Chapter One: The Awakening

Captain Michael Amerigo woke up in the middle of the night, sitting upright in the dark, reaching for his weapon. He frantically looked around; he wasn’t holding a weapon; it was a control panel on a cord. He looked out into the darkness. That wasn’t the enemy; it was a hospital orderly sitting in a chair. He looked down. He was not in his gear; instead, he was wearing a blue hospital gown. He was in a hospital bed with a large blinking medical console, blinking at him in the night. He thought, “Where am I? He reached down to feel his legs, holding the covers up to see if he was all there. Sighing back into his pillow, he said, “Thank you, Lord.” His movements woke an orderly, James, a tall, dark young man with short black hair, in green scrubs, napping in a red metal chair, three times too small for him. James jumped up, headed to the door, and then returned to his bedside, saying, “I don’t know what to do.” Michael had been unconscious for over four months, and the doctors and nurses did not expect him to regain consciousness, based upon his injuries.

James began to leave for help, but Michael begged him to stay, asking, Where am I? What day is it?” James replied, “Walter Reed in Washington and February first.” Michael paused and then stated, “That can’t be true. What year is it?” James asked, “Do you know what you did?” Michael replied, “I can’t remember anything.” The orderly showed him his phone with the YouTube video of Michael carrying his squad mates to a helicopter, being shot as he returned, falling down and then getting up again, over and over until all five of his squad mates were saved. The orderly says, “You are famous. You are a national hero.” Michael replied, “I am hungry.’

James announced, “Wait right here. We will be right back.” Within seconds, three nurses and a doctor rushed to his bedside. The doctor asked Michael a question as a nurse checked his chart, another was taking his blood pressure, and a third was checking his oxygen content. The doctor said loudly, “Can you hear me?” Michael replied, “Yes, you are shouting.” The doctor lowered his voice, repeating his question, “How do you feel?” Michael replied, ‘Hungry.” The young doctor held up his pen, waving it in front of his eyes, back and forth, saying, “Let your eyes follow the pen.” Michael noticed that the doctor was about his age, young, with short brown hair matching brown eyes he had been following. The doctor was sweating profusely and looked confused. Taking out his stethoscope, he listened to Michael’s heart. Frowning, the doctor moved the instrument from one spot to another on Michael’s recently revealed torso, searching for something. Michael put his hand on the doctor’s shoulder and announced, “That is my stomach growling.” He reached down and found a bag taped to his torso.

The doctor stood up and announced, “We can’t give you something to eat until we determine more about your current internal organ status. We are going to sample your blood to determine your liver enzymes and the output of your kidneys.” Michael asks, “What is your name?” The doctor replied, “Doctor James.” Michael reached out to grab his hand, trying to get the doctor to stay, and asked, “What is this bag attached to me? The doctor winced and said, “I am not your primary doctor. I am finishing my residency, and on night shift, so I don’t know how much I am supposed to tell you. Michael grabbed him by the arm, saying, “If it were you. What would you want to know about yourself?” The doctor stepped back and paused, solemnly recited his injuries, “You were shot seven times; four times in the legs, twice in your torso, and once in your arm. You have a catheter that allows you to pass liquids, and the bag you feel is a colostomy bag. You haven’t had solid food in over four months, so your waste output is liquid. We have your colon bypassed until we determine if your internal organs will support natural waste disposal.” The doctor reached out and put his hand on Michael’s shoulder and said, “You were lucky that you didn’t lose any limbs. I apologize if that is not comforting. I encourage you to count your blessings and work on rebuilding your strength for a full recovery.”

The young doctor, all the nurses, and James left, leaving Michael alone. He reached up and said, “Thank you, Lord, for preserving me. We’re all alone now, you and I. If it wasn’t my time to go, please tell me why and let my parents know I am all right. Give me strength if you want me to recover, and please forgive me for my shortcomings, including my disappointment with my injuries. Be with the members of my squad.” He closed his eyes and was awakened by a young brunette nurse carrying a tray of food. As she set the tray down on his bedside table, she announced, “My name is Claudia. Your test results look good, so the doctor is going to let you try a little food. Your stomach hasn’t had solid food for over four months. Please try just a little, and then wait to see how you feel before you try more.” Michael replied, “I am feeling weak. Will you feed me?” hoping to get a closer look at her. She reluctantly sat down on the metal chair by his bedside and opened a container of yogurt, holding a spoonful out for him to swallow. He looked into her eyes; beautiful light brown eyes that contrasted with her auburn hair, and swallowed, saying, “Mmm.”

