Stroke of Luck

By Lillie Ammann

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Prologue

Debbie Hunt rushed through the door of the chiropractor's office. The receptionist nodded toward the exam room. "Dr. Smith is waiting for you. He needs to leave the office at six o'clock exactly."

"I know I'm a few minutes late. I was with a client and couldn't get away." Debbie stepped into the exam room and sat on a small stool. "You have to do something," she told the doctor. "This headache is awful."

Her head felt as if it were clamped in a vise. Pain bored into her skull like a knife. Dr. Smith, his smock wrinkled, wiped his hands on a paper towel. He ran his hands down her neck and shoulders to examine them. "You're really tense and you've got a severe muscle spasm. I can fix you up with a simple manipulation, but it might be a little uncomfortable."

"Just do it and get it over with." She felt totally stressed, but along with the stress came the exhilaration of the business success that led to the tension.

She felt her head being jerked to one side and then the other. Suddenly her world turned upside down. She couldn't be suspended from the ceiling with her head hanging down into the exam room, could she? "Something's wrong. Help me!" Why didn't Dr. Smith do something? Why didn't he answer her? Heat encompassed her body, but at the same time she felt chilled and shivering.

"Let's get you over on the table." The doctor's voice didn't reflect any panic or even concern.

"We have to do more than that! Something's terribly wrong!" Severe vomiting stopped Debbie from saying anything else.

As she tried to stand to take the small step from the stool to the table, she fell face forward onto the table. "I'm upside down. Please help me get right side up. My body's heavy." Well, of course, her body was heavy. Maybe not fat, but definitely overweight. But it had never felt so weighted down, a heavy pressure holding her body, face down on the table. "I can't move it," she cried.

Dr. Smith didn't seem to hear her. He held a basin for her and placed cold towels on the back of her neck. "I released some toxins into your system when I released the muscle spasm," he explained. "You'll be fine in a few minutes."

"I'm not going to be fine. I think I'm dying!"

Dr. Smith continued as if she hadn't spoken. "I think you have the flu. You should go home and get a good night's sleep."

She begged him to help her, but he ignored her pleas and left the room. Soon, she heard him in the next room.

"This is Dr. Smith. Are you Miss Hunt's secretary?" He must be on the phone, she thought. "She has the flu, and she's dizzy," he continued. "Can someone take her home so she doesn't have to drive?

Couldn't the man see she couldn't move, much less drive? Why didn't he do something to help her?

It seemed like forever, but was probably only a few minutes, before two people hurried into the doctor's office. Debbie couldn't focus her eyes to see who it was, but she recognized the voices of Tammy, her administrative assistant, and Bob, who ran the installation department of her interior design company. She tried to talk to them, but they, too, ignored her. She couldn't sit up or do anything to get their attention.

She was distantly aware of her employees holding a hasty, whispered conference at the door to the treatment room. Bob said, "I don't buy this guy's theory that the flu's affected the balance in her ear. Look at her. Any fool can see that something's seriously wrong. She can't talk-she can't sit up-all she can do is throw up. I'm calling an ambulance."

The next few hours blurred in Debbie's mind. She felt herself being loaded on a stretcher and carried to an ambulance. Panic overwhelmed her. Where were they taking her? What was wrong with her?

"Please tell me what's going on," she pleaded. After the paramedic put an oxygen mask over her face, he hooked up monitors of some kind. The wail of a siren and blips and beeps of equipment created a background for her jumbled thoughts. As lights flashed around and above her, she felt the ambulance lurch forward.

Eventually, she couldn't begin to guess whether it was minutes or hours later, the vehicle screeched to an abrupt stop. Someone jerked the doors open and pulled the stretcher toward the rear of the ambulance. A bounce onto the ground, then a rush into a building. Voices, footsteps, machines. She couldn't see what was happening around her. Being flat on her back and unable to raise herself up had something to do with the problem, but what she could see above her was distorted and unfocused.

"Where am I? What's going on?" No one responded. Either she was in a Twilight Zone with the rudest people in creation or no one could hear the words she formed in her mind. Finally, she was wheeled into a cubicle and hooked up to machines. People swarmed around her bed, doing mysterious things to her body and the equipment attached to it.

"Open your mouth. We've got to give you something to reduce your blood pressure." The voice came from a weird white figure leaning over her. This Twilight Zone must have a hall of mirrors. The jerky image of the nurse or whoever was talking was repeated four or five times.

She must have opened her mouth; she couldn't seem to feel anything. However, she did taste the bitterness when something was squirted under her tongue.

During the lifetime she spent in that emergency room, she endured a multitude of X-rays. For every examination, she was lifted from the stretcher by what seemed to be hordes of white figures and placed into position on the table. Through the long hours she recognized a blood pressure cuff on her arm inflating and deflating over and over again.

Most of all, she experienced overwhelming panic. No one answered when she tried to ask what was happening. In fact, it seemed Debbie-the person-was totally ignored while a body that didn't seem to belong to her was aggressively treated.

One word jumped out from the swirling conversations above her and imprinted itself on her brain-stroke. She couldn't have had a stroke. She was only twenty-eight. Maybe she was a little overweight, but that didn't mean she wasn't in good health. The only problem she had ever had was a migraine headache from time to time. A migraine like the one that started all this. An excruciating headache, yes. But a stroke? No way.

After six years, her business was finally doing well. She'd developed a solid reputation as a commercial interior designer, and she was a popular speaker on business topics in the local Chamber of Commerce. All her hard work was starting to pay off, but she couldn't afford to take any time off. She had to be in the office tomorrow morning. She had too much to do to lie around in the emergency room of the hospital. She'd wasted most of the night with no improvement. Somebody better do something soon so she could get back to work in the morning.

Debbie Hunt lay in her bed in the San Antonio Rehabilitation Center. She struggled to conquer self-pity. Her recovery from the stroke depended on it. Her spirits brightened when she looked around the room to see all the flowers, plants, cookie bouquets, and other gifts she'd received from her family, friends and employees. Then she brightened even more when she heard her roommate's voice at the door.

"I'm so glad you're back from dinner," Molly Dover said as she rolled her wheelchair into the room. A huge smile lit her face as she continued. "My nephew Jake Dover will be here any minute to see me. He just got out of the Army. I'm so excited. It's been two years since his last visit to San Antonio."

"Don't you want me to leave so you can have a private visit?"

"Of course not. He's home for good now, so we'll have plenty of time to visit. I want you to meet him." Molly's eyes twinkled. "He's thirty, close to your age, and single like you."

Debbie decided she should sit up and make herself presentable for Molly's company. She enjoyed visiting with Molly's family since her own family couldn't visit her in the rehabilitation center. Besides, she wanted to see this man. Molly's husband and all his relatives who'd visited were attractive, both in appearance and personality.

She rang for an aide to help her out of bed and into her wheelchair. In the bathroom, she brushed her short brown hair. She gave no thought to a fashionable hairstyle or clothes and certainly none to makeup. I look like a pirate, she thought, as she glanced in the mirror and saw the black patch over her right eye. Her eyes wouldn't focus, so she wore the patch to see a single image instead of two, three, or four.

What had she been thinking? What difference did it make what Molly's nephew looked like? He wouldn't be interested in her the way she looked now.

When Debbie rolled her wheelchair back into the bedroom, she found Molly's nephew already there. Although he had the pleasant smile characteristic of the Dovers, he didn't have their athletic build. In fact, he was so short he looked like a teenager waiting for his big growth spurt.

Before Molly could make the introductions, he stepped forward with his right hand outstretched. "Hi, I'm Jake. You must be Debbie, Molly's favorite roommate."

"Since I'm her only roommate, I'm glad to hear I'm her favorite," Debbie said as she smiled back.

The mischief in Jake's hazel eyes and the unruliness of his blond hair added to the boyish look. Debbie liked his outgoing and friendly personality, which reminded her of Molly.

Debbie hesitated to take his hand-the devastating stroke she'd suffered two weeks before had left her with limited use of her right side. Her hesitancy didn't deter Jake. He lifted her hand from the arm of the wheelchair, took it in his right hand, and covered it with his left. He held it briefly before gently laying it back on the arm of the chair. She couldn't move her hand, but she could feel the warmth of Jake's touch. If she'd felt like a whole woman, the touch would have excited her.

Jake sat in a chair between the two women in wheelchairs. He turned to Molly and said, "It's great to be home."

"It's wonderful to have you here. What are you going to do now that your military days are over?"

