Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

I look down at my right arm.

I was afraid I’d need stitches, but the cuts were small enough that they were able to just use those butterfly bandages.

When the car hit me, it threw me against the back of my van.

The simultaneous collision with the corner of my van’s bumper kept the car from crushing me. But my shoe snagged on a crack in the road, and the push was enough to twist my ankle. It’s a grade three sprain, which apparently means lots of pain, an ankle brace, and crutches.

I tried to catch myself but just ended up scraping my arm on my own van. And the pavement. And then the side of my head cracked against the sidewalk.

So, all in all, not a miracle, but I’m still lucky it wasn’t worse.

And the instructions for recovery seem pretty simple.

Do as little as possible for the next few days for my concussion. Then continue to take it easy for the next couple of weeks.

Keep my bandages dry for three days.

Keep on the crutches for up to three weeks.

The body aches and bruises should start to fade in a few days.

And then I’ll be good as new.

Stress fills my body.

The instructions might be easy, but I need to work. I can’t take three weeks off. And I can’t run events on crutches.

“Want help sitting up?” Nathan’s words are soft.

“Yes, please.”

“How’s your back?”

I take a moment to think about the answer, furrowing my brows as I concentrate on how my back feels. “I think it’s fine.”

“Alright.” Nathan leans down and slides a hand under my back. “Slowly now.”

With his help, I sit up, and then, with more help, I get my legs over the edge of the bed.

My ankle hurts, and with it hanging down, the extra blood flow is making it throb.

“Shirt first,” Nathan tells me. Then he reaches around me in a loose hug and unties the back of the hospital gown I’m wearing.

I slide my arms out but hold the front of the gown up.

I know he’s already seen my boobs, but I’m feeling about as vulnerable as I ever have, so I keep myself covered.

Nathan’s fingers graze over my elbow. “Arm.”

He guides one arm, then the other, through the straps, letting me hold the gown up each time. Then, when the tank top is carefully moved over my head, I drop the gown.

Nathan pulls the gown away and kneels in front of me.

The sleep pants have wide legs, so he’s able to get it over my new plastic ankle brace.

He helps guide the pants up my hips as I shift side to side.

By the time my pants are on, I’m exhausted.