Story:DamagedGoods:Chapter 8

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The full chapter list can be found at Damaged Goods



Part 8: January 21st, 2007


Hey, /b/. I just realized, yesterday, that it's been almost a month since I last posted here; mostly due to my busy schedule this time of year, partly due to what seemed like a lack of interest. I've barely had time to even browse /b/, as it is, being occupied with errands to run and double shifts to work.

She, and by 'she' I refer to 'Amputee-tan' or 'Maimed-tan' or 'Damaged-Goods-Tan' or whatever else you may call her, has been doing relatively well for the last few weeks, at least, since the primary holiday season ended. She enjoyed the gifts I rustled up for her (with the assistance of some smaller contributions from the rest of the staff), said gifts including her own copy of EBA, several books, and an ipod; the stuff my own family came up with later on christmas day went over pretty well too, mostly consisting of clothes and books...she's still wearing the sweater my mom got her quite a bit.


Like I was saying before, it's been pretty hectic. I've approached her social worker to make some inquiries about the possibilities of guardianship, and how one would go about applying for such things, and she was somewhat helpful, thankfully, though she has warned me that it wouldn't be easy, for reasons I've listed before. Still, I'm working at it, and my cousin the lawyer, who I'd also mentioned and who was there at christmas, has been lending a hand as well, pro-bono, looking into and inquiring about, family law with a friend and colleague that specializes in the field. All in all, that aspect is looking pretty good, particularly since I have my family's support in this...they all thought she was pretty darn awesome when they showed up at the home christmas night, and met her for themselves...which felt really good to see, since she took it so well.


There's really just too much to talk about, if I were to mention everything...I could write a small book, really, and since I'm not a writer, and it's my day off, that isn't terribly appealing to me. So I guess I'll open the floor to questions, and try to answer them as best I can, at this point. You know, if anyone cares enough to have any, that is.

Oh, one note before I do so: I did wind up sticking it in her pooper. It was messy.

(ok, joke made out of her problem with constipation and the application of suppositories out of the way now)


Since most of the residents don't know what the hell an iPod is, let alone what to do with it, and the staff helped get it for her and all know who's it is (the 'Property of 'Her Name'' engraved on the back helps there), it shouldn't be much of a problem. If a visitor or someone at the rehab facility were to do so, I'm fairly sure that our friendly neighbourhood Swarthy Security Specialist would track up the culprit and break his/her kneecaps before retrieving it.

She and he have struck up a bit of a rapport in the last few weeks, as it turns out that she'd had a friend in her class pre-accident that belonged to his particular class/sect combination, so she 'gets him' in those ways more than pretty much any of us adults.


Bel-Air? Taken away? What? Shit, someone actually tried to copypasta as me? I don't know if I should feel honored or offended. Was this stuff in the wiki?

Anyway, no, it isn't a Bel-Air (as if people that believe that will believe me saying so), and she wasn't taken away...I haven't posted since christmas morning, so if I've been 'seen' since then, it wasn't me.


I have the headstart on her, but she's got the skills with her 'off' hand on me. And she's been playing it for over a month now, and is doing pretty fucking awesome at it in doing so...she's most of the way through Hard ROCK mode (god, she did not handle the christmas stage well, as I predicted, but she's more or less gotten used to it by now), and generally whoops my non-crippled ass on that difficulty when we play head to head. I can barely make it up to Let's Dance/Anthem/Survivor's 'level' on that difficulty, as is...she's just stuck on JJF, but she's getting closer to beating it all the time.

Her 'hands' rehab nurse has mentioned that it's been really helpful to her skill with her left hand, and she's doing better with her new right myoelectric all the time. I'm just glad she's having fun.


Sadly, my skills at visual art are more or less nonexistent. I couldn't even manage a decent stick figure of her if I tried.


Well, my last two posts disappeared within ten minutes or so, with about 20 posts to each apiece, a quarter of which were me, and half of which were 'gtfo fag'...a guy can get the message after awhile.


Well...she hasn't exactly started arm-thrusting herself out of her bed to flying-hug me when I walk into her room or anything, but I like to think she's continuing to open up to me, slowly but surely...

We talk more, now, when she can't sleep, or after she has another nightmare (which are still very commonplace). About anything she'd like, which usually includes what happened during the day, while I was away. She's telling me about things that frustrate or annoy her, rather than keeping it all to herself, and at the same time, she's also admitting it when she likes or enjoys something, too, which is even newer. I've managed to fill her iPod with most of the songs she's asked for (has an amazing memory, can list exact track and artist names and sources for most of them, which I, well, can't), which has helped too, particularly on the bussing to and from the rehab facility, I've been told.

