Worth the Trouble Read Online Free
and her brows pinched, then she told him, "The doctor will be in to talk to you in a few minutes."
Ethan had a lot of close calls lately and had managed to escape them just fine. It looked like his luck had just run out. He didn't need to talk to the doctor, the pity in the pretty nurse's eyes told him all he needed to know.
***
"Mama!" Ethan yelled from the bedroom. He needed to go piss, and he needed help getting out of the damned bed.
It had been t wo months since the doctor had told him he might never walk again, and since then the four walls of this bedroom, his childhood room in his mother's house, had become his life.
Ethan had lost his job, his apartment, his life.
His mother, father, the doctor, they were all after him to go to therapy. For what? More frustration?
At his last appointment, Ethan had pinned the doctor down about his prognosis, and had been told even with therapy, any improvement would probably be a long time coming, if he ever saw any improvement at all. Two vertebrate were fractured, one displaced and compressing his spinal cord. They had done surgery to shore things up in there, but there were no guarantees he'd ever be able to walk again.
What the hell did it matter if he was vertical again anyway?
He wouldn't ever be able to do the things he had before. Rock climbing, hang gliding, firefighting, all of those things would be off limits to him forever. Being able to stand did not mean that he would ever be useful again, or have any kind of quality of life.
So Ethan wasn't going anywhere, there wasn't anything to be gained.
When he first got out of the hospital, Ethan's firehouse buddies and friends had come by to try and see him, Sarah the pretty kindergarten teacher he'd been dating for four months before the accident had too, but Ethan didn't want anyone seeing him like he was, so they quit trying.
He was fucking pathetic , mentally and physically. He couldn't even go take a piss by himself. His dick probably didn't even work. He had no idea, because he was too damned scared to masturbate and find out. Below the waist he felt nothing, except an occasional tingle or shooting pain, both of which were probably just phantom sensations.
On top of that, the head injury he had sustained had his mind wandering off when he was trying to form sentences. The doctor said that would go away, he just had what amounted to being punch drunk from the concussion, but dealing with it now was frustrating. Combined, all of that made for one pathetic situation, one pathetic man, or half a man.
Ethan was thirty years old and his life was over.
Maybe he'd just get them to give him a damned catheter then he wouldn't have to get up at all. "Mama!" he yelled again and tried to sit up, but his muscles were so weak, he plopped back down on the pillow.
The damned pain medication they'd given him made him dizzy and uncoordinated. He couldn't do without it though, when he tried he felt like someone was stabbing him in the back.
His mother appeared in the doorway and like they were all the time lately, her eyes were sad and frustration lined her face. "What do you need, Ethan?" she asked trying to mask her disappointment from him.
Those lines in her face told him this situation was affecting her as much as it was him, and guilt tried to take hold inside of him, but he shoved it back then told her, "I need to go to the bathroom."
"Then get out of the bed, get into that wheelchair and go," she told him shortly.
"My back hurts mother, and I'm weak. I just need help getting up."
"You're weak because you won't get out of that damned bed and go to therapy."
"Therapy is gonna do what? Make me be able to be a mobile paraplegic? You heard the damned doctor, he said it probably wouldn't do anything."
"And laying in that bed wasting your life is going to do something?" she countered with a hand on her hip.
"Just help me get the hell out of this
Ethan had a lot of close calls lately and had managed to escape them just fine. It looked like his luck had just run out. He didn't need to talk to the doctor, the pity in the pretty nurse's eyes told him all he needed to know.
***
"Mama!" Ethan yelled from the bedroom. He needed to go piss, and he needed help getting out of the damned bed.
It had been t wo months since the doctor had told him he might never walk again, and since then the four walls of this bedroom, his childhood room in his mother's house, had become his life.
Ethan had lost his job, his apartment, his life.
His mother, father, the doctor, they were all after him to go to therapy. For what? More frustration?
At his last appointment, Ethan had pinned the doctor down about his prognosis, and had been told even with therapy, any improvement would probably be a long time coming, if he ever saw any improvement at all. Two vertebrate were fractured, one displaced and compressing his spinal cord. They had done surgery to shore things up in there, but there were no guarantees he'd ever be able to walk again.
What the hell did it matter if he was vertical again anyway?
He wouldn't ever be able to do the things he had before. Rock climbing, hang gliding, firefighting, all of those things would be off limits to him forever. Being able to stand did not mean that he would ever be useful again, or have any kind of quality of life.
So Ethan wasn't going anywhere, there wasn't anything to be gained.
When he first got out of the hospital, Ethan's firehouse buddies and friends had come by to try and see him, Sarah the pretty kindergarten teacher he'd been dating for four months before the accident had too, but Ethan didn't want anyone seeing him like he was, so they quit trying.
He was fucking pathetic , mentally and physically. He couldn't even go take a piss by himself. His dick probably didn't even work. He had no idea, because he was too damned scared to masturbate and find out. Below the waist he felt nothing, except an occasional tingle or shooting pain, both of which were probably just phantom sensations.
On top of that, the head injury he had sustained had his mind wandering off when he was trying to form sentences. The doctor said that would go away, he just had what amounted to being punch drunk from the concussion, but dealing with it now was frustrating. Combined, all of that made for one pathetic situation, one pathetic man, or half a man.
Ethan was thirty years old and his life was over.
Maybe he'd just get them to give him a damned catheter then he wouldn't have to get up at all. "Mama!" he yelled again and tried to sit up, but his muscles were so weak, he plopped back down on the pillow.
The damned pain medication they'd given him made him dizzy and uncoordinated. He couldn't do without it though, when he tried he felt like someone was stabbing him in the back.
His mother appeared in the doorway and like they were all the time lately, her eyes were sad and frustration lined her face. "What do you need, Ethan?" she asked trying to mask her disappointment from him.
Those lines in her face told him this situation was affecting her as much as it was him, and guilt tried to take hold inside of him, but he shoved it back then told her, "I need to go to the bathroom."
"Then get out of the bed, get into that wheelchair and go," she told him shortly.
"My back hurts mother, and I'm weak. I just need help getting up."
"You're weak because you won't get out of that damned bed and go to therapy."
"Therapy is gonna do what? Make me be able to be a mobile paraplegic? You heard the damned doctor, he said it probably wouldn't do anything."
"And laying in that bed wasting your life is going to do something?" she countered with a hand on her hip.
"Just help me get the hell out of this
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