Walk for Christmas

Chapter 8

Roxy POV

Grandma helped with all the necessary paperwork to get me out of the hospital as fast as possible. I had enough of being in there and didn't care that I could not walk out. I needed to get out and start to get my legs working again. I felt restrained by her; she also helped me get my medical information and transfer it to our local GP's care. Apparently, the physiotherapist is under him, and only what they need to know for my rehabilitation will be handed over to them. It is up to me how much information they learn about the accident besides what is in the media. I am not ready to talk about it yet. I did not need to give the police a statement. The truck driver was arrested and charged and awaited a court hearing. They had plenty of security camera footage from the area to charge the driver. I feel for him; it was very bad weather. I had trouble seeing out the window; it was coming down that hard. I do not blame him for what happened; too much was going against him at the time, and our car was the saving grace for so many innocent lives.

'Ready, dear?' Grandma asked as she entered my room, following a big, strong man pushing a wheelchair. I guess he will be moving me out of this bed and into the chair. It would be good to move from this room; staring at those white walls has been hard. Grandma tried to make it more comfortable, but no matter what she did, it was still a hospital with all the sounds and smells that go with being there.

'Sure, let's hit the road and not look back.' I sat as upbeat as possible as this man came forward and lifted me as if I weighed nothing. I squealed when he did. I could not stop myself, even though I was expecting it. I was still shocked by how effortlessly he managed to do it, and he smelt nice, not all sweaty like most men tend to be when they are working. Grandma chuckled as she collected a few things still on the table, and we headed to the ranch in my vehicle so I would have a car when I walked again; I liked that never once was it in doubt that I would walk again just up to me on how long that would take.

Grandma told me that they had refurbished the old housekeeper's flat, which was attached to the house. Vincent had been busy putting in rails and ramps and anything he could think of to make it safe for me. Grandpa had tried to get him to take my room as it is the biggest of the spare rooms, but he refused. In some ways, I am glad he did. It felt weird to think he was sleeping in my bed. No man had ever slept in my bed, and I felt it should be special when and if that happened, and I, with no legs, was not special.

She chatted for almost the trip so far. We stopped twice before we stopped for the night; each time, Grandma found someone to help me out of the vehicle and into a wheelchair, and then she wheeled me to the bathroom. Another thing I had yet to accomplish was bladder control. I had some feelings back, which was why they let me go. My back was healed, and the casts on my leg and arm were gone, but some functions would take time to master again. I did not like it, but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

It is amazing how much we take for granted regarding our bodies. I thought I was a strong girl, but it seems I have lost more than I realized. The doctor said I had made a quicker recovery than they had thought possible because I was fit and had strong muscles from the work I did on the ranch. I don't see it myself; I am still without legs, and I get the occasional phantom pains. That's what the doctor called them; he said they would go away in time, same with the tingling sensations and random jumpy legs.

It was a restless night. Grandma and I shared a double bed, and I woke each time she rolled over. I am not used to someone else in my bed. The next morning, after a shower, again I had Grandma help me. It was so embarrassing. We headed into the last part of our journey. I fell asleep and woke up when Grandma called out.

'We are almost home.' Grandma said as we passed the sign for our town. It is funny, but this place always felt like home to me. The place I grew up in was a house, and never a real home to me; I was always the one never seen, and mum never did the girlie things with me because I was not a girlie girl, so I was more or less left to grow up on my own. I have two brothers who I adore and would play with me, but I was not wanted around when they got old enough for girls and going out. Mum had her women's clubs, Dad had work and his clubs, and the boys found girls and did stuff with their mates.

I was shipped off to Grandma every school holiday. I am not complaining; I loved it there. I had a way with the horses and cattle. Deep down, I think that is where I will eventually live. I like the lonely rides in the fields, collecting strays, and camping by the stream.

Turning into the driveway, I looked out the front window, hoping to see who was there. I think they have just got back from the rodeo. I was right. They were unloading the bulls. I wonder how they went. Our bulls have been doing really well in the last few rodeo seasons. Grandpa is making some new breeding ideas, some new blood in the mix. We have our originals. We are still breeding and then a few new ones to see how well the mixing helps. That seems to be going really well.

Grandpa arrived at the car to help Grandma, and then Vincents arrived; he had filled out even more since I last saw him, getting increasingly muscular. That work with the bulls is really paying off. He was staring at me. Did I look that bad? I know I have lost weight, but not that much.

'Hi Vincent.' I called out as enthusiastically as I could.

He pulled me out of the car and into the house, carrying me as if I weighed nothing, just like the man at the hospital. But it felt different with Vincent carrying me, more personal, if that makes sense, which it doesn't. He put me down on the couch ever so carefully, as if I was about to break.

I watched them take my wheelchair in and leave close by. Next in walked Vincent's parents and brothers, his mother carrying a casserole dish, and headed to the kitchen. I knew the ladies would work on dinner, and I felt bad sitting there and not helping out like I would normally do. I could hear them talking in the other room, and it was about me. I did not like being a burden, and that is what I feel like at the moment.

I have to get back onto my feet and fast.

There is no way I will be an extra chore for them to do. It breaks my heart to think I would be one of those.

Vincent picked me up again and carried me to the table. I felt like some child needed to be babysat, and the more they did them, the worse I felt. They even went as far as cutting my meat. I wanted to cry but did not want to do it in front of everyone. I tried to listen to the conversation and the plans for the next rodeo, and I felt like I was the elephant in the room; they wanted to ask but did not know how to. It was a very uncomfortable meal, and I was glad when Grandpa offered to show me to my room. I was eager to get away from everyone.

After the small tour, the changes, and all the thank yous I could muster, they left me to sort myself out. My things had been brought down from my room and put away, and everything was lower for now so I could reach them.

I wheeled myself into the bathroom to take a shower and ended up on the floor in tears. I had slipped off the chair and onto the cold tiles. I reached up, turned on the shower, let the water rain down on me, and let those tears I had held back fall. I am not sure how long I was in the shower before my tears stopped, and I somehow got myself back in the wheelchair and made my way to bed.

I hope tomorrow is better.