"My priority is a little R & R. That's rest and relaxation, for you civilians. It's time I got reacquainted with my family and San Antonio again. I haven't been home for more than a few days at a time for the last eight years."

"Well, I certainly hope you plan to spend some of that time with me. I didn't even get to see you the last time you were here." Molly pointed her finger at Jake's chest, and the strength in her voice made the statement sound more like an order than a hope. "But what are your long term plans?"

"I haven't made any yet. I'm not ready even to think about the future right now." He changed the subject. "Tell me about your treatment."

Debbie started to back away to give Jake and Molly privacy, but Molly stopped her. "Don't leave unless you're bored. You can help me convince Jake we're tortured here."

Jake's bushy blond eyebrows knitted together in a question.

"It seems that way sometimes," Debbie agreed. "But if that's what it takes to get back to normal, that's what I'll do."

"Me too," Molly agreed. "We jokingly call it torture, but we've both come a long way already. Tell him what we go through, Debbie."

"We're in physical and occupational therapy six hours a day. Some recreational therapy is thrown in occasionally for fun. We're lucky we don't need speech therapy."

"I can't imagine Aunt Molly having any trouble talking," Jake said.

Debbie smiled. "She never had a speech problem, and my speech problem cleared up in just a few days without therapy. I'm thankful neither of us had any damage to our memories and thinking abilities."

"Amen to that," added Molly.

"Does that happen often with strokes?" asked Jake, his face filled with concern. "I knew a stroke caused paralysis, but I didn't know it could affect memory or thinking."

Molly answered, "A stroke is technically called a cerebrovascular accident. That's why we're in the CVA Unit. We've had a cerebrovascular accident-some accident!"

"I didn't think you did this on purpose." Jake grinned at his aunt. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. Go ahead."

Molly ignored her nephew's comment. "The damage depends on which area of the brain has the blood supply cut off. My stroke paralyzed my left side, but Debbie had more damage. She . . . "

"I'm sure Jake would rather talk about you," Debbie interrupted. "And I'm really tired. If you don't mind, I'll leave you two to visit, and I'll go on to bed."

"We'd love for you to stay, but if you're tired, we won't keep you. I'll look forward to seeing you again on my next visit," Jake said. Then he smiled and took her hand again.

Debbie murmured, "Good night," as she wheeled across the room. When she reached her bed, she pushed the call button for assistance. A few minutes later, an aide helped her change into her nightgown in the bathroom. Then she closed the curtain separating the two halves of the room and helped Debbie into bed.

She lay in the darkness, listening to the conversation and thinking about Jake. She would have enjoyed being a part of his conversation with his aunt if only Molly hadn't insisted on discussing Debbie's condition. She didn't want Jake to know how incapacitated she was. Even though he looked like a kid, she was sure he was far too much of a man to be interested in a woman as handicapped as she was.

Thank goodness she was less disabled now than she had been two weeks before. She remembered waking in the hospital after a fitful and fear-filled night to see a man in a white coat standing at the foot of her bed. He had introduced himself as Dr. Anderson, her neurologist.

Debbie remembered the wave of devastation that had overcome her at Dr. Anderson's prognosis. "The first three days are critical. The improvement you make in those three days will determine your ultimate recovery. Significant improvement will indicate a partial recovery, perhaps even a complete, recovery."

Debbie shivered as she recalled Dr. Anderson's dire prediction. "If you don't improve significantly in three days, you may permanently remain as you are now."

Debbie's memories were interrupted by the conversation going on behind the curtain. Molly and her nephew spoke softly, but Debbie could still hear every word.

"No, Aunt Molly, I didn't make any plans before I left the Army. I thought about re-enlisting since I didn't have anything better to do."

When Debbie heard footsteps, she thought Jake was leaving. Instead of moving toward the door, however, the footsteps just paced back and forth across the small space by Molly's bed.

Molly asked, "You've done so well in the service. Why didn't you stay in?"

"I'd almost decided to do just that. I was bored, but there's nothing else I can see myself doing the rest of my life." There was a long pause before Jake continued. "But when Mom told me about your stroke, I realized I wanted to be back home with my family. I would have gone back overseas if I'd re-upped, and I missed . . . "

There was a small laugh, and the voice lost its wistful quality. "You know what they say, 'you can take the boy out of Texas, but you can't take the Texas out of the boy.' So I decided to come home instead of re-enlisting."

Debbie understood the desire to be near family. She hadn't seen her elderly parents since her stroke-their poor health confined them to a nursing home. Debbie's sister, Beth, lived in Germany where her husband was stationed with the military. Beth had come to San Antonio to be with Debbie in those first critical days. However, she'd returned to her family when Debbie entered the San Antonio Rehabilitation Center for therapy.

Jake said good night to Molly. A small smile came across Debbie's lips as she heard Jake say, "I'll be back to see you tomorrow evening. Maybe Debbie will feel like a longer visit then. Mom told me she's almost become a part of the family in the week you've been roommates."

"It's a joy having her as a roommate. There are a lot of whiners and complainers here. She has more cause to complain than just about any of us. She's so young, and she was really a victim of that quack. But she has a great attitude and doesn't let it get her down."

During the coming days, Debbie concentrated on succeeding in her rehabilitation program. Therapy was, by far, the most difficult job she'd ever attempted. When she began, she couldn't move any part of her right side; she had no feeling on her left side; and she couldn't focus her eyes. Each small milestone in her recovery took hours and days of excruciating effort. Finally, she could sit upright, maneuver her own wheelchair, and even walk with assistance.

After each difficult day, Debbie looked forward to the evening visiting hours when Molly's family included her in their conversations. Jake visited frequently and always brought laughter and cheer with him. One day he came in while Debbie was laboriously pouring water from a plastic glass into a bright spring bouquet, one of the colorful flower arrangements and green plants that covered every available surface in the room. He walked over to the window to open the curtain.

Pointing to a small puddle of water Debbie had spilled, he said, "It looks like you've got a good crop already, but if you want to grow more of those pretty flowers, you need sunshine along with the water."

Debbie smiled at Jake's joke before he turned the conversation to the subject of the progress made by Molly and Debbie.

"It's incredible that I've forgotten how to walk," Debbie explained. "I'm having to relearn when to move each foot, and my feet just won't cooperate. My toes want to point to the outside instead of forward."

"I guess it must be like a baby learning to walk for the first time," mused Jake.

Molly joined the conversation. "Actually, the therapists say it's much harder for an adult to relearn all the things a baby learns naturally. A baby is operating on instinct, but when an adult suffers brain damage, all that instinct is lost."

Jake shook his head. "It must be both frustrating and frightening."

"It's not nearly as frightening as the first few hours when I thought I would either die or be a total vegetable," Debbie answered.

"It must have been terrifying. How long did that last?"

"Let's not talk about that." Debbie didn't want Jake to know how incapacitated and petrified she'd been. "Everything is much better now, but I do get frustrated. My poor balance makes my gait unsteady and irregular. My therapist Randy often counts out a cadence so I know when to take the next step."

"Don't remind me of counting cadence and marching," teased Jake. "I'm out of the Army now, remember?"

"What did you say you did in the Army, besides marching, that is?" asked Debbie.

"I was a stereoscopic map compiler. That's a fancy name for using film taken from satellites and observation aircraft to draw contour maps."

"It involves operating some complex equipment," Molly interjected proudly, "and Jake got several commendations for doing an outstanding job. I don't know why he didn't keep doing it."

Jake shrugged. "You know me, Aunt Molly. I get bored easily. Hey, I did this for eight years. That's a record for me."

"Well, you could have done it for twenty and then been ready to retire." Molly looked at Jake. "Don't glare at me, young man. You know you did a good job. Otherwise you wouldn't have gotten all those commendations."

"That's impressive, Jake." Debbie had wondered about Jake's seeming lack of ambition. Knowing he'd done a good job in the Army helped her to see him in a more favorable light.

"Well, I didn't want to stay in the Army, and there's not much demand for map compilers in civilian life. Besides, a few commendations aren't as impressive as what you and Molly are doing."

What's impressive about trying to become normal again? Thought Debbie. Who could be impressed with an adult learning to walk? She wished she could do something that would really impress Jake. He made such a strong impression on her when he walked through the door that she could hardly breathe.

"There's been a lot of progress in rehabilitation medicine," Molly said. "If this had happened to us not too many years ago, Debbie and I could very easily have become complete invalids."

"I can tell it still takes plenty of hard work and determination, in spite of all the treatment and equipment," Jake observed.

