High Hurdles Collection Two (86 page)

“When are you coming over to the barns?”

DJ shrugged. “Soon, I guess.” She propped her elbows on her knees. “So tell me what's going on over there.”

“Western show on Saturday, so we're getting ready for that. Joe says he's not taking Ranger until the trainer works more with them together.” Ranger was Joe's young cutting horse. “The last show, Joe almost went one way and Ranger the other.”

“So?”

The two girls giggled at that one.

“I better head over there. I need to work on Josh's tail, and the farrier is supposed to be there at 4:30. See ya.”

When Amy left, DJ settled back against her pillows. Did she really want to go to the barns? Ignoring the answer, she fell back asleep.

The next few days slipped into a rhythm. DJ was feeling better in the mornings, even up to doing homework. They'd drive to Walnut Creek for treatments at the John Muir Medical Center in the afternoon. She was doped up pretty well for the treatments and, once home, slept on into the evening.

On Friday they showed DJ how well the skin grafts were growing. She nearly gagged, but pure fascination made her study what her therapist, Jody, was telling her.

“See, here we have your own skin from between your fingers where the damage wasn't as great. Here are the grafts, and this part over here is where we used the artificial skin grown in a lab. It works like a net for your own skin cells to grow over more quickly. Since we were able to keep infection from setting in, the tissue is responding more quickly. But we have to keep the tendons from tightening your fingers into claws, and keep the skin from growing into a web between your fingers. All that means working the hands, no matter how much it hurts.”

DJ shuddered. “Nothing can be worse than the scrubbing.”

“So they say. I know this doesn't look real good to you right now, but trust me, you're coming along famously.”

DJ could feel her face grow hot.

“Are you eating all right?”

“When I'm awake. After the treatments I sleep right through dinner, but Mom brings me a tray.”

“Get lots of fruit and vegetables. They'll help you feel better all around. And get up and walk.” Jody checked her chart. “You still get dizzy?”

“Some.”

“Okay, then have someone walk with you. The more you can get out in the sunshine, the better. Just keep the hands clean. That's one reason we still bandage them. Keeping them clean and dry is imperative.”

“Am I ever going to be able to take a shower again?”

“Sure. Just bag your hands in plastic, tape them shut, and hold them up out of the water. One good thing is you don't have to wash your hair every day.” Jody stepped back. “Not many people can go with their hair so short, but on you it looks good. Would you rather use a wig?”

“No, hats are fine. My grandma found me a couple that work okay. Maybe when it's a bit longer I won't feel like I need a bag for my head.”

“Trust me, kid. If I looked as good as you, I'd wear my hair that short all the time. So easy to care for.”

As they always did after the treatments, DJ and her mom stopped by the ice-cream parlor to get her a jamoca almond malt—large size to go.

“Mmm. This is so good. What if I become a malt addict?” DJ opened her eyes again after closing them in delight.

“Beats drugs, that's for sure.” Lindy watched the light, waiting for the green.

“Mom?”

“What, dear?”

“I won't be a drug addict when this is over, will I?”

“The doctors don't think so. Dr. Niguri said that they'll wean you off the morphine now as this other pain-killer takes effect. It's one of those that takes time to build up to an effective level in the bloodstream. He said you will feel more alert, but that rest is still really important.”

“I can't keep it all straight.”

“That's okay. It gives the rest of us something to do.”

“Jody said I can take a shower if we bag my hands.”

“Good. That alone should make you feel better.”

DJ watched the scenery go by, but before they reached Pleasant Hill, her eyes had drifted closed. She had a hard time waking up enough to get out of the car and up the stairs to her room, where she sat down on the bed and fell over asleep. She vaguely heard Maria
tsk
-ing as she lifted DJ's legs and swung them up on the bed.
Thank you
. But the words never made it to audible level.

“Hey, darlin', how you doin'?” Gran breezed into DJ's room Monday morning with her normal collection of baggage.

DJ shrugged and tried to blink to clear her eyes, which had been closed instead of focused on her schoolwork. “Just can't keep awake.”

“This, too, shall pass. The Bible promises.” While Gran spoke, she pulled two garments from her bag and held them up. “What do you think?”

DJ shrugged again.

“I designed them myself. See … wide, loose sleeves to go over your bandages, elastic around the neck, so no buttons. We can just pull them over your head and voila, you are dressed. Pure comfort. No shorts to pull up and down, and no more living in nightgowns or those ugly hospital gowns.” Gran leaned over and whispered, “And you don't even have to wear a bra.”

