.
Now, it was just the two of us in the room.
My parents were still in Miami, but they went back to the Air Bnb home that they’d rented, so that they could get some rest, shower, and change into some new clothes.
They stayed the night last night. My house wasn’t any good for them because I only had a one-bedroom spot.
My mom cracked a joke, saying how Diego’s apartment was the last place where she would want to stay because she knew that he always had a bunch of bitches coming in and out of his spot.
With their home being an hour away, they figured that it would be better to just rent a home here during their stay.
They got a nice spot that wasn’t too far from the hospital. It was probably ten minutes away.
I would often rotate with my parents. They would usually stay overnight, and I would come in the morning, stay with him until the afternoon, and by the time it was time for me to leave, my parents would be coming back.
Diego was getting a lot of love here though.
Uzi and Loco came by yesterday and they sat with him for hours.
Kendrick, and Bray made it their business to stop by everyday as well, even if it was just for a couple of hours.
The close homeboys that Diego had would come by as well, so that they could spend time with him.
For the most part, my brother was in good spirits.
Just like anyone else though, he was ready to get the fuck out of here.
I took a seat on the side of his bed, looking down at him. By the weakness in his eyes, I could tell that he was getting ready to fall asleep. I saw something else in his eyes though. Worry. Almost like something was bothering him, so I was prepared to ask him.
“What’s wrong?” I wanted to know, and when I did, he let out a forced laugh, while shaking his head.
“I feel like less of a man. Gotta have somebody holding my hand while I walk. You had to pick me up and put a nigga in bed. People gotta assist me with taking a shower or using the bathroom. This shit humbling me in here. I feel like a little bitch. I’m feeling like I ain’t worth too much right now,” he let out, and after he said it, he forced another laugh, and a quick tear fell from his eye, that he reached up and wiped away.
That fucked me up hearing my brother say that. Pained me a little bit. Truly made me feel bad that he felt that way.
Even though it did pain me a little bit to hear him say that, I had to get in his ass about saying that. What he was saying wasn’t true, and I didn’t want the nigga going around thinking like that.
“Ay man, don’t say no shit like that again.
You took two bullets to the chest, my man.
Two nigga! You still sitting here breathing.
Yeah, your lungs a little fucked up right now, but you still got lungs!
Your able to talk! You can stand, and you can take steps!
What about any of those things sounds like someone that’s less of a man?
You been in the streets long enough to know how this shit could have went.
You could have been in this bitch on life support.
You could have put ma, and pops in a position to decide on whether they should pull the plug or not.
The night you got shot, and when we were all in the waiting area, waiting on you to make it out of surgery, the doctor told us that you fought.
He told us that your ass was lucky to be alive because that second bullet was just inches away from hitting your heart.
You ain’t less of a man. Don’t say that bitch ass shit again,” I got on him, and he let out a laugh, holding his chest while he did it, and shook his head at me.
We sat in silence after that. He was sitting there, trying to fight his sleep.