Jake was right. Every small improvement took hours and hours of intense effort. But Debbie felt a compulsive determination to improve. She was on time to every therapy session, did every exercise without complaint, and ate everything on her prescribed diet, well, almost everything, she admitted to herself. She hadn't been able to eat the beef stew last week. Since beef stew was the last meal she'd eaten before her stroke, it brought back too many painful memories of hours and hours of nausea and vomiting.

Debbie's entire life had become a massive effort to relearn how to function. From wake-up and dressing at six o'clock in the morning through dinner at six o'clock in the evening, every activity was a carefully programmed part of her therapy. Between breakfast and her first therapy session, Dr. Anderson visited Debbie to check on her progress. He frequently brought along colleagues to observe.

Debbie felt like a bug under a microscope when Dr. Anderson brought in a group of medical students and rehabilitation staff for a lecture.

"This is a textbook example of the rare Wallenberg syndrome stroke," Dr. Anderson explained. "Because the stroke took place in the brain stem, one side of her body is paralyzed, while the other side lost sensation. In more common types of strokes, only one side of the body is affected. Her balance center was also badly damaged, causing dizziness, nausea and vomiting as well as poor balance. Another characteristic of the Wallenberg syndrome is nystagmus."

At this point, he shined a light into her eyes. "Her eyes don't focus because of damage to the third motor nerve. Watch the movement-she can't track the light," he said as he moved the light from side to side or up and down. The observers were fascinated with the erratic movement of her eyes.

"Strokes usually result from a problem in one of the carotid arteries located on the sides of the neck. The Wallenberg syndrome is caused by a problem in one of the vertebral arteries that run through the bony section of the spine. Hypertension and a build up of plaque in the arteries are common causes of CVA. Debbie's stroke was caused by an external factor-an injury from a neck manipulation. We've done all the tests-CAT scan, MRI, and Doppler imaging. Nothing revealed any predisposing factors to stroke."

Dr. Anderson continued his lecture. "There could have been two causes of the stroke. Either the chiropractor twisted her neck too far, reducing the blood supply to her brain for a brief time, or his manipulation was too rough and caused a tearing of the artery. The only way to tell for sure is with an angiogram and that could possibly cause another stroke."

"Thank you for not doing that," interjected Debbie.

"In any event," continued Dr. Anderson, "the treatment is the same, so we're going to concentrate on the treatment and not worry about the cause."

The treatment is enough to worry about, thought Debbie. She didn't have the time or energy to think about anything else. Well, she did think of Jake, but that didn't count, did it?

Debbie's eagerness for Jake's visits at the end of each day of therapy surprised her. From time to time she wondered why Jake, Molly's husband's nephew, visited daily, when Molly's children alternated visits. Each of the four children visited every fourth day. Whatever the reason for Jake's frequent visits, Debbie admitted to herself, she enjoyed them. Jake made her laugh even in the midst of all her troubles. The laughter came with Jake's gentle teasing, his good-natured anecdotes, and his jokes and one-liners.

One night he said, "Mom and Dad got a wedding invitation from their neighbor, David Hamm. He's marrying Melissa Burger." Jake paused and chuckled. "Mom asked me if I was going to the Hamm-Burger wedding with them. I told her I'd skip the wedding, but I wouldn't mind a hamburger."

Debbie and Molly smiled at Jake's play on words, but Jake himself laughed heartily.

"Speaking of weddings," said Molly, "remember when your mother and I decided to make some extra money baking wedding cakes?"

"How could I forget?" Jake turned to Debbie. "They promised my cousin Paul and me we would share in the riches. They'd baked a cake for my cousin's wedding. A guest who was planning her own wedding liked it so much she wanted to use the same bakery."

"That shows what good taste she had. Of course, my sister-in-law Katherine and I responded to this public demand for our services and went into the wedding cake business." Molly smiled at the memory. "We didn't exactly get rich, but we earned some extra money and had a lot of fun. We paid Paul and Jake to make the deliveries, but I think they enjoyed the privilege of driving the car more than the money they made."

"We were seventeen years old. Driving around town in Uncle John's car delivering wedding cakes gave us the chance to do the two most important things in a teenage boy's life: drive a great car and impress girls. We loved it."

"And they did a pretty good job, too," said Molly, "at least most of the time. I'll never forget the tire incident."

Jake laughed. "None of us will. Paul and I were getting ready to deliver a huge double-ring cake. There was a whole group of girls next door. Aunt Molly's neighbor had a sixteen-year-old daughter, and she had a bunch of friends over. They came out in the yard to ooh and ah over the cake, so Paul and I were showing off.

"We forgot to take the spare tire out of the trunk, and the cake wouldn't fit. So we set the cake on the sidewalk, and I took out the tire. Of course, with an admiring female audience, I couldn't just take the tire out of the trunk and lay it on the ground. I had to bounce it a couple of times for effect. Unfortunately, the effect I created wasn't what I wanted."

He shook his head. "I don't know how it happened, but the tire rolled away from me and kept on bouncing. Suddenly-flop-it landed right in the middle of the cake!"

"Oh no," exclaimed Debbie. "Was it ruined?"

"It sure looked like it. But Mom and Aunt Molly saved it. They fixed it up so no one could tell anything had happened. We even made the delivery on time."

Molly explained. "We kept extra cake in the freezer, and we had plenty of frosting and decorations on hand. We just cut out the damaged part, pieced in more cake, iced and decorated it. The frozen cake thawed before the reception, and no one ever knew the difference. In fact, we got compliments and even a couple of new orders from it." She looked at Debbie as she concluded. "You and I are going to be fixed up just as good as that wedding cake was."

"I hope so," said Debbie. "I certainly hope so."

Debbie's only free time came in the two or three hours between dinner and bedtime. Jake visited Molly every night, and Debbie liked talking with him about his experiences during his Army career.

"There were only four places I could have been stationed as a map compiler, and I was stationed in all of them. I trained in Virginia for about a year. My first assignment after that was Tokyo. After a couple of years in Tokyo, I was transferred to The Presidio of San Francisco in California and then to Heidelberg, Germany."

"That sounds exciting," Debbie said. "I've never been out of the country, except a couple of short trips just across the Mexican border."

"While I was in Germany, a buddy and I took a tour of Europe. We saved up our leave and spent two months traveling across Europe by Eurail. It was great."

Debbie sighed. "You're so lucky. That must have been the trip of a lifetime. You must have saved a lot of money, as well as leave, to be able to afford it."

"Not really. Traveling by rail in Europe is very cheap, and we stayed in inexpensive hotels. Sometimes we'd just buy a loaf of bread for our breakfast. It was pretty Spartan traveling but a lot of fun."

Jake seemed genuinely interested in hearing about Debbie's small daily triumphs in therapy. Such simple things as being able to sit up alone, taking a few assisted steps, or walking up two stairs holding onto the rails became major achievements. Those small accomplishments in rehabilitation were more difficult and more significant to Debbie than any of her previous attainments. She loved sharing these milestones with Molly and her family, especially Jake.

Late one evening, Debbie glanced at the clock and saw that visiting hours would be ending soon. "I guess Jake isn't going to make it today." She hoped she kept the disappointment out of her voice.

"He and his parents have spent the day as tourists, so he may be late. But he'll definitely be here. He wouldn't miss seeing you."

The words were hardly out of Molly's mouth when the door opened, and Jake's voice called out, "It's not too late to visit my two favorite ladies, is it?"

"Come in and tell us all about your sightseeing. Your mother said you were playing tourist today," answered Molly.

"Would you believe we even went to the Alamo?" Jake pulled up his favorite chair. "I must have been there a dozen times as a kid, but I haven't been back there in years. We went to Rivercenter Mall and saw the Imax film Alamo . . . The Price of Freedom. That made the visit to the Alamo even more exciting."

"What other touristy things did you do?" Molly asked.

"We strolled down the Riverwalk. It's so beautiful. Of course, we ate lunch on the River."

"Let me guess," teased Debbie. "Molly's told me about your love of enchiladas and tacos. You didn't have Mexican food, by any chance, did you?"

"Of course. What else? Then we went to La Villita and Market Square. We had fun playing tourist, but I'm glad I'm home in San Antonio for good."

Jake seemed as pleased as Debbie was with her progress. His boyish looks, his charm, and ready smile in the evenings made the problems she faced during the days easier to handle.

