Things that happen in our own lives can sometimes get us thinking about things that happen in other lives. For instance, I have been dealing with a medical condition that needs me to keep my leg up and not use it too much. For some of us, this is difficult to do. It is especially difficult for women, especially women who are poor and/or are the chief caregivers for a family. So tonight I wrote a story about a woman who finds a reason to believe in feminism because of her wounds…literal, in this case, but perhaps some of them the unseen psychological wounds so many of us carry around.

WOUNDS

 

The doctor finished bandaging the wound. “You need to keep off that leg for…oh, at least three or four days, until it has time to heal. Take the antibiotic twice a day, and don’t stop taking it until you run out, even if you feel better.”

Nicole stared at the prescription; it looked like it was written in a foreign language. “I don’t know how I can stay off it. I have two kids to take care of…and my husband.”

“Get your husband to take care of you and the kids. The wound is infected, and you need to be careful. Change the bandage twice a day. If you have pain, you can use aspirin or a non-aspirin pain killer.” The doctor made some notes in the chart. “Is there anything else you need me to look at? So you don’t have to make a trip back?”

She mumbled something she hoped sounded like nothing and waited for the doctor to leave. Even though it was a female doctor, she didn’t feel comfortable changing in front of someone. She pulled her jeans on, wincing as they brushed over the cut that grew more red and swollen every day. She took a bus home and threw the prescription in the trash. She couldn’t afford medicine.

“Did you go to the clinic?” Devin spoke with his mouth full. He swallowed and tried again. “Do you go to the clinic? What did they say?”

“The cut is infected. They put something on it, some ointment, and a bandage. They told me I should stay off my feet for a couple of days.” Nicole didn’t look at him. She didn’t expect him to offer to help.

“That could be tough at work.” Devin lost interest in the conversation. He pushed his chair back and headed for his easy chair and remote. He would spend the rest of the night watching sports.

“Zoe, Ian, take your dishes to the sink.” Nicole stopped her children before they raced off to play video games and left their dishes behind. They glared as they carried them to the sink, a matter of only a few feet. The table was in the kitchen and the kitchen wasn’t large.

Ian growled. “Why can’t you do it? That’s your job.” Ian was almost a teenager, and he had adopted the teenager’s attitude early. He was difficult to deal with, and he had been such a sweet boy.

“Because doing chores is good for you.” Nicole dismissed them; they could fight over the computer all night, and she wouldn’t care. She would stay in the kitchen and wouldn’t hear their fighting or Devin’s snoring as he slept in front of the TV. She washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. The dryer beeped, telling her the laundry was ready, so she hauled it out of the dryer, folded it, and carried it upstairs to put away. Off her feet…yeah. Devin was off his feet, the recliner all the way back, the remote clutched in his left hand, about to drop on the floor. The kids were off their feet, sitting cross-legged in front of the computer, an old used model that led to constant arguments with her about why they couldn’t have a better computer.

Nicole was working drive-thru for the next few days. On Friday, she noticed her leg had swollen more over night. It had been swelling a little more every day, but it nearly doubled in size since yesterday. It hurt, and it itched. The wound was a nasty thing to see now. How could a simple little cut get so…ugly? She showered, hoping the hot water would help reduce the swelling, but there was no difference. It was difficult to put her uniform on; the pants rubbed against the sore. She rummaged in the cabinet, but there were no bandages. There weren’t any yesterday, either, so she wasn’t sure why she was looking for them. She should stop at the store on the way home. A bandage would help.

Devin was already at the table, ready for breakfast. Nicole pushed the toast down; Devin didn’t even do that much. She scrambled eggs and added a tomato to make up for how few eggs she had. Both Devin and Ian were healthy eaters, but since Devin’s lay off last year, they hadn’t had enough. She was so glad when they called him back, but it would take a while to make up all the back payments. They managed to avoid bankruptcy; sometimes she thought they should have done it. Then most of the bills would be gone, and they could make a fresh start. She limped to the table with her plate; no one noticed. She slipped into her chair but didn’t eat. She didn’t feel well.

Joel called the ambulance when Nicole collapsed. She protested; they couldn’t afford it. He waved her off; if it was at work, the worker’s comp would pay for it. The ambulance drivers took one look at her swollen leg and rushed her into the ambulance. She arrived at the emergency room in record time and was whisked back to a room, where doctors, nurses, and interns all took their turns poking at her.

“Do you have someone…friend or family…we should call?” The nurse was kind. There was something in her voice Nicole didn’t like. It sounded like…pity.

“Am I gonna die?”

