He shook his head. “No, not at all. I was kind of down after the last visit with the psychologist—but, I mean, I wasn’tthatdown.”
“Sometimes all that rattling around in your brain makes you toss up things other than the contents of your stomach.”
He stared at Dennis and started to laugh. “You’ll never let me forget that, will you?”
Dennis immediately shook his head, grinning. “Nope, it’s the only time I know of where somebody didn’t keep down any food I handed them.”
“Well, in this case, the psychologist might have tossed up some things in my brain but nothing useful.”
“It takes time,” Dennis added wisely. “Don’t expect too much out of yourself so soon.”
“No, maybe not,” he murmured. He looked around. “When’s breakfast?”
“It’s coming soon. Although I’ve got something that just came out of the oven, if you want to start with it.” And he disappeared.
Mystified, Ryatt poured coffee and waited while Dennis headed back into the kitchen area. When he returned, he had a huge tray full of cinnamon buns. “Good Lord,” Ryatt said in delight. “I’m certainly not passing on those.” He grabbed a small plate and took the largest one he could see. “Thanks.”
With that, and Dennis’s help with his food and his drink, he sat out on the deck in the sunshine, studying the sun rising through the trees and wondering at how beautiful it was outhere. There was just something gorgeous about seeing green pastures and fences and horses and animals out having fun and being happy.
As he sat here, mulling over the beauty of the outdoors, his stomach was mulling over the beauty of the cinnamon bun. By the time he finished it, he had a raging appetite going on. He heard noises behind him, and he shifted carefully and noted a line forming for breakfast. That was his call. He got up, leaving his plate and cup in place, hoping that it would save his spot, and joined the queue.
When Dennis saw him coming back around again, he grinned. “So that bun was just a taste teaser, huh?”
“Absolutely.” Ryatt nodded. “Now I need real food.” Dennis loaded up his plate with sausages, bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, and toast. “Wow. This is perfect. I missed dinner and can handle this just fine.”
“Good enough. I’ve got your tray and your drink, and I’ll help you get settled. If you need more, come on back.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice? I don’t think I’ll be able to eat any more though.” Dennis set his food and drink at Ryatt’s table, as Ryatt slowly made his way around the crowd and out onto the deck on his crutches. It was harder to maneuver on them among the tables and all the people, but at least Ryatt didn’t fear falling down anymore.
His seat still remained available, but several other people had joined his table. He reclaimed his chair and sat down, listening as they joked about the day coming up. He was happy to see so much joy in everybody. Several made comments about the size of his servings. He didn’t say a whole lot, just dug in.
After he had eaten it all, he wondered if he’d overdone it. So he headed back to his room to sit and to rest, before his session with Shane. If nothing else, Ryatt would warn him that he’d probably eaten too much after having missed a meal last night.Shane would understand, and, if he didn’t, that’s just the way it was. Ryatt could sit here and worry, or he could just get up and have another day and carry on and hope that it wouldn’t be a problem.
By the time he made it to Shane’s workout room for the session ahead, Ryatt felt a lot better too. And it proved to be a positive thing because he made it through his training with a whole lot more energy than normal.
Shane even noted it in the middle of the workout. “Wow, what got into you today?”
“A couple things I guess. One, I slept all last night. I missed dinner because I slept through from like three o’clock on.” Ryatt shook his head. “I can’t remember the last time that happened, and then, two, I ate hefty this morning,” he added, “because I woke up starving.”
“Interesting,” Shane murmured. “Anything in particular causing the sleep?”
“Not that I know of.” Ryatt focused on Shane. “I was at the psychologist’s for a session right before that. I was kind of down when I came back, and then I fell asleep. Andboom. When I woke up, it was the next morning.”
“I’ll put a note of it in your chart,” Shane said. “Let me know if it continues.”
“Why? Is it a problem?”
“Only if it’s depression,” Shane said quietly. “Then it’s a problem.”
“I’ve been depressed since before I got here. Yet I certainly don’t want to take drugs for something like that.”
“No? That’s good,” he murmured, “because, maybe then, you’ll work to do something about it.”
At that, Ryatt rolled his eyes. Then Shane set him to do more exercises. By the time they’d finished the session, Shane sent Ryatt off to do blood work that needed to be taken. Then Ryattmade it through lunch, and the afternoon was soon done. Ryatt was tired but energized, feeling better than he had in a long time. He wasn’t sure whether it was all that deep uninterrupted sleep or something else entirely, but it was the opposite of being depressed. And that was a good thing.
As he headed out onto the upper deck that evening, he wondered about going down for a walk outside on the grounds. But it was a lot of walking, and the crutches still tired him out; plus, no matter the cushion atop them, the crutches still hurt under his arms. He always had the option of a wheelchair, but, man, those were hard to move on grass or rocks.
He hated the feeling of being in a wheelchair, that overwhelming sense of insecurity and of being a victim to the circumstances—plus being so much less than a man. He knew it was all garbage; he knew it was all just mind stuff that he needed to get over because a wheelchair would certainly make getting around the grounds a lot easier.