Every part of Debbie's body seemed to be affected by the stroke in some way. Dr. Rosow visited her in her room and explained, "Hello, Debbie. I'm an internist. You've been referred to me because of some complications from your stroke. You now have hypertension, and you've been tentatively diagnosed as diabetic. We'll be testing your blood sugar several times a day. When you first arrived, it was elevated enough for a diagnosis of diabetes, and since then it's been very erratic."

Debbie frowned. "I never had trouble with my blood pressure or my blood sugar."

"Your body's gone through a tremendous shock. Remember; you were referred to a gynecologist for a cervical biopsy. The abnormal bleeding you're having turned out to be another result of the stroke, but we had to rule out any other problem."

"Is that all?" asked Debbie.

"It's enough, isn't it? I've prescribed medication for the hypertension, but we're not prescribing anything for the erratic blood sugar. Hopefully we can control it with a strict diet. You'll be limited in salt, fat, sugar, and calories. I've already given the dietitian instructions." He smiled. "Basically, if it tastes good, you can't eat it."

"Gee, thanks. What about the terrible coughing spells I get? It's scary. It feels like I'm going to choke to death, and I feel this horrible wave of faintness come over me."

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about that," answered Dr. Rosow. "It will probably get better with time, but it may never go away completely. You need to keep water handy and sip it whenever you start coughing."

Near the end of one of Debbie's occupational therapy sessions, Susan, her therapist, said, "It's time to take a look at how your life skills are progressing. How are you doing in feeding, dressing, and bathing yourself?"

"Actually, I'm doing fine in feeding myself if you don't count the mess I make on the towels they give us for bibs. Sometimes I get more on the outside than the inside. As for dressing, I think at times the aides get irritated with me because I won't let them help me."

Susan raised her eyebrows. "How do you manage?"

"I get my clothes ready every night while I'm still in the wheelchair. I put them on the table where I can reach them from the bed. It's going much faster since my sister bought me bras that hook in the front. I had a real problem with back hooks. Now my dressing time is down from about forty-five minutes to about fifteen minutes."

"Good." Susan nodded.

"My main problem is bathing. If someone helps me into the bath chair, I can wash whatever I can reach. But it's so frustrating to have to ask the aide to wash my feet and back-I can't reach them. And the other thing that really bugs me is I can't even pick up a tissue I drop on the floor. I just can't bend over far enough to reach the floor from the wheelchair. It's a real nuisance not to be able to get to something on the bedside table too. But I guess that'll just take time."

Susan laughed and exclaimed, "You're so easy. No problems at all."

Easy for you to say, thought Debbie. You can pick up your own tissue. But she didn't speak as Susan continued.

"Come with me, and we'll solve your problems right away."

Debbie wheeled out of the therapy gym and down a long green hall to a section of the hospital she'd never seen before. They entered a door labeled "Central Supply." In no time at all, it seemed, Susan handed her a sponge with a long handle-long enough to reach her back and her feet. Now she could bathe herself completely. Next came a strange looking light metal object with a claw-like device on the end.

"It's a reacher," explained Susan as she demonstrated. "It can be unfolded and positioned in several different configurations to pick up objects from either the right or the left."

What a treat. Debbie found herself dropping tissues in the hall on the way back to the gym, just for the fun of picking them up without help. Now she was even more independent. She insisted on displaying her new skill to Molly and Jake that evening.

"Jake!" Molly remonstrated. "Debbie's trying to show off, and you won't let her."

"I'm just being a gentleman," he answered innocently, as he bent to pick up the tissue Debbie had dropped.

"Quit teasing her, Jake. Let her demonstrate."

"I can't resist a little teasing." He turned to Debbie and continued more seriously. "I am excited about your new gadget. But I'd tease you about a new toy you got under other circumstances, so can't we have fun even in the hospital?"

Debbie smiled her affirmative answer.

Day by day her physical condition improved. She required less assistance and supervision. In nice weather, she even took some of her therapy sessions on an outdoor paved pathway.

"It really doesn't take much to make me happy," she told Jake. "Give me a sponge, a reacher, and a trip outside, and I'm as excited as a kid with a new toy."

"You might as well have a little fun along with your hard work. Right, Molly?" He turned to his aunt. "I wonder if it was more than coincidence that brought you two together as roommates. You must be the two most positive patients in the unit. I can't help but believe your positive attitudes have a lot to do with your great progress."

Debbie's improvement and her ability to deal with her handicaps pleased her. Perhaps because she'd always been a person who met challenges head-on, she found herself making adaptations without consciously realizing it.

She smiled to herself as she thought about the thank-you notes. The paralysis on her right side had improved enough so she could write legibly, although it was difficult and painfully slow. Debbie wanted to send handwritten thank-you notes to the friends and clients who'd sent flowers and other gifts. When it took her over an hour to write the first note, she counted the gifts she needed to acknowledge-fifty-three. She could never write fifty-three notes.

She decided to tackle the situation as if it were a business problem. What would she do if she had to send out fifty-three business letters? She quickly considered and eliminated several options. She didn't have a computer or a typewriter. Besides, she wanted the notes to be handwritten. Debbie regularly used office technology in her business. In fact, she had a copy machine that made such high quality copies she remembered trying to decide which was the original and which was the copy. Of course. That was the answer. She'd use the copy machine to create originals.

So she handwrote her own form letter. On a plain sheet of white paper, she started with "Dear..." and continued with "Thank you very much for the lovely..."Then she wrote a couple of sentences about her progress to let everyone know she really was going to be all right. It took many hours, much correction fluid, and many attempts over several days, but finally the form was perfect. She gave the form letter to her assistant, Tammy, on one of her visits. Tammy returned a few days later with a supply of copies. Debbie then individually filled in the person's name and the item for which she was thanking them.

Dr. Anderson came in one morning as Debbie was filling in the blanks on a thank-you note. "What are you doing?" he asked. When she explained, Dr. Anderson remarked to his assistant, "We don't need to teach coping skills to Debbie. It looks like she's already learned everything we could teach her."

Debbie felt a thrill when her friends called her to express amazement that she had written them such a long letter. None of them realized the entire letter wasn't handwritten personally for them. Jake's reaction pleased her even more.

"Molly tells me you've figured out a clever way to write thank-you notes. How about showing me what you did?"

Debbie showed him the form letter and demonstrated filling in the blanks.

"That's amazing, Debbie," Jake said, his smile even wider than usual. "I can't tell the difference between the black ink and the copy. It looks like you wrote the whole letter by hand."

"I messed up a lot of them," Debbie admitted. "The trash can was overflowing with rejects the other day. The maid asked me what on earth I was doing to create so much trash."

"So what? It must have taken a lot of determination to write them all, especially if it sometimes took several tries to get one right."

Debbie personified determination. The medical and therapy staff met each week to discuss the progress and plans for each patient. The reports she received from these staffings were encouraging and positive. However, the therapists and nurses always laughingly informed her they had never before heard words like "determined" and "stubborn" as often they were used in Debbie's staffings.

Yes, she was making incredible strides in coping with her handicaps, but she was beginning to worry about life after the rehab center. She would be on her own, and Jake would no longer be a daily visitor.

Dr. Anderson and her therapists all reminded her she wouldn't be able to live on her own for months. As wonderful as her progress had been, her balance was still too precarious for her to be safe without someone around at all times.

What would she do? She'd lived alone since she left home to go to college. Although she had many good friends, most were married or apartment sharing. She couldn't ask any of them to move in with her. But she couldn't live alone. So how could she go home-soon?

Dr. Anderson suggested she hire someone to live in to help her. "You don't need skilled nursing. A sitter or an aide would be enough."

"Money's a problem," Debbie admitted. "I don't know how much a sitter costs, but my income's suffering right now. I own an interior design business. My staff's doing a great job on projects we already had started, but we don't have anything new coming in. My income's taken a nosedive, and it'll take awhile to build it back up. The sooner I get back to work, the better."

And she certainly couldn't work from the rehab center. Therapy occupied all her time now.

"You can go back to work on a very limited basis, if you continue therapy three times a week as an outpatient. It's really too early to return to work." Dr. Anderson smiled. "However, after the last few weeks, I know you well enough to recognize it will be better for you to be occupied and productive. But you have to have someone with you at all times."

Debbie knew that meant someone to drive her and help her with her samples on the job, as well as to live with her and cook. How would she find someone dependable and trustworthy for the meager wage she could offer? How could she spend not only her days, but also her nights, with a stranger on whom she was dependent?