“Not if we can help it.” The nurse took the paper where Nicole wrote Devin’s name and number. “We’ll see if he can come.”

Devin rushed in like racing to a two for one special at the local pub. “What happened? What’s wrong? They just told me you were in the emergency room.” Nicole lifted her sheet and showed him her leg. “Holy shit!”

Another doctor came to poke and prod at her. He read her chart from the clinic. “Didn’t you take the antibiotic that was prescribed?”

“I…we…can’t afford medicine.” Nicole hung her head, hating to admit how poor they were. “I don’t have insurance at work, and his insurance only pays for office visits.”

“You should have said something. There are programs that can help.” The doctor introduced himself as Dr. Farmer. He sat next to her and started explaining what was causing the problem. “Your infection has invaded all the tissues surrounding the cut. There is a lot of dead tissue, and we will have to do surgery to remove it. It is possible we may not be able to save the leg.” He saw the stricken look on Nicole’s face. “I’m sorry. I always hate to tell a patient bad news. I’m going to admit you tonight; you need to be fasting when we do the surgery, so we can schedule it for morning. Meanwhile, get some sleep. You look exhausted.”

The doctor left. Devin fussed over Nicole until she asked him to please sit down, she didn’t need her pillows fluffed or her covers adjusted. She was trying to assimilate the news. Surgery. She’d never had surgery. She’d always been healthy.

“Why didn’t you tell me? That you were so sick, I mean.” Devin looked miserable.

“I told you the doctor said I needed to be off it for a few days, but you just said that would be difficult and went back to your dinner.” Nicole tried not to sound like an accusation, but it was difficult.

“I…you should have…said something. I could have asked my mother to come in and do the dishes, or something.”

Nicole turned her back. His mother would not have come over to help her. Her own mother wouldn’t come over to help her. She washed her hands of Nicole when she married Devin. Neither of her parents liked him, and her mother, a feminist, thought he was hopelessly patriarchal. Okay, so her mother would have come…but Nicole would not have asked. She was too proud to admit her mother was right. Nicole never understood all that feminist stuff her parents got involved in. After all, women were everywhere you went, and were able to choose what they did, right? Why was feminism needed? Nicole learned a lot from the various jobs she worked over the years, but the first thing she learned is that women are considered fair game…for doing the shit work, for working extra shifts, and for trapping in a corner when no one was looking.

And Devin was patriarchal. Even now, with the risk of her losing her leg, he didn’t think of helping. He thought of asking his mother to help, even knowing his mother hated Nicole. And just to help with the dishes. Is that all he thought she did? His mother could help with dishes, and laundry, and cooking, and vacuuming, but who would go to work for her? She had a full schedule. She had no vacation time. Her boss didn’t offer benefits, just pay slightly over minimum wage.

Nicole came through the surgery; she lifted the covers. Her leg was still there. It wasn’t as swollen, but didn’t look good. The doctor came to visit in recovery; he told her he wasn’t able to get all the dead tissue, and she would need to have more treatments and physical therapy. It wasn’t over. She still might lose the leg.

Several days later, Devin came to drive her home. “No bus today”, he announced grandly as he helped her into the passenger’s seat. “And Zoe is cooking dinner.”

“Oh, great. Corn dogs and potato chips.” Nicole knew her daughter. She always went for what was easiest.

“We’re out of corn dogs. I think she’s making boiled eggs and toast.” Devin executed the turn out of the driveway. “And your mother is coming over to help you until you recover.”

“You called her? How could you?”

“Because you won’t.”

“What about your mother? You said you were going to call her.”

“She…refused. Told me this is what you expect when you marry a tramp. I told her it wasn’t a venereal disease, but I don’t think she believed me.” Devin sounded uncomfortable. “I told her you’re not a tramp, but once she makes up her mind…”

Mom was in the living room when she got home. She took Nicole’s wheelchair from Devin’s control before he smashed her into the side of the door. “I’m going to stay for a few days. Dad knows, and he approves.”

“Where’s Zoe? I thought she was making dinner.” Nicole was upset that neither of her kids were there to welcome her home.

“I’m making dinner. Zoe was on the verge of making…some sort of egg stew. I have no idea what she meant by that, but it looked very unappetizing. Frankfurters with eggs spread over them, and whipped cream on that.” Mom shuddered.

Nicole spent many months in recovery. She had three more surgeries, but they were able to save her leg. Devin never lifted a finger to help until Mom gave him the evil eye and he jumped to help fold the laundry and put away the dishes. That lasted only three days before he relapsed. Nicole started attending feminist meetings with Mom. She finally understood.