chapter 32 intervention (cont...)

Oliver takes another two steps forward. He looks beside him and sees the oxygen cannula dragging by his side like a leash. Without the cannula his lungs would be burning more than they are now for oxygen, even if the tube is uncomfortably rubbing his nose. He waddles a few more paces forward.

“Such a good boy,” Colby teases him playfully like a dog. Oliver blushes and walks a few more steps, reaching the door of the hospital room.

“I... I can’t! Get the walker! I’m going to collapse. This is just too much for me!” Oliver cries out.

“You’re doing just fine without it, big boy,” Colby encourages gently in response.

“I-... I don't know if I can... walk back to the bed,” Oliver’s voice shakes.

“We will get you back to the bed. There’s no reason to worry,” assures Aria.

Cramps in his lower legs and back shoot through Oliver’s nervous system. The facial expression he makes is scrunched up into a frown as all the air leaves his body with exhaustion from such a simple task. “I’m going to fall! Don’t drop me! Give me my wheelchair! I need my wheelchair!” cries Oliver dramatically as his knees pop again.

“The wheelchair is the lazy way out! Don’t you want to shed those pounds? You can do this. No pain, no gain!” grunts Colby as Oliver pushes more weight onto Colby’s shoulder.

Oliver makes the pathetic and slow shuffle from the door to his bed. Tears from the stress of his overtaxed body falls from his eyelashes. He collapses back onto his bed in pain from the physical exertion, but also relieved it’s over for now.

Oliver watches the nurses leave the room. He’s exhausted and his weak body aches from the unnecessary ordeal of any physical activity. He thought he was in hell when his heart was giving out under his own weight. He was wrong. The physical therapy and nutritious meals were his Hell. A viscous rumble comes from his belly. He can’t take it anymore. This is bullshit. There’s got to be a way to get some greasy, fattening food. He heavily sucks oxygen into his lungs and begins plotting how he’s going to get his grub. No one, not even a doctor, is going to tell him what he can or can’t put in his greedy, over stretched body.