Molly came into the room as Dr. Anderson concluded his conversation with Debbie. She didn't want anyone to know how alone she was, and she didn't want to be dependent on anyone.

But Molly had heard enough of the conversation to recognize the problem. "Debbie, I've got the perfect solution. You know Jake's between jobs now. He says he's trying to decide what he wants to be when he grows up." Molly laughed. "It'd be good for him to have something to do. Maybe it'll give him enough time to decide on a permanent job. He could help you out until you're ready to be on your own again."

"Molly, Jake's looking forward to a vacation before he takes a job. I don't think he'd be interested."

Molly sat as tall in the chair as her short stature allowed. "He'll be interested if he knows what's good for him. The boy's gone through his whole life skipping from one thing to the next. He can just skip through this little job."

Debbie knew Jake would make a great companion. They laughed together at things no one else seemed to find as amusing as they did. She probably couldn't find anybody better suited to her needs. But it didn't matter if he would be good at the job, because he certainly wouldn't want it.

Living together-with him as a driver-cook-assistant-seemed so intimate. She realized she would be close to anyone she hired, but she might not take it personally with a stranger. On the other hand, could she entrust herself into the hands of a stranger? Although she didn't consider herself helpless, she had to acknowledge that she wasn't in a position to defend herself physically in an emergency. What if she hired a maniac?

"Molly, it's generous of you to volunteer Jake. But pushing a wheelchair and opening doors and cooking won't be a fun job. He'd be bored to tears in a week," Debbie responded.

"Phooey. To hear him tell it, he's always bored. He might as well be bored doing something worthwhile."

"I'm not sure that's your decision to make, Molly."

"His mother will agree with me. Katherine's worried about him lying around doing nothing. She'll be glad he's got something to do." Molly wheeled toward her side of the room. "Jake's had plenty of time to find something on his own. Since he didn't, I'll do it for him."

"Molly, I can't afford to pay much at all, probably minimum wage. He could flip hamburgers and make more than I can pay. And Dr. Anderson says I can't be alone for any length of time at all right now. There won't be any chance for Jake to go out for weeks and maybe months. I know he wants to make friends and renew old acquaintances now that he's back in town. He couldn't do that working for me."

Molly turned back to face Debbie. "Don't you want Jake to take care of you, Debbie? I thought you liked my nephew." A frown marred the usually smiling face.

"Of course I want Jake to take care of me, but-"

"No buts about it. It's settled. We'll tell Jake when he comes in tonight." Molly beamed her radiant smile. "I'm so excited. Now I know we'll see each other after we leave this place."

"Of course, we will," Debbie answered. "I'd want to see you again anyway."

"Shoot, you think so now, but you'd get back to your normal life and get busy and forget all about this place."

Debbie rolled closer to Molly. "I hope I can forget all about this place, but I won't forget you." Her voice quavered. "You're the best roommate anyone could ask for."

That evening, Jake knocked lightly on the door before he pushed it open. He looked forward to the visits with his aunt and Debbie. When he'd learned of Molly's stroke, he wondered if he'd feel awkward around her. But Molly was the same as she'd always been, and after the first few minutes, he'd almost forgotten about the wheelchair.

His earliest memories included his aunt, and he'd always adored her. However, he was surprised to find how much he enjoyed her roommate. He felt a twinge of guilt when he realized he'd never thought that a person in a wheelchair could be so much fun. Debbie's smile brightened his day whenever he walked into the room, and she laughed at his silly jokes when others groaned.

Tonight her eye without the patch sparkled brightly, and she looked like she would burst up out of the chair any minute.

He walked to his aunt to kiss her cheek, and then he turned to Debbie. "You look excited. What's happening?"

"I'm going home!" She practically shouted. "I'm going home!"

"That's great, Debbie. I'm happy for you."

She giggled like a little girl. "I'm glad you're happy, because you made it possible."

He sat in the chair between the two wheelchairs. "How did I make it possible?"

"Uh, well . . . "

"Well what?"

Debbie's smile wavered, and she took a deep breath.

"Oh, for heaven's sakes," Molly said. "If you won't tell him, I will."

"Tell me what?" He felt a pang of apprehension. They acted as if they were hiding something, but what could Debbie's going home have to do with him?

Molly squared her shoulders. "You're going to work for Debbie so she can go home."

"What?" He felt more confused than ever.

Debbie's lips trembled as she spoke in a shaky voice. "I told you he wouldn't want to do it."

"I don't know whether I want to do it or not. I don't know what it is." He hoped he didn't sound as frustrated as he felt.

He listened in amazement as Molly explained that she had volunteered him to work for Debbie. He liked Debbie, but he couldn't see himself pushing her around, cooking for her, and cleaning her house. Not only did he not like to clean his own house, but also he wasn't desperate enough to take a job taking care of a cripple for minimum wage.

"Molly, didn't you think about asking me before you so generously volunteered me?" His aunt seldom angered him, but she'd done it now. She had no right to get him into this mess.

"Phooey, Jake, I knew you'd do it." Molly caught and held his gaze. "You don't have anything else to do."

He opened his mouth to remind her he didn't want anything else to do. However, one glance at Debbie shut his mouth again. Her excitement drained away as he watched. The sparkle in her eye dulled, and she slumped down into the chair. Did it mean so much to her for him to take this job?

"Let's go for a walk." He stepped behind Molly to take the handles of her wheelchair. "See you in a few minutes, Debbie."

When they reached the lounge at the end of the hall, he parked Molly's chair beside the chair he chose for himself. "Okay, why did you decide I needed this job? Don't you think I can get a decent job? If you're going to get me a job, why not one that requires a brain-even a small one? Maybe even one that offers a living wage?"

"Jake, honey, I know you can get a much better job. And I know you needed a vacation before you started work again. I'm not interfering in your life."

Molly looked so self-righteous, he almost laughed. "Oh, pardon me. I thought you found me a job. I can't imagine where I got such a ridiculous idea."

"It's Debbie's life I'm interfering in." Molly sighed loudly. "Do you know she doesn't have a soul to take care of her? Just think what would happen if something like this happened to you."

Jake could see himself being smothered by all the care and attention from his large family. "I forgot Debbie doesn't have any family to help her. But she could hire somebody."

"Do you really think she can get reliable help who can do everything she needs for minimum wage?" Molly locked her eyes on his again. "Could you let her go home with a stranger whose only reason for taking care of her is a few dollars?"

"So it makes it okay for me to do it because I'm not a stranger?" Jake shook his head at Molly's convoluted logic.

"No, what makes it okay is that you're not doing it for a few dollars. Don't you like Debbie?" She didn't give him time to answer. "Even if you don't like Debbie, I'm asking you to do it for me. She's my friend."

Jake could almost feel the pain of his twisted arm. He couldn't say "no" to this beloved aunt who had brought him such joy in childhood. "Okay, you twisted my arm far enough. I'll do it."

Molly's grin brought an answering smile to his face. "I knew you would. Let's go tell Debbie."

When they returned to the room, Debbie's plump body looked lost in her chair, and she seemed to have lost her animation. He knew he wouldn't regret helping her if could see her restored to her normal optimistic, smiling self.

He parked his aunt's chair and turned to Debbie. "So, Debbie, when do I start work?"

"You're going to take the job?" She looked doubtful, but the sparkle tried to return to her eyes.

"Sure I am. How can I turn down a temporary job that'll give me a place to live and a little spending money for the next few months?" He found his smile returning as hers transformed her plain face into a pretty sight.

"I think we should set a time for this temporary job. How about three months?"

"We don't need to be so formal. I'll just stay 'til you're ready to be on your own. It probably won't take that long." He didn't want to be pinned down to a schedule.

"Maybe not, but let's say we'll reconsider after three months. You can leave sooner if I don't need you, but if I still need you at the end of three months, we'll reevaluate the situation." Her voice that had been so weak a few minutes before now sounded strong and forceful.

"Sure, we can do that." He felt better He hadn't committed to anything except to reconsider the situation after three months, so he wouldn't be tied down.

Dr. Anderson had said she could go home in another week if she made suitable arrangements. Debbie thought about how much she had to do between now and then, and she still had therapy all day, every day. She'd call Tammy in the morning. She'd be late for therapy for the first time, but she had to speak to Tammy first thing.

Tammy could contact the cleaning service to have the house ready. Bob and the installation crew from her design company could make some minor modifications in the house so it would be accessible for her wheelchair. Thank goodness, her house didn't have stairs, and she had a van to carry her samples. There'd be plenty of room for the wheelchair.

