Page 131 of Never Stop

Ten milligrams worked, but only for my shoulder. My arm still felt like there were a hundred knives stabbing me over and over and over. I’d never in my entire life felt pain like it. It didn’t feel like muscle or anything else that could get sore. This was different and hard to describe, like a raw, shooting pain wanting to dig through my skin.

I spent most of my time on the couch watching Court TV orFamily Feud. I’d always likedFamily Feud, but I’d become obsessed. Steve Harvey was a funny man to watch. When I used to watch the show he would make me laugh, but this time around, I didn’t laugh. I would watch the show, know it was funny and that I should be laughing, except I wouldn’t laugh. It was as though I was dead inside not feeling emotions. I felt pain, though. So much pain. The skin on my arm felt as if it were raw. I couldn’t wear long-sleeved shirts, sweatshirts or anything that would rub against my arm.

I spoke with Dr. Simon a few weeks after my surgery. I told him about my arm and he wanted to send me to physical therapy and start me on the nerve medication again. At the mention of the medication, my heart broke. Going back on the medication would mean I couldn’t have a baby for God knew how long. I didn’t care what category the medication was in, I wouldn’t jeopardize my unborn child. And the oxy too.

“Hey, babe,” Easton said, coming in through the door that leads to the garage. “How you feeling?”

My gaze turned fromJudge Judyto watch him as he walked over. “You know, hurts to move.” I wasn’t even able to bathe myself. I wasn’t able to lift my shirt above my head, bend down to take my pants off or wash my body. Every day I felt helpless.

“Are you hungry?”

I shook my head.

“Did you eat lunch?”

I shook my head again.

“Babe,” he scolded. “You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’m gonna make you a grilled cheese for lunch, and you’re going to eat it.”

I glared at him. “I said I’m not hungry.”

He crossed his arms over his chest as he stood next to the coffee table. “I don’t care. You can’t keep taking these meds and not eat. It’s not good for you.”

I snorted. “What? Are you my doctor?”

He cracked a smile. “Well, I do bathe you.”

“Nurses bathe patients. Not doctors,” I corrected.

He turned to walk to the kitchen, laughter in his voice. “What do I know? I’ve never gotten a sponge bath.”

I wanted to laugh. I knew I should, but I couldn’t. I was broken.

A few minutes later he returned with a plate that had a toasted grilled cheese sandwich on it. How could you resist a gooey, buttery cheese sandwich? Apparently, I could. It didn’t look appetizing at all.

“Eat at least half.”

“I don’t wanna.” I was whining, but I didn’t care. I just didn’t want to eat.

“Eat it, or you’re not getting your next pain meds.”

My eyes looked up to his. “You wouldn’t.”

“Test me.” Easton jabbed the plate in front of my face.

I snatched it, placed it on my stomach and grabbed half the sandwich. I took a bite and it tasted like nothing. I wanted to like it. I really did, but it tasted blah. It had no flavor and made me want to throw up.

Easton sat on the couch next to me, his eyes onJudge Judy. “I can’t believe you like this crap.”

“It’s not crap,” I said around a bite full.

“She’s such a bitch.”

“First of all, she’s like my idol. Second of all, she’s only a bitch to those who deserve it.”