She asked, “How do you feel with a little yogurt in your stomach?” He looked at her and said, “I am ready for a hamburger.” Claudia laughed as he reiterated, “I am serious, I want a hamburger.”She smiled and said, “All in good time, adding, “I don’t mean to pry, but it says on your chart that you have no immediate family members. Is that correct?” He replied, “First, do you have parents and brothers and sisters?” She was shocked for just a moment, but seeing him smile, his eyes dancing, dissuaded all discipline. She replied, “Yes, I grew up in Cincinnati, my parents still live there, and I have two brothers and a sister.” She asked, “What about you?” He ignored her question and asked, “And no wedding ring?” She sighed and replied, “You are incredibly incorrigible but cute.” She continued, “I am just three years out of nursing school, working and studying to be a nurse specialist. I am married to my work.” She paused, and then added, “For two more years.” He smiled and said, “Thank you,” before continuing. “My mother and father were killed by a drunk driver when I was a senior in high school. I was an only child, and my parents were only children.” He paused, thinking about what he was going to say, before beginning, “I was left all alone in the world. I joined the service to have a purpose and a distraction.” He looked, and she was crying, as he added, “I am never really alone,” pointing up.

The silence between the two was deafening, reverent and appropriate. Claudia got up to kiss him on the forehead, as two nurses pushed the door open, noticing her leaning over. They backed out of the room faster than they burst in. Claudia regained her posture, opened the door, and announced, “Come in, we are going to give him a bath.” Michael sat up in bed and replied forcefully, “No, I am having a shower.” Claudia responded, “The doctor said bathing.” Michael replied, “ I am getting up,” as he extended his legs over the edge of the bed, about to stand up. Claudia led the two nurses to his side, yelling, “Oh, no. You have to sit in a wheelchair. I will get you a wheelchair.” She motioned to the first of the two nurses, saying, “Rita, get a wheelchair,” turned to the other nurse, directing, “Ramona, get a shower seat.” The three nurses all put him in a wheelchair, barely squeezing into the bathroom with him. Claudia slid him over onto the shower seat and pulled the curtain. Michael threw his gown over the top, turned on the shower, and stood up. Claudia screamed, “You can’t stand; you have to sit.” He opened the shower curtain, standing up, and replied, as all three nurses stood with their mouths open, “I am not dead yet.”

Michael was back in bed, out of breath and panting as the two nurses gathered up the dirty gown and the wheelchair, leaving Michael alone with Claudia. She sat by his bed. Michael asked, “What is wrong?” She replied, “It is six forty-five; my shift is up at seven.” He watched her as tears regathered in her eyes. “Please don’t tell anyone I told you, but we would sneak in and raise your eyelids, praying you would open your eyes so we could see your beautiful blue eyes.” He smiled as she continued, “And someone made this big sign, ‘He’s Awake,’ with hearts and butterflies on the wall above the punch-in clock,” as she showed Michael an image on her phone. He replied, “Thank you,” adding, “Go home and rest. I am not going anywhere.” She thought and replied, “But now I will worry about you all day.” He smiled and said, “I will wait for my angel to return.” This time she did it; she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. He said, “Go,” as she walked to the door, turning one more time and smiling before leaving.

Michael looked at the monitor. There in the corner was a little clock: seven. He heard a commotion in the hall, nurses gathering outside, arguing. One nurse came into the room, followed by two others. They were smiling suspiciously, as the first nurse stated, “I am Cynthia, your day nurse, and these are your nurse assistants, Lavonne and Tamara.” Michael was feeling better after his shower and flippantly announced, “I am Michael, your patient.” He asked, “Who has been cutting my hair and trimming my beard?” Cynthia replied, We have a daily, weekly, and monthly regimen. Daily, we check your fluid outputs, empty your catheter and colostomy bags, check the doctor’s orders, and give your food and medication.” Michael replied, “What kind of food have I been given?” Cynthia smiled and replied, ‘You don’t want to know,’ continuing, “Weekly, we bathe you, take blood samples and test cognitive and physical responses, and monthly we trim your hair, trim your beard, and trim your nails.” Michael looked at the three of them all thirtishy. Cynthia was the oldest with short black hair tucked under a surgery cap, Lavonne and Tamara wearing competing gowns, decorated with hearts and butterflies. He thought, “I wonder who the artist was that drew the sign above the punch-clock.”

