The Walk Read Online Free PDF

“No.”
    Sam put his hand over his eyes.
    “And this?”
    “No. I can’t feel anything,” she shouted. “I can’t feel anything!”
    I parted the curtain, but Dr. Hardman just shook her head at me. I stepped back.
    “Now we’re going to test for deep nerve damage. Sometimes nerve damage is just on the surface, and patients retain feeling under their skin. I am going to insert this needle into your leg, and I need you to tell me if you feel anything.”
    I kept waiting for something, but McKale didn’t make a sound.
    I dropped down to a chair and held my head in my hands. I felt sick. She had no feeling. McKale was paralyzed.

CHAPTER
Seven
    As a boy I heard this story in church. A man was patching a pitched roof of a tall building when he began sliding off. As he neared the edge of the roof he prayed, “Save me, Lord, and I’ll go to church every Sunday, I’ll give up drinking, I’ll be the best man this city has ever known.”
    As he finished his prayer, a nail snagged onto his overalls and saved him. The man looked up to the sky and shouted, “Never mind, God. I took care of it myself.”
    How true of us.
    Alan Christoffersen’s diary
    In spite of the permanent damage to her nerves, her spine still needed to be repaired and she had to go back in for surgery. We had to wait another 24 hours before the hospital was able to fit her in. Sam had to fly home that morning, so I was the only one at McKale’s side when they rolled her off to surgery. I waited tensely in the waiting room.
    When the surgeon came out to give me an update, he had a large smile on his face. “That went very well. Even better than we expected. We were able to repair her spine without any major problems.”
    His tone elevated me. “Does that mean she might walk again?”
    His expression fell. “No. It just means that the bones of the spine are repaired.”

    I’m told that there’s a universal pattern to grief and loss that everyone must pass through. The first three stages are denial, anger, and bargaining. I suppose I did them all at once. I promised God everything. I’d give all my money to the poor, spend my life building homes for the homeless, anything that might get His attention.
    I even had a plan for God to make it happen. I would just wake like the whole thing had been a bad dream. No one would even have to know what had happened. But I never woke from this dream. God had other
plans.

CHAPTER
Eight
    We are such fools. We punish our friends and reward our enemies far more often than we are willing to believe.
    Alan Christoffersen’s diary
    Wednesday afternoon, Falene called. I didn’t really want to take her call but did anyway. She had already called several times over the last week and left messages that she urgently needed to talk to me. She was surprised to hear my voice. “Alan?”
    “Hi, Falene.”
    “How is McKale?”
    “The damage to her nerves is permanent.”
    Falene slightly gasped. When she spoke, there was emotion in her voice. “I’m so sorry.” After a few moments, she said, “What can I do?”
    “There’s nothing anyone can do,” I said angrily. “If there were, we would have done it.” Falene was silent. After a moment I said, “I’m sorry. I’m not doing well.”
    “I understand.”
    “What did you need to talk to me about?”
    She hesitated. “It can wait,” she said. “Things will work out. Give McKale my love.”
    I puzzled over her comment but pushed it aside. “All right, we’ll talk later.”
    Kyle called later that evening. “How is McKale?”
    “She’s paralyzed.”
    Kyle was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, man. I wish there was something I could do.”
    I sniffed. “Yeah.”
    “I met with Wathen this morning. He asked how you’re doing.”
    “Tell him thank you. And thank you for the flowers.”
    “Will do. He wanted to know when they could see some final graphics, so I put Ralph on it. Also, you have the studio scheduled for Tuesday’s Coiffeur shoot. Have