Page 1 of Tethered Hearts

Matt

“Darn it!” Matt Dallimore slammed his fist on the treatment table. The padded surface absorbed the impact of his pummelling but did little to relieve the frustration coursing through his veins. If only he had access to a punching bag. Or a wall. Or at least something to bear the brunt of his torment. Would it even make a difference? He wasn’t normally the violent type, but right now, he was sick of everything. Sick of the pain. Sick of being an invalid. Sick of his life being dominated by the ugly metal contraption parked in the corner of the room.

Twice weekly visits to the physiotherapist, plus an exercise regime at home – thatmayhelp regain function in his lower limbs – were becoming a burden he no longer wished to bear. Despite the comments from well-meaning people, there were no guarantees that the torture he was subjected to was going to work. It was all pie-in-the-sky wishful thinking. He would never run again, that was a certainty. And if he could walk properly, well, that would be a miracle. Given that it had been three months since his accident, and he’d barely left his wheelchair except to sleep, attend to hygiene needs, and do his exercises, he didn’t like his chances of being a miraculous statistic.

Martin Kele, his physiotherapist at Sea Haven Beach’s Sports and Spinal Clinic, glanced up as he gently manouevred Matt’s right leg through a range of movements. “Is that too much?”

Shaking his head, Matt bit the inside of his cheek, almost to the point of drawing blood. He would never admit out loud that the exercises were too much. After undergoing numerous surgeries for skin grafts and to repair damaged nerves and muscles, he’d endured a lion’s share of pain. It had become all-consuming and a constant companion, though not a welcome one, as weeks morphed into months of grueling recovery regimes. He’d almost forgotten what life was like before the pain. Almost. But not quite.

“Have you needed much pain relief?” Martin asked, slowly guiding Matt’s toes to the ground. Even that simple movement triggered a buzz through his legs, as though his nerve endings were on fire. Gripping the edge of the table, he tried to hide his grimace. Needed? Yes. Taken? No. Not that he was going to admit it. Old habits were hard to break. Years of elite-level training within strict guidelines of what one could put into their body meant he’d been reluctant to allow anything stronger than simple analgesia to pass his lips. He probably should take more, because there would be no more random drug tests in his future. There was no point – and no one even cared.

“It’s all good.” But it wasn’t. And it never would be again. Perhaps he should down some of the pain medication he’d been given, chased by a glass or five of some strong liquor. Not only to ease the nerve pain but to dull the gut-wrenching disappointment of shattered dreams and the dark void of nothingness that threatened to swallow him whole. There was no light at the end of this endless tunnel because every day was a constant reminder of everything he’d lost. His hopes. His dreams. His dignity.

Martin pushed to his feet and moved Matt’s wheelchair close by. “Keep up the upper body workouts, and perhaps try taking some pain relief. I know I don’t need to tell you what to do because you’ve heard it a thousand times before.” His gaze held something akin to pity as Matt shifted into the wheelchair.

With a grunt, Matt glanced away. He didn’t need sympathy or pity. He’d had enough pity parties to last a lifetime. He was tired of hearing how he should manage his injuries. He was tired of hearing about pain management, exercises, and pressure-relieving devices for his chair. He was tired of being told to be patient.Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Recovery will take time. Look for the silver lining.Blah. Blah. Blah. Where was the silver lining when he couldn’t even walk?

How could people even suggest he take things one day at a time? How could they offer advice, or give hope when they weren’t in his position? They still had fully functioning legs. They still had hopes and goals and dreams. He had nothing, and just wanted to be left alone to wallow in his misery. Drown his sorrows to block out the bleak future that lay ahead of him.

He’d had plans. Big plans to retire when he was at the peak of his game, or the medal dais, so to speak. Despite being older than some of his competitors, he knew he still had some records left in him. The Olympic Games were within his sights, and he was in with another chance to qualify for the team, represent his country, and defend his title. He was running better than he was four years ago. Or at least he had been until the stupid car crash that shattered his legs.

He’d been on his way home from a training session with his squad at the university facilities at Sea Haven Beach when it happened. T-boned by a red light runner that resulted in the jaws of life being used to cut the dashboard away from his crushed legs. The paramedics and his surgeons told him he was lucky not to have lost his legs at the scene. Lucky? Ha! At least he could have learned to run with prostheses if they’d amputated his legs. Now, he had nothing but scarred, useless limbs that couldn’t do what he wanted. His once muscular legs that had carried him like the wind to victory on many occasions were now shrivelled and deformed. A mangled mess of red scar tissue and atrophy. Ugly and useless in their inability to function. A taunting reminder of all he’d lost.

Martin was still jabbering on, but Matt had mostly blocked him out. He didn’t intend to be rude, but right now, he didn’t care about Martin’s plans for the weekend, his girlfriend, or the other clinicians who worked in the practice. He just wanted to get back to his aunt’s house, grab a cold beer and sit on the deck overlooking the ocean. At least the ebb and flow of the waves were a mesmerising distraction and helped, even for a moment, to forget about his screwed-up life. Perhaps one day he might be interested in a conversation. In other people’s lives. In the world beyond his routine of wheelchairs and physical therapy. But today was not that day.

For now, the disappointment of shattered dreams was still too raw to care about anything at all.