Like I really need one
. “Thanks.”
How do I tell her these are like old lady dresses?

“Now, I know these aren't the fashion statement of the day, but jeans are hard to get on and off, and those tiny T-shirts won't go over—”

“My boxing gloves, I know.”

“Well, you give them a try, and we'll modify the pattern if we think of something else that will work. Here, I'll help you put one on now.”

DJ kept her expression noncommittal only with great effort.
Gran, you know I don't wear dresses
. But she held up her arms to make it easier for Gran to slip the garment over her head.

“I can put elastic around the waist if you like, or we can do a belt.” Gran pulled a belt made of braided strips of fabric from her bag and held it around DJ's waist. “Oh my, darlin', you've lost a lot of weight. I measured this off your jeans.”

“She not lose more. I make sure of that.” Maria stood in the doorway, hands on hips and nodding. “That looks good, and comfortable, too. Did it hurt your hands?”

DJ shook her head, surprised at herself. She'd been concentrating so hard on the fit that she'd forgotten about her boxing gloves. She stared at the person in the mirror. The turquoise material made her eyes look greener than ever and her fuzzy hair blonder. Looking taller than she remembered being, DJ was skinny now, not just straight.

“Sheesh, maybe I should be a model. My neck is long enough for a goose. I bet my jeans are gonna just fall off. What do you think, Queenie?”

The black-and-white dog raised her head from where she lay snoozing on the bed. She cocked her head to one side, gave a little
woof
, and laid her head back on her paws.

“Was that a yes?” One eyebrow went up. “Guess so.”

“No. I fix, you eat. I feed you up good.” Maria walked around her. “I think you look good in that. Nice legs. You wear skirts and dresses more often.” Her dark eyes flashed. “Boys come all time then.”

“She's too young for boys.” Gran evened out the gathers on the dress and stood back. “Looks nice, Darla Jean. You want any changes?”

“Jeans?”

Gran rolled her eyes. “I'm thinking of making a short-sleeved top and elastic-waist shorts for when you leave the house.”

“That would be cool. Thank you for sewing them for me.” DJ dropped a kiss on her grandmother's head. “Not like you had tons of time, I know.”

“You come down now for lunch?” Maria paused in the doorway.

“I just had breakfast.”

“You eat before leave for hospital. Made chocolate chip mint cookies just for you.”

“That was what smelled so good. You think maybe you could fix up a plate for me to take to Jody? Maybe if I bribe her she'll go easier on me today.”

“Fat chance.” Gran hung the other dress up in DJ's closet and pulled shorts and a tank top from a drawer.

“Sure, I do that. You hurry down now.”

“Okay, thanks. Just let me get my clothes on.” DJ looked around for her sandals. “At least I don't have to brush my hair.”

“That's my girl.” Gran gave her an around-the-waist hug. “Let's get you ready.”

After a lunch of grilled tuna sandwiches and chips, with a banana smoothie to drink, Gran and DJ got ready to leave.

“You think something is wrong that Mom's taking so long?” DJ asked. Lindy had a doctor's appointment in the morning and had said she should be back in time but, just in case, Gran would fill in.

“No, she had some errands to run, too. We can call her on the cell phone if you want.”

“No, that's okay. Got the cookies?”

Gran nodded. “And a water bottle. Anything else?”

“Nope. See ya, Maria.”

On Friday DJ was making her way down the stairs when the doorbell rang. “I'll get it,” she yelled without thinking. Not looking down, she picked up her pace. Her foot landed wrong, and the stairs came up to meet her.

“My hands!” Her scream broke halfway down.

Chapter • 8

“Darla Jean, are you all right?”

The doorbell rang again.

“Coming, just a minute!” Lindy yelled at the door and gathered a sobbing DJ into her arms. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Just my hands. Oh, Mom, it hurts so bad.” DJ sat on the lower step, her elbows resting on her knees, hands in the air. “I slammed them against the stairs. I tried twisting to the side, but …”

Queenie licked away her tears as fast as they fell. She whimpered and glued herself to DJ's side.

“At least you didn't break anything. Don't move. Let me get the door.”

DJ tried to stifle her sobs by taking deep breaths. If only she could at least blow her own nose! She started to get up but sat down just as abruptly. Her ankle screamed at her when she put weight on it. The thought of not being able to walk made her cry even harder. Queenie crawled under DJ's arm and halfway onto her lap, her tongue still on tear patrol.