Oh, she felt so excited. At the back of her mind, a little voice asked if she wouldn't regret being so close to Jake on a daily basis. She liked him far too much already. She had to remember she was crippled and not the independent, self-reliant woman she'd always been in the past. Jake's only interest in her was her recovery. Obviously he couldn't find her awkward and dysfunctional body attractive.

Debbie had always been heavier than she liked, and even the strict diet she'd been on since entering the hospital had done nothing for her weight. She'd never been glamorous, and she told herself she looked even less attractive now-sitting in a wheelchair much of the time and staggering like a drunken sailor when she did walk. And a black eye patch didn't exactly make a fashion statement.

She had to keep reminding herself of all this because she didn't feel plain when Jake smiled. His radiant grin lit up not only his face but also the entire room. If she was strong enough to handle this stroke and make the kind of recovery she wanted, she was surely strong enough to resist Jake Dover. She would resist, even if his grin and good humor enticed her more than the hunkiest guy she's ever met, Debbie told herself sternly. And she would just keep telling herself that, no matter how many times it took to make herself believe it.

That night as they both lay in bed, Debbie spoke to Molly. "It will be great for me to have Jake's help, but I'm worried about him. He's just come home. He'll probably want to go out with friends. He's sure to want to start dating. Does he have a girlfriend?"

"No one special," Molly answered. "Shoot, Jake's always liked women, and he's had a lot of casual girlfriends through the years. But he's never had anyone special. His cousins have always teased him that a runt who looks like a teenybopper couldn't hold a woman. I'm sure there's been months at a time when he was at a new military assignment that he didn't have a girl. I don't think a few months without a date will do any permanent damage."

After a brief pause, Debbie raised another question. "Isn't he eager to get started in a new career?"

"He's serious when he says he doesn't know what he wants to do. Ben and Katherine were hoping he'd make a career of the Army. He's never had much ambition, and they were thrilled he did so well in the military. But he's decided the Army isn't the career for him. I just wish he'd figure out what is."

Debbie fell asleep with Jake's smiling image in her mind. She'd always been so ambitious; she found it difficult to imagine a thirty-year-old man not knowing what he wanted to do. Jake didn't need ambition-he probably got what he wanted with his charm. She had to work hard for everything she achieved.

Debbie spent a hectic week getting ready to go home. When she called Tammy to make arrangements for the cleaning service and the modifications to the house, Tammy volunteered to contact the landscape service as well.

In the midst of her excitement over her own discharge, Debbie had to say goodbye to Molly when she was released. "I'm going to miss you, Molly. But I'm so happy for you. Stay in touch."

"Of course, we'll stay in touch," John Dover answered for his wife. "You make sure that nephew of mine calls us often. And when you're up to it, make him bring you for a visit. Molly and I are glad he's going to be helping you out. You couldn't get better help. And besides, we're depending on you to make him call and visit."

Debbie didn't think she could make Jake do anything, but she hoped they maintained contact with Molly. Their shared struggles had forged a strong bond between them.

"You've been a wonderful roommate," Molly said. "I'm glad you're getting to go home soon yourself. We're both going to get better. I know we are."

Debbie and Molly were misty-eyed as they hugged each other tightly before John wheeled Molly down the hall, toward the exit and home.

Dr. Anderson insisted that Jake spend one day with Debbie in therapy to ensure that he knew how to assist her. He also needed to be aware of her capabilities and limitations. Then came a trial one-day visit home. Under close observation by her physical therapist Randy, Jake picked Debbie up at the hospital in the morning.

"That was a good transfer from the wheelchair to the car," Randy commented as he walked to the back of the van with Jake.

"Be sure you position the wheelchair just like that for every transfer. And make certain Debbie remembers to grasp the arms of the chair before sitting. That applies to any chair, not just the wheelchair. Don't let her try to sit in a chair without arms."

"Randy, you already went over all this with me a zillion times just two days ago when I spent the entire day here. I promise I'll take good care of her. You're like a mother hen," Jake teased.

The prospect of going home, even for only one day, filled Debbie with excitement. This was her first trip off hospital grounds in over a month, and being with Jake made it even more exciting. Of course, Jake was her assistant, she reminded herself, no different from Randy, her therapist. Debbie's head may have believed that, but her heart didn't seem to understand. Jake had already become very special to her, and they hadn't even started to spend all their time together. How would she feel when he left after months of continuous contact?

Maybe she'd feel differently about him by then, she rationalized. After all, she'd only seen him at his best. He was bound to be less attractive when he wasn't on good behavior for his aunt, and he probably had bad habits that would annoy her over time. Besides, she was excited to be going home, and Jake was just part of that excitement, wasn't he? She was making too much of the situation. Jake was just a part of an exciting event; that's all.

"Excited to be going home?" Debbie's thoughts were echoed by Jake's familiar voice as he got in the driver's seat.

"Oh yes!" She quickly changed the subject. "Do you need directions to my house?" she asked as Jake drove out of the parking lot.

"I've been over there a couple of times this week to check on everything. Bob and his crew have everything in place, and we moved a couple of pieces of furniture around. The house is set up so you can use the wheelchair if you want to; but if you'd rather walk, there's furniture or doors you can hold onto for support. The house is clean-the yard's been taken care of-and I did the laundry."

Debbie looked at him in surprise, but he didn't give her a chance to respond.

"I didn't do much grocery shopping because I thought we should discuss what you like to eat, but the dietitian gave me a copy of your diet. I did buy a few basics, and I've got lunch planned for today. I'll do the rest of the shopping before you come home for good."

"You've done all that? I didn't give you any money for shopping, and I didn't expect you to do the laundry. When did you have time to do all this?"

Jake stopped at a traffic signal and turned to look at her. The set of his jaw clearly showed his determination. "Debbie, from now for as long as you need me, my time is yours. Taking care of you is my job now, and that includes laundry and groceries," explained Jake.

"But I didn't intend for you to start work until I was home. I mean, we need to do some paperwork for me to hire you. I need to talk to my accountant. The business can pay part of your salary since you'll be helping me during the day, but I'll have to pay you personally for the work you do at home." Debbie tried to control her voice, but it came out in a squeak. "I'm not even sure about the legalities of all this. I didn't mean for you to start already."

"Number one, I haven't begun work yet. I just wanted to get a head start, so everything will go smoothly when I do officially begin. All I've done so far has been for my aunt Molly's friend. Okay?"

He waited for her nod before continuing. "Number two, I've got a simple solution to the pay situation. I'll go to work for Debbie's Designs full-time at minimum wage. Then you and I will share your home. You'll provide the house and pay the expenses, and I'll do the physical work and help you when you need assistance. That seems like a fair trade to me."

The light turned green, and Jake drove through the intersection. He didn't give her a chance to voice her protest. "With you providing room and board, minimum wage for a full-time job is all I need. I just bought a complete civilian wardrobe, and I have a little money in the bank for emergencies. So, what's the problem?" he concluded.

When Debbie made no response, Jake glanced over to the passenger seat.

"Debbie, what's wrong? You look terrible. And you're trembling."

"I'm so dizzy. I haven't been this dizzy since right after the stroke. It's awful," moaned Debbie.

Debbie was surprised to hear Jake let out what sounded to be a sigh of relief. "Is that all?" he asked. "Dr. Anderson warned me that riding in a car might make you dizzy. He didn't want to mention it to you because it doesn't always happen. Since there's nothing that can be done about it, there was no use worrying in advance. Do you want me to pull over for a few minutes?"

"No, I'm okay, but I'll be better when we get home," she answered.

There was no more conversation during the rest of the trip. Debbie found if she closed her eyes, the dizziness abated, so she didn't know they had arrived home until the van slowed to a stop. When she opened her eyes and saw her own house, she had to take a deep breath to avoid being overcome with tears. It was a modest house, but all hers. Well, hers and the bank's, but that was a minor point. It was her retreat from the world, her private place for her private self. And now she would be sharing that retreat with Jake.

His voice interrupted her thoughts. "How's the dizziness?"

"It went away as soon as we stopped."

Jake continued, "Do you want to walk, or do you want to use the wheelchair? I'll help you if you want to walk."

She wanted to see her home from an upright position as she had seen it at the end of every day for the two years she'd lived here. "No wheelchair, Jake. I want to walk."

