The Maui Effect (Man-Made Trilogy #1)

The Prognosis

Dane

Whenever the meds began to wear off, Dane would fixate on his legs, begging, pleading, willing for them to move. They looked the same as always. Same hair, same bony knees and shins, same long and wiry feet. Having ‘Iwa there helped in some ways, but in others it just made him more frustrated.

Since the moment she’d arrived, she had barely left his side. There for his bathing, feeding and physical therapy, where he stood between two bars and practiced supporting his weight—he couldn’t move but it turned out he could bear weight. She also participated in Yeti’s group meditations, where they breathed together to raise the frequency in the room. She sang to him and lay with him and read to him nature essays from a book she’d brought called A Sand County Almanac .

Through it all, Dane was half checked out. The thought that he could be this way for the rest of his life was more than he could bear. And the days kept on unspooling out before him with little change, other than a little less pain in his back. He knew that the longer you went without any signs of recovery, the worse your prognosis. No one would tell him this to his face, but he’d read up on his phone.

On the fourth day, Dane woke to the sound of ukulele and soft singing. Waking up was the worst, even with ‘Iwa in his room playing music. He would linger in that between time when he hadn’t yet remembered where he was and why he was here, before being blindsided by the harsh truth. He looked over and watched her elegant fingers for a few moments, how her mouth made this cute little movement she wasn’t even aware of, and how the music absorbed her. He had thought he would be able to tell her he loved her when she arrived, but the words lodged somewhere between his sternum and his throat and remained there, unspoken.

She caught him watching her. “Hey, you. How about a massage?”

The nurses encouraged massage on his legs to keep the blood flow up, and ‘Iwa took it upon herself to rub him down every other hour.

“Sure.”

She came over, leaned down and kissed him, then got to work. She pulled back the sheet on his left leg, started kneading his thighs and worked her way down around his knee, and then to his calf.

“Did you know the soleus muscle is considered your second heart?” she asked.

He wasn’t in the mood to play this game. “Nope.”

“It pumps all that blood back up from the periphery, which is why it’s so important to...” Her voice trailed off.

“Walk? Yeah, well, not gonna happen anytime soon.”

“Dane, don’t think like that, it is going to happen, and until then we will pump them manually.”

Watching his legs be massaged and feeling nothing was surreal and humbling. He hated it. But it gave ‘Iwa something to do. He could tell being here was hard on her, too.

“I know this isn’t what you signed up for—”

She wouldn’t even let him finish. “Dane, stop.”

“I just want you to know I don’t expect you to stay with me here. Or back in Santa Cruz if I ever get there.”

She moved down to his foot and began jamming her thumbs into his sole. “I’ll just pretend you didn’t say that. Let’s stay positive, okay?”

“I’m serious, ‘Iwa. You have a life.”

That was when his leg jerked up.

Her eyes went wide. “Did you just see your leg move?”

She did whatever it was she had just done to his foot, and his leg flexed up again toward his hip.

“You moved!” ‘Iwa cried.

Staring down, Dane spoke to his toes. “Move, please.” They didn’t.

“Try again,” she whispered.

He concentrated harder this time, and several breaths later his big toe bent down slightly. Their eyes met.

“I need to tell the doctor,” she said, leaping up and running out of the room, door swinging behind her.

A few minutes later, she returned with nurse Gabi, who explained in limited English what had happened. Apparently when ‘Iwa had dug into his foot and bent his toes back, that stimulated a deep reflex.

“Is a good sign. We use it to join pathways, to strengthen the leg,” Gabi said.

It wasn’t much—what could a person do with just one big toe?—but it was enough to get him transferred home.

Two days later, Dane and ‘Iwa and Kama flew back to California, arriving with a wave of sooty shearwaters traveling up the coast. Spring and all its bounty were in the air, with bourgeoning krill and schools of sardines. Usually, for Dane, this was when he took on more carpentry jobs and built furniture for a shop in town that sold rustic pieces of art and housewares. The furniture building was a newer thing, and had recently begun to gain more traction. He loved the free-form artsiness of it, too. It worked well because he could do it on his own time and there were no clients to upset when he left town midjob. Now there would be none of that. Instead, it would be a time to heal and try to get his head straight.

