A man,  a tall, sturdily built Black, walks into my room; he is dressed in wrinkled, grey-green scrubs, like those you see on "E.R."  He has a grim expression on his face, bushy black brows knitted over intense, brown eyes, a frown, like he is mad or something.

Uh-oh.  I don't like the looks of this.

"What's--"

He consults the chart at my feet; looks to the little black-haired nurse and asks her, "When did she awaken?"

"Just a few minutes ago, Dr. Stryker," she answers.  "I was jus' fixin' to call you, and here you are...vitals are stable, pulse slightly elevated."

I hear a frantic "beep beep beep"ing noise.  Must be wired to a monitor or something.  I see I.V. bags hanging on a silver rack near my head.

"Where--"

"Miss--Mrs.--can you hear me?" he inquires.  He takes something resembling a pen from his pocket, I hear a click, and suddenly, a small, intense beam of light is shining into my eyes.  I try to turn away, but again, sharp pains at both sides of my head resist movement.  I cry out. 

"Stooooop--bright--you're blinding--why can't I move my head?"

"Don't look at the light.  Look at me.  Right here--that's it.  You're doing fine.  Uh-uh, don't try moving your head.  Nurse, pupils equal and reactive.  DON'T MOVE.  Look at me.  You are hooked up to traction tongs to stabilize your neck; you were involved in a motor vehicle accident, and sustained severe neck and back injuries, among other things.  Are you experiencing pain?"

"I can't feel my arms...legs...are they there?  What's going--on?" I say, in a panicky voice.

"What is your name, first of all?  It isn't Jane, is it?"

"N-no...it's Jessica."

"Last name?"

"Freeman."

"Where do you live?"

"Nashville--but that's not telling me what's happening--what's happened--to me..."

" How old are you, Miss...Mrs. ...Freeman?"

"40...not married."

"Okay, Miss Freeman.  I'm Doctor Stryker, the Neurologist on call.  Your doctor.  I was here when you were brought in; you were, as I said, involved in a motor vehicle accident; some bast--sorry, Louie, almost slipped--dumb bunny rear ended you doing 50, you were thrown out of your car and suffered major injuries, especially to your neck and spine.  We put traction tongs on you to stabilize the fractures.  That's why you can't move your head.  Your spinal cord is insulted; it is badly bruised and more than likely, very swollen; it's annoyed, and that's why you can't move your arms or legs.  We call that spinal shock.  It may be a few days or weeks to tell if the injury is permanent.  You are on a special bed called a Stryker frame.  We can turn you every two hours; this prevents bedsores and promotes circulation.  We've been doing that since you were brought in.  You are now in Neuro I.C.U., or Intensive Care; we're taking good care of you.  We are planning to do a further stabilization of your neck in the next day or two, and you'll be rid of the tongs."

"Whoa--whoa--so what you're saying is...I might be...paralyzed?  Permanently?  Oh, God, nooooooo..." I start to cry, but can't move my arms up to my face to wipe the tears sliding down into my ears.  "Nooooo...."

"Nurse, draw up 5 c.c.'s Valium, I.V., please," the doctor says in a soothing, but firm, voice.  He puts a hand on my shoulder and gently says, "I'm sorry."

The little nurse walks out of my limited field of vision--all I can see is the ceiling and the I.V. rack--then returns, injects a syringe into one of the I.V. bags, and everything fades to black.

*end of part two*