Debbie took the arm Jake extended and levered to an upright position. When she tucked her arm through Jake's elbow, she realized she and Jake were the same height. She'd known he was short, but just how short hadn't been as obvious when she looked up to him from the wheelchair. Now, side-by-side, they slowly walked up the sidewalk. The first thing she noticed was the ramp at one side of the step. The next thing she noticed was a large sign, reading "Welcome Home, Debbie" on the front door. The words "Welcome home, Debbie" echoed softly in her ear.

Jake helped Debbie into the living room and seated her on the sofa in front of the fireplace. She looked at him in apparent surprise as he struck a match to the stacked logs. "I know it's not really cold enough for a fire, but it is cool. I thought a warm fire would be part of a warm welcome home."

"How did you know I love a fire? That was thoughtful of you."

Jake had tried to create a welcoming atmosphere for Debbie. He might not want to be here, but he'd accepted the job, and he'd decided to put forth his best effort. None of his many employers ever had any complaints about his work. He did a good job until boredom caused him to move on to something else.

He might even be doing more than his usual good job now, since he felt occasional twinges of conscience. Because he didn't want to do this, he'd go overboard to do a better job than anyone could expect. Everyone always accused Aunt Molly of having convoluted logic, but maybe his own thinking wasn't so logical.

Jake watched Debbie as she looked around. Fresh flowers decorated the coffee table. He didn't think the house looked like it had been empty for over a month. Through the door into the adjoining den, an afghan covered the back of the platform rocker. A paperback book lay facedown on the table beside the chair. He hoped Debbie found her home as inviting as he'd tried to make it. She smiled, and he wondered if she smelled the bread.

"Lunch will be ready in about an hour, if that's okay," he said. "Let me know when you feel like looking around the house and yard, and I'll help you. I'm sure you're eager to see everything."

"I'd like to go outside now."

She sank into a green and white striped lawn chair on the deck. Her yard was small and compact, but she usually brightened it with a small garden every spring and summer. Well, the garden would be neglected this year, but at least the grass, shrubs, and trees were green and healthy. Someone had filled her bird feeder, and chirping birds surrounded it.

So engrossed had she been in the yard and the birds, Debbie hadn't even realized Jake had gone back inside the house until he returned with a cup of herbal tea. "I hope this is what you wanted to drink. Since you had so much in the cabinet, I figured it must be your favorite. Is it okay?" Jake set the tea on the redwood table in front of her.

"It's perfect, Jake. Thank you. Did you fill the bird feeder? I was surprised to see so many birds."

Jake smiled and shrugged. "I found the bird seed while I was checking out the grocery supplies. Do you mind?"

"Oh, I'm glad. You've really made this a wonderful homecoming. Are you responsible for the flowers inside too?"

"Guilty as charged," admitted Jake with his trademark grin. "I just wanted this to be a real homecoming for you. You've been through so much lately-it's time for you to enjoy a few pleasures. I had fun doing it, so don't say I shouldn't have."

"Then all I'll say is thank you very much. It's a wonderful day so far, and it's just started. We do need to talk about your job. Sorry I got sidetracked on the way over here, but the dizziness got to me for a while. We need to get this straightened out. I didn't intend for you to take care of me for free. I'm not rich, but I can afford to pay for what I need." She thrust her jaw stubbornly.

Jake sat beside her on the matching lawn chair. "Of course, you can. That has nothing to do with it. But if we were friends sharing the house, I'd have to pay half of the mortgage, the utilities, and the groceries. If you paid someone to cook for you, do the laundry and the shopping, and help you when needed, it would probably still be less than it would cost me to house-share. So it seems to me I'm getting the best end of the deal."

How could he make it sound so logical when she knew it was unreasonable?

"We'll be friends sharing a house. We are friends, aren't we? Just say 'yes,' Debbie. I promise you won't regret it," pleaded Jake.

Although she felt she should protest, Debbie found it too much to her liking to disagree. "Okay,"

"Good. Now, how about lunch?" asked Jake.

"Just one more thing. I need to give you some money for groceries and whatever else you've spent or will spend before I get home," Debbie insisted.

"Tammy's already given me money from your business. She's keeping a good record of it, and we can settle all that when you're home for good. Now, no more delays. It's lunchtime."

He helped her back into the house and into the small dining alcove off the kitchen. Her favorite blue pottery dishes and a centerpiece of fresh flowers adorned the table. Jake helped her sit at the table and said, "I'll be right back with lunch."

Debbie's eyes widened when she saw the fresh bread Jake carried to the table along with the baked chicken and steamed vegetables. She looked pointedly at the bread and said, "I thought I smelled bread baking but decided it must be my imagination. I never considered you might have actually made bread."

"Just enjoy it," Jake said as he measured out the portions specified on her diet.

He must have studied and learned the requirements because he wasn't reading anything as he measured. First he gave her the medication scheduled for noon, and then he handed her the plate of food. The yellow and green vegetable medley surrounded golden brown chicken decorated with a sprig of parsley. The aroma tempted her taste buds, which were satisfied with the first bite.

Jake entertained Debbie with anecdotes from his Army days, and she found herself smiling and laughing throughout the meal.

"You should have seen Jim." Jake laughed at his own story about an Army buddy who drunkenly stumbled onto a construction site one night. "He was covered with paint from head to toe, and he tried to convince the sergeant he was staggering and slurring his speech because of the paint fumes. He swore he hadn't had a drop to drink."

Debbie enjoyed the story but found Jake's hilarious laughter more entertaining than the tale itself. "You never have to worry if anybody is going to laugh at your jokes, do you? You laugh so much yourself it doesn't matter if anybody else does or not."

Jake pretended to look hurt. "Well, when you're an only child, you learn to be self-sufficient." His infectious laughter rumbled through the small room and caressed Debbie's ears.

As soon as she finished her dessert of fresh strawberries and bananas, Jake helped her into the bedroom for a nap while he cleaned up the kitchen. Although she was accustomed to a full day of therapy, the physical trauma and the emotional excitement of the day had exhausted her, so she welcomed the nap. She felt rested and refreshed when she woke a couple of hours later.

"Do you mind if I go ahead and move in?" Jake asked as they toured the rest of the house. They were standing in the doorway to the guestroom, soon to become Jake's room. "I could get unpacked and settled in during the next couple of days, and I need to do some more shopping before you come home. Tammy gave me a key to the house to let in all the workers who've been here this week. Do you want me to get a copy made and return the key to her, or do you have another spare?"

After life in slow motion for weeks, everything seemed to be moving too fast. Jake, living in her house, before she came home, with his own key? Well, why not? He'd be living here when she came home, and he certainly had to have a key.

"That's fine," mumbled Debbie.

"What's fine, Debbie? You didn't answer my question. Do you want me to make a copy and give the key back to Tammy, or do you want me to keep the one I have?"

"You'd better make a copy. I only had one spare at the office. Now, I think you'd better be getting me back to the rehab center. Dr. Anderson was adamant I had to be in my room before five o'clock. And I sure don't want to do anything to keep him from discharging me on Friday."

The drive back to the center was quiet. Debbie again suffered dizziness and kept her eyes closed. When they arrived, Jake got the wheelchair for her and pushed her through the door and down the hall to her room.

"I won't be back to see you until I come to pick you up on Friday afternoon," he said. "I'll be busy getting things ready for you to come home."

Jake headed toward the door as he finished speaking. "Dr. Anderson told me they would do the discharge paperwork right after lunch on Friday, so I'll be here to pick you up about two o'clock. Then, Debbie, we're going home."

As Jake left, Debbie realized this would be the first time in the last four weeks she'd go for more than twenty-four hours without seeing Jake. But then, she consoled herself; she'd be with him all day, every day.

Time stood still for the next two days. Would Friday ever arrive? She couldn't wait to see Jake again-rather, to get out of the rehab center. Seeing Jake would just be part of going home. That's what she was excited about-going home.

Friday arrived at last. Debbie hurried through lunch and was back in her room with everything packed long before Jake was due to arrive. She really liked the staff at the rehab center and felt profound gratitude for all their efforts that resulted in her being able to leave. But now she just wanted them to hurry up and finish the discharge procedures so she could be on her way.

And where was Jake? He should be here by now. As this thought crossed her mind, Debbie heard his familiar voice, followed by a burst of laughter, down the hall. He was at the nurses' station, bringing laughter to the staff as he brought smiles and laughter everywhere he went.

"It looks like you're really reluctant to leave here," he teased as he came through the door to see everything piled up ready to go. "Where are all your flowers and balloons?"

"I sent them to the trauma unit. I'll take only the living plants and permanent gifts home. The nurses already distributed everything else to patients who didn't have anything. All I want is to go. I thought you'd never get here."

