This kind of suffering shouldn't exist. It's not right that it does. I hate knowing how much pain he's in and that I can't do anything about it.
"Hi, Petr," says a pretty nurse with blond hair and blue eyes. She approaches from the direction of the nurse's station at the end of the hall.
"Hey, Jenny." I offer a smile. "Any change?"
"None."
I purposely don't ask what happens if he stays like this for the rest of his life. As one of the surviving, if damaged, members of the team, I can't bear the thought of there being no hope for one of the men who helped save my life, of Orion remaining in this state until he dies in fifty years. He's broken now, but he wasn't the night he and the other remaining members of the team managed to drag out four bodies and save me as well. By all rights, I should've died that night. Men like Orion are the reason I didn't, and now he's paying a price worse than anything I've been through.
I owe him. I will find a way to repay him.
"You said to let you know if we ever heard of something that might help him," Jenny says, gazing into the room.
I listen, thrilled she remembered the offer I made to help other service members when I left the hospital.
"There's a psychiatrist in DC developing a new treatment. It's fully experimental and consists of a therapy and new drug combo approach. It doesn't stand a chance of getting through the FDA for another five years at least but he's seeing promising results," she explains. "I know your family donates to the vet charities. Bet a large check will encourage them to take your friend."
"Can you send me the info?" I ask and hand her a business card.
"Will do tonight."
"Thanks, Jenny." I glance at Orion once more. "If there's anything else you can think of, let me know."
"As usual, I will."
I leave the psych ward, disturbed. At times necessary, war is never anything but brutal, no matter how many efforts are made to prevent collateral damage and unnecessary suffering. Losing a leg is traumatizing and life changing, but I thank God daily I'm not suffering the way Orion and so many others have. With my financial state, I can buy a leg that works better than my original one, but all the money in the world can't fix a brain when it's been scrambled.
Rather than return right away to Todd, I drop by the cafeteria for a bottle of water and to clear my head. My thoughts are always heavy after I leave Orion, my regrets innumerable and the soul-deep ache at missing my brother enough that I'm not fit to talk to anyone for a short time. I used to fight this, too, but I don't anymore. My therapist says it's okay to remember. It's just not okay to dwell or to let the memories ruin the rest of my life.