Our resident headshrinker says that she mentions me fairly often in sessions, almost always in a positive way, which is good...and when it hasn't been overly positive, I've tried to correct my behaviour when I can, but a lot of those 'problems' seem to stem from being reminded of her father, thus making her feel bad...


For the record, though I mentioned this initially, it wasn't technically BUTTSEX. It was a professional doing a professional's job for a suffering patient, that's all. No more, no less.

I even wore a latex glove while doing so, which is not standard BUTTSEX protocal, as far as I am aware (my BUTTSEX familiarity is somewhat lacking, I will admit)


She's beautiful. Beautiful for a child, that is, of course, rather than an adult's beautiful. Even as broken as she still is inside, and with the scarring over her eye, I'd say she's the most beautiful little girl I've ever seen.

Well, she is. You'd agree with me if you saw her.


At this point, some sort of 'arrangement' (which is pretty messed up even outside of official scrutiny, I mean, really) would probably just do more harm than good for my petition. As for girlfriends, I don't have any issues with seeking them out, and I've actually been getting to know the new girl at the local coffeeshop, considering asking her out the next time I'm in there (which will probably be tomorrow).

Still, if it does happen, it's the sort of commitment that would need to be made by everyone involved in the household, including any girlfriends...and it's also the sort that tends to drive casual people away and split previously strong marriages apart. I can always hope, but it's a big thing to face.


I'm not sure, but from what the social worker and my cousin have indicated, it'd be at least a month or so in red tape before any progress was made from the time a formal application for consideration is made and the time it gets looked at by someone in authority, even. Actual vettings and such would be longer, of course.


Well...she's talked about how when I've been nice to her, particularly when comforting her after nightmares, that I make her think about her father. Which, considering her circumstances, is a painful thing to do, even if all her memories of him are good ones...maybe especially because they're good ones. I mean, it isn't healthy for her to have withdrawn as much as she has, a common symptom in PTSD, and she needs to learn to 'feel' again without 'flinching', still hurts, she's said, and I'd have to imagine.

It makes me feel bad for her, and good inside for her comparing me to him, having clearly loved him tremendously as she did...very conflicting...


Well, I may try to be a bit more frequent in my updates, since at least a few people still seem to care, faggort-flooders aside.

As a side note, I finally read through Nana's Everyday Life on Dan Kim's website a few weeks back, for the first time... just hardened my resolve to do the right thing for this real girl. Fiction will remain that way, if I have anything to say about it.


I haven't given them any reason to suspect me of anything, mostly because I really haven't done anything wrong, as of yet. I mean, the suppository incident was the deepest I've waded into shit creek thus far (ho ho, i am so witty), and even that was just me doing my job...the fact that I've talked about her with most of them, and made the fact that her situation makes me feel for her clear, probably helps with my general transparency level, too, of course.


It was december 28th, and all was calm as I came into work for the first of two shifts I'd be working that day...3 pm, the late-afternoon to evening shift, and then my usual 11 to 7 night shift. I'd been working double-shifts for more than a week now, and I was beginning to approach the fine edge of raggedness, but I was soldiering on like a good little trooper as is the role of the nurse, after all.

She'd been pretty calm for the past few days, the unexpected buoying of christmas spirit outpouring overcoming the sting of loss she'd felt at facing her first yuletide alone. The only notable incident had been two days previous, when she'd been trying to stand on her own, beside her bed, on her still-new legs, and taken a fall...when I found her, hearing the crash of plastic and metal prosthetics against furniture in her downward arc from the hallway, she was already in angry tears, biting her lip and practically tearing her legs off herself in frustration, a state which I had to work hard to calm her up from, indeed.


I was giving the log of the morning's activities a quick read-through before getting to the real business at hand when I noted a note in the notices section of her file: 'patient appears to be suffering from abdominal discomfort, refused breakfast'. A frown of worry crossing my face, and making sure there weren't any outstanding calls for assistance (there weren't), I headed for her room, knocking lightly with the back of my hand before opening the door and peeking inside.

She was curled up on her right side, facing the wall, and appeared to have her earbuds in, listening to her iPod. Figuring that she wouldn't notice me from where I was, particularly as she hadn't made any sign that she had as of yet, I stepped into her room, closing the door behind myself and approaching her bed.


Once I got close, I spoke her name loudly enough for her to hear, with her starting slightly from where she'd been reading one of her new books. After she'd sat up somewhat and removed her earphones, and I'd apologized for startling her, I asked her how she was feeling. She told me that she was fine...a bit evasively, but I'd grown accustomed to her tendency to hide her true state of affairs for one reason or another, so a clear conclusion of how she really felt was hard to arrive at. Still, there was little point in badgering her, so I changed the subject, making light conversation about how her morning had been, how her rehab had gone (she'd just returned a few minutes before I arrived at work), and so on, and so forth. I was called away before too long and had to attend to my other patients, leaving her alone again, as always.