Arriving back in his own home was a temporary balm. Isla froze when she first saw him, creeping up slowly, sniffing the air and making sure it was really him. When she realized it was, she howled and zoomed around the room. It was good to be back, and yet he still felt a vacancy pressing in from all sides.

A week passed. Then another. There was little change in his condition, other than being able to stand for longer periods of time. He spent large swaths of time watching surf movies, reading old surf magazines and living vicariously through images of blue barrels. The rest was spent going to physical therapy or sleeping. Sleep had become his best friend, along with the little white pills that took the edge off everything.

If he thought being in California would turn things around, he was mistaken. Here there were no experienced nurses and no IV strapped to his arm administering pain medication. In Lisbon, as depressing as it had been, it felt like a bad side trip that would come to an end. Here, he was reminded of all the things he couldn’t do. No walking, no working, no swimming until his five-inch incision healed, no surfing, no nothing. ‘Iwa was still with him, but to be honest, he was starting to wish she’d go back to Maui. Let him wallow in his worthlessness.

Yeti showed up one evening, around sunset, and handed him a stack of books. “More lifesaving inspiration from the pages. I highly recommend you check these out in your spare time.”

It was all spare time. Dane set the books on the bedside table without even looking at them. “I don’t need books—I need to get back in the water.”

“What, four more days?”

“Not sure, all I know is it’s too long.” It was hard to keep anything straight.

‘Iwa came out carrying two glasses of water with lemon, set them down and hugged Yeti. She hung on him for what seemed like a really long time.

“Babe, my back is really sore right now, can you get me another pill?” he said quietly to her.

She shot a look at Yeti, then went off to the kitchen without a word. She returned a moment later, handed him a pill and picked up Isla from his lap. “I’m going to take Isla for a walk, be back soon.”

Once ‘Iwa was out the door, Yeti pulled up the leather chair so he was sitting close, his beard freshly trimmed. He smelled like evergreen trees and mountain air and Dane craved a walk in the hills behind the house.

Yeti looked at Dane with those piercing eyes of his. “Look, I know you’re suffering, mate, but this is where I tell you man to man that it’s time to wean yourself off those narcotics. You think they’re helping, but they’re doing more harm than good.”

Coming from anyone else, Dane would have asked, What do you know of suffering? But Yeti had suffered the kind of loss that breaks a person in half and had come out the other side. Yeti had told him early on of his wife’s death, and then never spoken about her again. People always said you needed to talk about your grief, but coping had a thousand faces, as Dane well knew.

“I’ll stop taking them when I stop needing them.”

“Pain is there for a reason. It’s your body talking to you if you’re willing to listen.”

Dane picked up his lemon water and drank. “I got this, man.”

Yeti shook his head. “I don’t think you do.”

He had no energy to argue. “Yeah, okay, maybe tomorrow I’ll stop.”

“I’m serious, man. Those things are venom. I talked to Xiao and he said he’ll come over here and give you acupuncture every day if you want. Needles are effective for your kind of injury.”

“Fine. Send him.”

He’d be a pincushion. Anything to get Yeti off his case.

Apparently Yeti wasn’t finished. “Also, that woman out there? She’s giving up a lot to be here, and I see you pushing her away. You have so much anger, and I get it, but lashing out at the people you love is not the answer. I suggest you read those books. Do a little inner work. It’s the only way through.”

“Did she tell you I was pushing her away?” Dane asked.

“I see it with my own two eyes every time I come over here. We’re all rooting for you, but we need you to trust us, listen to us,” Yeti said, eyes pleading.

Yeti was right about the anger. It was writhing inside of him, expanding and contracting and feeding on itself. Sometimes he felt like howling, other times he wanted to whip the remote across the room. And then there were moments when he wanted to bury his head in his pillow and bawl like the child he’d been reduced to.

“You know what? I’m tired. You can see yourself out,” Dane said.

Did anyone think he really wanted to be on this shit?

Yeti softened his tone. “I’m on your side.”

“Then give me a break.”

Once he heard Yeti’s engine start up, he reached over and popped a pill in his mouth. Swallowed. Glanced over at the bottle. Oh fuck it. He took another one and was lights out before ‘Iwa and Isla came back.