Jake laughed. "You sound just like a little kid. I checked in at the nurses' station. All your paperwork is done. You just have to sign a couple of forms as we go out, and then we're on our way home."

The formalities finished, Jake, accompanied by the discharging nurse, pushed Debbie out the front door for the last time. The van displaying the Debbie's Designs logo was parked in front. Jake helped Debbie into the van and loaded the wheelchair in the back while the nurse loaded Debbie's belongings through the side door.

The ride home filled Debbie with the same excitement as the trip earlier in the week. She again closed her eyes to ease the dizziness, but nothing lessened the excitement she felt at finally going home. Six weeks of hospitalization had seemed like forever. She knew she had a long way to go to recovery, but how wonderful it would be to be in her own house, to sleep in her own bed. How she had missed her home. How she'd missed seeing Jake these past two days. She found it hard to believe she'd only known him a month. He seemed to have been a part of her life forever.

His voice interrupted her musings. "I think everything's ready for you. Tammy, Bob, and the rest of the staff wanted to come by this afternoon after work to welcome you home. But I talked to Dr. Anderson, and he didn't think it was a good idea. So I told Tammy to put it off a few days."

Debbie started to speak, but Jake continued.

"Dr. Anderson wants you to stay home for a full week before you start going back to the center for therapy. I'll call the outpatient department the middle of next week, and they'll give me the schedule. After we get your therapy schedule, we'll figure out your work schedule. We have everything at home we'll need for the next week, so we'll just have some quiet time before you try anything else."

Now that she was headed home, Debbie had thought she would be in control of her own life again. Had she given up the discipline of the rehab center only to have all her decisions made by Jake?

"Do I have any say in all this?" Debbie snapped. "It seems like you have everything planned for me. Maybe I wanted everybody to come over tonight. Maybe I don't want a quiet week at home next week. Did you ever think of asking?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Debbie regretted her outburst. They weren't even home yet, for heaven's sake, and already she'd lost her temper. And they had never had a cross word before. She should be grateful for Jake's consideration, but she was determined to be a fully functional human being. She didn't like having all her decisions made for her. Of course, all her decisions had been made for her in the hospital, but that was different. Now she was going home. She was her own boss in her own home.

Jake took a long time to answer. "Gosh, I'm sorry, Debbie. I thought my job was to take care of you. I spent time earlier in the week meeting with Dr. Anderson and your therapists. The only reason they discharged you now is that I promised I would see you followed their instructions."

Although Jake looked straight ahead as he drove, Debbie felt the impact of his words as if he were piercing her skin with needles. "I know you want to be independent, and you will be soon. But the fact is you aren't ready for that yet. You're making a remarkable recovery, but you still have a long way to go. It's important that you don't overdo. You've been in a very structured environment for the last six weeks." His voice rose to a near shout. "Don't you realize there has to be a transition back into the real world?"

Reluctantly, Debbie mumbled, "Uh-huh."

"You just can't forge full steam ahead. I didn't make any decisions on a whim. All I'm doing is following Dr. Anderson's instructions. Asking you what you want is not part of the plan, at least not when it comes to asking you if you want a bunch of people to visit you the minute you're home from the hospital."

"You're right, Jake, as much as I hate to admit it. I don't really feel like a welcome home party, but it's frustrating to be treated like a child."

"Deb, the last thing I want to do is treat you like a child. Don't you know how much I admire your strength? You've suffered a terrible tragedy, and your attitude is wonderful. I know you're going to overcome this. I just want to take care of you, never treat you like a child. Now open your eyes and see where we are," he said. "We're home."

Home, thought Debbie. He says that just like it's his home, too. Well, he does live here now, even if it's temporary. So, home it is.

Without asking if she wanted the wheelchair, Jake opened Debbie's door and held out his arm to her. Together they walked the few steps to the front door. The "Welcome Home, Debbie" sign still hung above the door, and again she heard Jake's soft whisper "Welcome home, Debbie" as they entered the house.

Today Debbie wasn't surprised to smell bread baking or to see fresh flowers on the coffee table.

"Do you want to sit here, or do you want to go in the bedroom while I unpack?" Jake asked.

"I'll go with you to the bedroom."

She sat in her comfortable armchair while Jake carried in her bags. The bedroom suddenly seemed smaller with him in it. She'd never had a man in her bedroom before. Of course, Jake wasn't in the room as a man, merely as her assistant. Debbie blushed when she realized he was holding up a handful of underwear.

"Where do these go?"

She told him what each dresser drawer held, and he quickly put away her few clothes. Then he carried her toilet articles into the bathroom. The bathroom. Why hadn't she thought of that? How was she going to take a shower? She couldn't stand.

"Deb, if you feel up to coming in here with me, I'll show you what Bob and I did." Jake suddenly appeared in front of her and held out his hand.

She took his hand and, with his help, walked into the small bathroom. It had been transformed. On her previous visit, she had noticed the rails that had been installed beside the toilet, but she hadn't even thought about the shower. Now she saw a plastic shower bench with rubber tipped legs in the center of the stall. Rails had been installed to help her get into and out of the shower. Her stationary showerhead had been replaced with a portable showerhead on a long extension. She could let it hang free so she could reach it from a sitting position. There was even a chair just outside the shower so she could sit to dress.

"I asked the therapy staff what you needed, and this is what they suggested. The one change you can't see is we installed a small water heater for the bathroom only, with the temperature set low so you can't be badly burned. Since you don't have any feeling on your left side, you could easily burn yourself without knowing it."

"I didn't have a problem in the hospital."

"That's because you always had an aide with you in the bathroom, and they checked the water temperature. Obviously, I can't be with you all the time, so Bob and I made it possible for you to be in the bathroom alone."

Pointing to a button on the wall, he continued, "Here's a doorbell. You can reach it from inside the shower, in case you have a problem. Of course, I'll be close by, and you'll have to leave the door unlocked. If you need help, just ring the bell and I'll be right here."

Debbie shook her head in amazement. "I never even thought about all that. I guess I was so used to everything in the hospital I forgot how different the real world is. You've done so much to have everything ready for me to come home. I never realized how much was involved."

"The staff at the rehab center was super. They told me everything you needed. I didn't even realize you still don't have any feeling on your left side until they warned me you could get burned. They also told me you need to watch closely for cuts. You could easily develop an infection since you wouldn't feel the original injury. I've tried to do everything to make this house both safe and comfortable for you. Will you tell me if there's anything else you need?"

"I can't imagine what it would be. I wouldn't have thought of half of this."

"How about a short rest while I finish putting things away and start dinner? I know you were dizzy coming home even if you didn't say anything. I saw you had your eyes closed. This has been an eventful day, and you should lie down for an hour or so."

Debbie agreed. She was tired, she thought as she sat on the side of the bed and took off her shoes. She didn't expect to fall asleep, but the next thing she knew, Jake was leaning over her bed and saying softly, "Wake up, sleepyhead. Dinner's ready."

Jake felt proud of the dinner he prepared. It conformed exactly to her strict diet, but he'd taken extra care to present it attractively. He'd held several jobs as a cook, and they'd been among his favorites. Although the specific jobs had palled, he'd never become bored with cooking. He'd enjoy at least one part of this job.

When Debbie complimented him on the delicious meal, he said, "Cooking's a hobby of mine. And it's a challenge to create good tasting and filling meals for a low fat, low salt, diabetic diet. I promise I'll do a better job cooking for your diet than I did cooking for my mother's diet."

He laughed as he recalled the story. "I was in high school and just learning to cook. Mom decided to go on a diet. She put me in charge of the cooking so she wouldn't be tempted to nibble while she fixed dinner. Being a typical teenager, of course, I knew it all."

"I remember those days. Beth and I often comment it's amazing how smart our parents got from the time we were in our teens until we were in our early twenties," Debbie said.

Jake smiled. "My parents still hadn't got smart at this point. So I ignored the diet instructions Mom gave me and came up with own meal plan. I'd heard it takes more calories to chew celery than it contains, so I made a complete meal of celery."

"Yuck. I don't object to celery in its place, but a whole meal might be a little much." Well, maybe there were two things he liked about this job. Debbie's smile had to count as a definite benefit.

"Especially when the main course is French fried celery, and dessert is celery cream pie."

When her smile turned to laughter over a story his family groaned about, Jake decided Aunt Molly's interference wasn't so bad, after all.

To read the rest of the story ...

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