The Greatest Generation kept me busy until around seven that evening; she generally had her meals brought to her in her room, very rarely feeling sociable enough to brave the horrors of the senile geriatric dining experience. When I finally had a short break in the neverending stream of depends and ben gay, I checked in on her again, just to be sure...and, sure enough, she'd barely touched her dinner tray, just having sipped some juice, already reading another book (fortunately, the family practically bought a crate of them for her, considering the rate at which she went through them).

I pulled up her chair to her bedside and took a seat, probably looking worried, as it was how I felt. I asked how she was feeling, again, and she looked up, again, and said she was fine...just not feeling very hungry, that's all. Then she told me that she needed to use the washroom, in what I later realized was an attempt to change the subject of her own; still, I carried her over, and she did urinate, at least a bit, so my concerns were assuaged somewhat. I helped her get cleaned up, then took her back to her bed, telling her I'd be back in a bit longer, that we could play some mario kart, as I was being called away by more calls from the damned old.


Another three hours passed by before I was even able to check my watch again, and as the ice-floe candidates began to pack it in for the night, to dream of jalopies and punching nazis and segregated drinking fountains, I finally made my way back to her room.

I opened her door to find her laying on her side again, curled up (as much as she can, anyway, what remains of her thighs drawn up toward her stomach) and making small whimpering sounds. Needless to say, I found this very worrisome, and rushed right over to her bedside, asking her what was wrong. After a moment's hesitation, she finally admitted that her stomach had hurt since last night...and, after a few more moments of consideration, the conclusion was reached that she hadn't had a proper bowel movement in at least five days. It seems that she'd been somewhat embarassed to ask me to he;lp her with that particular bodily function in the washroom, and that 'holding in' while I'd started working double shifts, combined with another new nurse on the third shift of the day, with her usual two on vacation, combined with the painkillers she was still on due to lingering pain at her amputation sites...well, it all combined to make for a painful package, pardon the pun.


I was somewhat dumbstruck my this situation, to say the least. I mean, I'd already been assisting her with washroom trips for number 1, and while it had been decided that policy in her case would be that the female nurses would bathe her (understandable, really), it wasn't as though I hadn't seen anything, thus far. Still, turning it over in my mind, I had to admit that I'd never helped her with this before...maybe she had a reason for shyness in this area, I really didn't know, one way or another...but I did know that it was my duty to help her, somehow.

She was still trying to suppress little whimpers of pain as all of the above ran through my little mind, and I pulled myself back to the present, taking her small hand into my own and giving it a gentle squeeze, giving my best reassuring smile at the same time. I told her it was all right, that she didn't do anything wrong...and that I could help her. I began to explain how an enema works...and she cut me off, an upset expression on her face as she told me that she'd already had that done once, while she was in the hospital, and she never wanted it to happen again, that she hated how it made her feel in her 'tummy'. I was a little surprised, but recovered admirably, I think...and after a mere second's thought, I propose...the route of the suppository.


She was rather hesitant and nervous once I explained said alternative to her, but I assured her that it was quick, firstly, and that it was one of the two recommended treatments for someone her age with her problem, the other being the fleet enema. She finally accepted it, but clearly wasn't too thrilled...I couldn't really blame her, and patted her shoulder gently, extricating my own hand and heading for the supply room for the necessary materials.

Doublechecking the instructions on the package, I split one of the suppositories in half, and, with an extra pair of latex gloves and lubricant in hand, headed back to her room, doublechecking my pager on the way, to make sure there weren't any other emergencies to distract me.


Anyway, I got back to the room, and further explained the procedure to her. She didn't look too thrilled, but really, who could blame her? I could only promise her that I'd be as gentle as possible, and that I'd bring her some ice cream from the kitchen after it was over...somewhat transparent bribery, true, but I had to try something a bit softer than 'suck it up (your pooper)'.

I helped her remove her underwear, setting it aside, and tugging her gown up slightly, to leave her rear exposed, then, after a quick hand sanitizer application, I donned the latex gloves, and squeezed a dab of lubricant onto the tip of my right middle finger, since I'd be using my index finger to peel the suppository in a moment. With a calming word of warning ahead of time, I spread her cheeks gently, just enough to expose her anus, with my left hand, and shifted my right in to carefully rub the bead of lube over and into it, just a bit...she tensed up at first, gasping softly, and I paused, letting her adjust...