Michael heard a knock on the door, ‘knock, knock,’ and an older doctor, not as tall, not as thin, whiter with gray at the temples, appeared. He immediately announced, “Good morning, I am Doctor Rogers, your physician.” He paused, and then smiled and added, “You can call me Steve.” Cynthia stayed, picked up her iPad, and motioned for Lavonne and Tamara to leave. Steve turned to Cynthia and said, “I want an EKG and an echocardiogram. When is the last time we had a CT scan?” She replied, “Two months ago.” He replied, “I want a new one.” He turned to Michael and asked, “How do you feel now that you have had something to eat?” Michael replied, “Hungry.” The doctor looked at Cynthia and asked, “Do you have that?” She replied, “Yes, he is hungry.” Doctor Steve asked Michael, “What do you remember?” Michael said, “We were pinned down, overwhelmed and wounded, calling for an extraction. I woke up here,” adding, “How did I get here?” He replied, “You and your squad were airlifted to Landstuhl and stabilized before being transferred here.” Michael asked, “Where is my squad now?” The doctor replied, “I only have information on you.” He continued, “You are going to go through a series of cognitive and physical tests this week, combined with physical therapy.” He waited for a response before continuing, ‘It says on your chart that you stood up to take a shower. Is that right?” Michael replied, “Yes, why?’ The doctor replied, “Well, two things; first, that is a good sign that you can stand; second, that is a bad thing you did. You put your nurses at risk when you don’t follow orders.” Michael replied smartly, “I have always followed orders. What you are telling me is not orders.” The doctor paused, trying to understand him, and then replied, “Try to work with the nurses and compromise when you can.” He continued, “Do you have any questions for me?” Michael replied, “Yes, when can I lose this bag and get reconnected?” The doctor replied, “We need to get farther down the road showing real progress in rebuilding your physical strength and the strength of your organs.” The doctor asked, ‘Anything else?” Michael replied, “When can I have a hamburger?” The doctor smiled and replied, ‘We will let you know,” as he looked at Cynthia and then left the room. Cynthia said, “Try to get some rest today; you have physical therapy at seven in the morning. She made some more notes and said, “Lavonne and Tamara will help you with breakfast. I am going to schedule your testing.” She turned and asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Michael replied, “Is he any good or just annoying?” She replied, “He is the best, and he knows it. She paused and added, “We all do.” She turned to go, passing Tamara in the doorway, followed by Lavonne with a tray of breakfast.

He finished his last bite, and the door opened, revealing a tall lieutenant and two heavy-set sergeants in camo gear. Claudia rose and left the room, leaving Michael with a napkin tucked under his chin as he saluted the lieutenant horizontally. The lieutenant identified himself, announcing, “I am Lieutenant Johnson and these men are Sergeants Sipsoud and Natiling. The lieutenant's tone softened as he continued, asking, “How do you feel, son?” Michael replied, “Confused,” adding, “Did Johnson, Siegle, Barthomew, Nothingham, and Jackson make it?” The lieutenant looked at his paperwork and replied, “Yes, all your squad survived.” The lieutenant added, “We are here to tell you that you are scheduled for a debriefing with General Hoboken tomorrow at 0900.” The lieutenant added, “He will have more information on your squad and what happens next.” Michael looked up sharply as he finished, asking, “What do you mean, what happens next?” The lieutenant leaned over, placing his hand on Michael’s shoulder and said, “Son, you are a national hero,” adding, “Here is my number. Call me if you have any other questions before tomorrow, but remember, I don’t have any information on your future or your squad.” With that ominous statement, the lieutenant and sergeants saluted and left. Michael thought, “They saluted me. That is not right.” The door did not fully close; the lieutenant and sergeants left as Cynthia returned. Michael looked up as she sat down, smiling and thinking: she looks good both coming and going. She saw him smile and asked, “How did that go?” He replied, “From bad to good, thank you for coming back.”

The Monday, it was a Monday, was a parade of nurses, each jostling the other for a look at Michael, not just because he was handsome, but also for a chance to care for a hero. The day ended with a little slice of heaven. His door opened just after nine in the evening. Claudia peeked in, and he was sleeping. She sat in the little red chair watching him and reached out to hold his hand. He turned over, opened his eyes, and said, “Good evening. I must not have been too badly behaved today. I got my angel back.” He closed his eyes and then opened them again. She asked, “Is everything all right?” Michael replied, “I am afraid to go to sleep for fear I will not awake again for four months.” She smiled, replying, “Generally, once you awake from being unconscious for four months, the likelihood that you will fall back into unconsciousness is very low.” She watched for a response, and continued, “Your organs are growing healthier each day. Unless there is some new trauma, you should wake up normally going forward.” He replied, “Thank you,” closing his eyes. He woke again at midnight; she was still there. He woke again at 2 in the morning; she was still there. He was fast asleep as her heard her get up at six. She saw him stir and said, “Sleepy head, you have physical therapy in one hour. I need to empty your bags and get you in sweats.”