In The Trenches: Healing people physically and mentally from their homes in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of nowhere

By Sherri Green Ellerman

Many people make a home health agency work. There are the social workers who sit behind desks decorated with family photos and computer screens, indirectly making things happen for patients. There are the therapy coordinators. There are the doctors who fill out prescriptions for therapy evaluations. And there are the ladies at the front desk who

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Sep 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9798822902152

Sherri Green Ellerman

Sherri Ellerman is an occupational therapist who has practiced in various settings, including home health, from where the stories within In the Trenches emerged. She currently works as a PRN OT in a hospital setting. Sherri has had flash fiction stories published in various online magazines as well as in the book Halloween Musings & Amusings: An Anthology of Flash Fiction & Poems. Her essay and podcast, "One," was featured on "This I Believe," and her article "Five Steps to Consider in Romance Fiction" was published at "Write Well, Write to Sell." Sherri also served as flash fiction editor for the online magazine Liquid Imagination. She lives in Louisiana with her husband, who is also an occupational therapist. They have three grown children and enjoy cruising together and camping with their family.

Book preview

ONE

NEW JOB

Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.

—PSALM 119:105—

I

sat on the passenger side of the car peering out the window, an intruder in every way. I was forced upon this therapist, made to ride with her for an entire week as part of my training with a new home-health agency. I knew she didn’t want me there with her, though she was trying hard not to show it. When we turned into the first neighborhood of our workday, however, the distance between us closed. Suddenly, we were both outsiders in a world we would never understand. Abby slowed to a near stop as children milled about on the sidewalks, spilling over onto the road and beside the car.

I almost hit a child last time I was here. Abby finally spoke. So now I am on high alert as soon as I pull into the neighborhood.

Weren’t you paying attention? I asked, sorry I had as soon as I heard how blunt it sounded.

They were on their bikes beside me and in front of me. The one in the front refused to move while the others taunted me.

"What did you do?

The only thing I could do, Abby answered. I drove that way until I finally made it out of the neighborhood. Just be careful.

I thought she was being a bit dramatic, but I nodded my head and continued to look out the window.

Finally, Abby pulled into her patient’s driveway. The house was small with a front yard that was bare except for one twig of a tree in the middle of it. A brown leather computer chair sat on the front porch, the leather ripped and faded. Last year’s Christmas lights twisted up the only pole on the front porch. A cardboard sign taped to the front door prompted, Use other door. An arrow pointed to the right. Abby got out of the car and began rummaging around in the back seat.

What are you doing? I asked as I grabbed my lime-green bag full of new therapy tools, given to me at my new therapist orientation.

I’m hiding my purse. I don’t know what I was thinking bringing it.

I thought she was being a bit paranoid until I heard some young boys across the street raise their voices. At first, I thought they were arguing with one another. Then, one of them yelled loudly enough for us to hear, We don’t want any more white people in our neighborhood!

My chest tightened as I willed my heart to stay open. This isn’t about me. God, please give me a word. Help me remember.

Come on, Abby whispered, interrupting my thoughts. Our patient is waiting.

TWO

CANEBRAKE

I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.

—MAYA ANGELOU—

I

missed the house twice. My phone was of no use. I was so far away from anywhere that I had no service. The GPS had long since given up on finding Mr. Pete. I backtracked until I once again had service and dialed my patient’s number. After five rings, he finally answered, obviously out of breath.

Hello, this is Pete Willis.

Mr. Willis, this is the therapist who called you earlier. I’m sorry to keep you waiting, but I can’t find your house.

Well, honey, where are you? Pete asked.

I told him where I was and where I’d been. My GPS had led me to the right road but dumped me right in the middle of nowhere. Pete’s house wasn’t there. For that matter, there were no houses out there at all.

Come back the same way, he instructed, and look for my house as soon as you turn onto McCullin Road. I’ll be sitting on the front porch.

Okay, I answered, though I wasn’t sure I’d even seen a house on that road. Save me a seat.

True to his word, Pete was outside, but he wasn’t rocking on the front porch. He was standing at the end of his dirt drive, waving one arm wildly while pointing to a gap in the trees with the other. It was already obvious that he wasn’t going to qualify for my services. Even so, I had the order to evaluate the patient to see if he would benefit from therapy, so I pulled into the drive and through the gap. The small clapboard house was swallowed up by the immense landscape and trees surrounding it. It was a narrow shotgun house with small additions protruding from both sides. The front door of the house was open, kept ajar by a five-pound bag of sugar. It led into a small room. A table and four chairs took up most of the area, leaving only a small space to walk between them and the kitchen sink. A half-eaten peanut butter sandwich lay on the counter. A wood roach scurried out of the sink and across the sandwich. I looked away quickly. Mr. Willis didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy rummaging through the old newspapers, empty pill bottles, and half-empty bags of chips that cluttered the kitchen table, searching for something.

Can you sit here and let me ask you a few things, check your strength?

Well, he answered, I’m looking for something.

Okay. I sat there for another few minutes, until the silence became too thick to tolerate, and then spoke again. "What are you looking