After about five seconds of her trying to instinctively 'squeeze me out', she finally started to relax, my murmered encouragement and praise for her courage perhaps helping, perhaps not, and I withdrew, reasoning from experience that it was better to get it out of the way now than while trying to actually insert the tablet. Patting her shoulder and telling her how well she was doing, I moved on to unwrap the foil from the tablet, and scrape away the bit of an edge the machine left on one side, while applying a light coating of the remaining lube from my middle finger to the 'top' of the tablet, pointed for easier insertion. Then I squeezed a more generous quantity onto my index finger's length, gripped the suppository between said index finger and thumb, and spread her cheeks again, letting her know to relax, as I placed the tip against her anus.

I shifted my left hand, now that my finger was ready and waiting, up to tug the glove off, and offer said hand to her...after a moment, she reached out to squeeze it with her own, and I told her that it'd be over in a few seconds. I began counting up from three, and as I finished, I pressed in, gently but firmly, and after a momentary resistance, slipped the tablet, and my finger, inside her.


She cried out as I entered her, mostly out of surprise, as it was a new experience for her, despite having had other entries in the past. Her hand squeezed mine almost painfully, as tightly as she could, her eyes squeezed shut when I looked up to her face to make sure she was all wasn't an expression of serious pain, just of discomfort, so I continued, to try and get it over with as quickly as I could.

Sliding my finger in further, squeezed on all sides by impressive pressure and heat, I soon met some resistance as it reached her hardened stool. Sliding my finger around just a bit, to see if it could go any further, she groaned, trying to stifle herself without much success, her hips shifting uneasily, hand squeezing mine again. Realizing that attempting a deeper penetration wouldn't do much good, I relented, nudging the suppository away from my fingertip as I started to withdraw it, not lingering unduly, but not moving too fast, to avoid exacerbating the situation. Finally, as my finger slid out of her anus completely, a small wet sound accompanying it as she squeezed shut behind it, she moaned one last time, her hips shifting again on the bed, as I peeled the glove off as best I could, using my teeth on the wristline, and tossed it, with the other one, into her wastebasket.


I tugged her gown back up to he;lp her cover herself up, and pulled the sheets up a bit as well, to cover her stumps, giving her hand a squeeze as it continued to hold onto my own, and telling her how brave she was, and how well she handled that, helping her turn onto her back back, and reaching up to brush her hair out of her eyes with my free hand as she opened them again. I told her how it'd be a while before it finished working, and she asked me to stay with her while it did, looking a bit scared; I promised that I would, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, continuing to hold her hand within my own.

After about five minutes, she started to shift about beneath the bedsheets, and complained that she felt uncomfortable 'in there', that it burned a little...I reassured her that it was normal to feel that way, and that it wouldn't be too much time went on, it just got worse, but she just bit her lip and made a visible effort to ignore it after ten minutes, though her hand started squeezing mine more tightly.


I did my best to be a soothing presence, stroking her hair with my free hand, while murmering words of encouragement, praising her on how well she was handling it...and, eventually, as we approached the half-hour mark, she began to shift more and more urgently under the bedsheets, her thighs rubbing together, until finally, she groaned again, deeply, and told me, a bit panickedly, that it was time. I scooped her up as quickly as I could, having shifted to a more ready position as I anticipated things coming to a head, and hurried into the washroom, helping her to take her seat on the toilet, and holding her steady with my free hand on her hip, my left still tightly held in her own, as she began moaning again, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, hunching forward slightly...

And, well, she relieved herself. I'll spare you the details. I helped her clean up after she was finished, which took a while, and left her drenched in sweat, giving her a quick abbreviated spongebath in her bathing area, then carried her back to her bed and laid her up again. I told her that she didn't need to be shy about asking me, or the other nurses, for he;lp when she needed it...not even for this; that hopefully, one experience like this would be enough, to which she agreed. Then she leaned toward me, and gave me her best attempt at a hug...which, once I got past surprise, I returned.


re: "nurse-kun is awesum! it's not a very interesting question but what's in that iPod? What does she listen to?"

To answer this question rather late, she listens to a lot of different things; some japanese pop stuff, which I have no ideas the subtleties of, but I'm sure she does; classical music, mozart and beethoven in particular; a few videogame tracks; and some assorted miscellaneous stuff, including copies of the original songs from EBA, which she asked me for but hadn't had before, and I tracked up, eventually. She's a pretty eclectic little kid.


re: "How is her treatment and rehabilitation progressing? I know you mentioned she was doing well with her DS, but how well can she use her legs, etc?"

Her rehab is progressing well, all in all. She's getting better with her legs all the time, and tried the standing-by-her-bed trick I mentioned her failing at nearly a month ago again while I was watching, just recently, and succeeded, shaky though she was...she was in a pretty good mood for the rest of the night after that.

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