Dreadful Desire

Chapter 63

August 1st – Saturday

The past three weeks I've been unhinged, assisting Jade with her recovery and working from home. Between meetings, phones calls, food prep, bath time and pain management, my emotions are in complete disarray. Jade's disclosure tore my heart, I can't fathom enduring such trauma. Never judge a book by its cover.

Jade has taken up residence on my couch, the idea of stepping into her home is inconceivable at the moment, and rightly so. The rearrangement of furnishings ensued in order to accommodate her wheelchair for the healing process. Crutches are not a viable option when the Ulna in your arm is broken.

Jade's stubbornness will be the death of her. There have been numerous occasions when I've apprehended her hobbling about the house unwilling to summon me for support. On the other hand, it's understandable, self independence is hard to concede to once you've been independent. 

Being of equal or higher stubbornness, I'd imitate the same actions. Accepting assistance can be a difficult pill to swallow, but my presence is to halt her from furthering any damage.

The first few nights were gruesome, her shrieking and thrashing from the horrid nightmares of Dane's attack weighed heavily on her mind. The need for constant comfort and safety was at the forefront, I was ardent to grant her anything she required. 

Her refusal to sleep became a problematic issue, it's crucial for the healing process but she denied herself that in the hopes of avoiding reliving that torturous ordeal. In high hopes for her recovery, I made an appointment for her to sit with a psychiatrist. She was adamant in her disapproval, but the night she battered my cheek, she yielded, accepting the therapy she unmistakably required.

The doctor diagnosed her with Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). A diagnosis she was unwilling to accept but acknowledged every time she gazed upon my bruised cheek. With constant apologies, I assured her it was unnecessary, she's attending her sessions of her own accord and that's all I desire for her, a healthy healing process.

Her sleeping habits have shifted since attending her discussions with the doctor, the night terrors are fading into the back ground, occurring every so often. Baby steps right?

Her next appointment is in two days, she seems rather excited for her next session as she's proclaimed he's quite appealing. The restoration to optimal health has been moving forward at a steady pace, her nose is healing nicely according to the doctor. One last consultation to provide proof of optimal recovery, leaving one less aspect of this horrid situation she needs to concern herself with. 

The contusions on her head and face are improving; the hues of magenta, scarlet and cerulean have faded into a pale lemon, but it's still sensitive to the touch. At times, I overhear the gasp of grazing tender spots. They confirmed recovery would require 1-2 months with constant monitoring, but at least the cut on her lip has vanished.

The cast on her right arm has been brightly decorated with loving words and artwork from the people who care for her most. Visits she come to crave, she's gotten from our small tight knit group and those from work as well. The doctor has monitored her progress stating the bone is healing perfectly, which was delightful to hear. Recovery time was set at 4-6 week, three down, 1-3 weeks to go. 

Her ribs, oh her ribs ... in my opinion, this one is the most difficult to recover from. She overlooks her torso, that is until she attempts to gather something from below causing her to winch in agony. On occasion, I crake jokes to lighten the mood but she ends up tormented by the anguish or my terrible jokes. I apologize for my ill timed mannerism but she enjoys them nonetheless. Three weeks remain to recuperate completely. 

For her ankle, the doctor expressed 6-8 weeks and she may require physical therapy. Apparently her ankle has been met with the wrath of Dane before, leaving her with feeble tendons and ligaments which need strengthening.