Two days before the end of the year, Matt moved into the Plaza Hotel. On December 29th, one of the clinic nurses politely but firmly informed him that he’d been with them for over a week and could convalesce on his own now. “Normally, we would have released you sooner,” she admitted, “but sending you away right at Christmas would have been harsh and then we decided that you might as well stay on until it was time to remove your chest tubes.”
Matt’s fingers flew unconsciously to his torso. Under the thin fabric of the scrubs he’d been issued—a darned sight less embarrassing than a hospital gown—he could feel the thickness of the taped gauze bandage covering the spot where the lower tube had gone in. The area was still a bit tender, though a good deal better than it had been.
“You’ll have a scar after it heals,” the nurse advised him. “For now, keep taking the painkillers and ice when necessary, as you’ve been doing here. Continue with the stretches and breathing exercises. You’ll probably want to keep sleeping with your torso elevated; a recliner is usually a good idea.”
“And lie on my injured side, right?” Matt asked. It had sounded counter-intuitive when the nurse had suggested it to him here, but it did make breathing easier.
“Yes, if you can manage that.” He heard the smile in her voice. “Depending on the chair, you might find it difficult to get comfortable in that position, but you might want to spend some time lying on your side during the day, if you need to rest. Now, it normally takes at least six weeks for broken ribs to heal completely. You’ll probably be able to resume normal activities...” She stopped. “Well, normal for most people,” she continued, “a bit sooner.” Her tone grew more serious. “Physical activity is good for you and there’s no reason why you can’t do most of a regular workout. The exercises you’ll need to avoid are those that place a lot of pressure on your ribs. Ab crunches, pushing and pulling heavy objects—that would apply to weight training, by the way.”
She sighed. “As we’ve mentioned before, you’re not the first person of your... vocation that we’ve treated here. Perseverance is good. Working through pain—within reason—will help you. But hold off on, um, field work... until you don’t have any pain to work through.” There was a hint of good humor behind her sternness. “You’ve been delightful company, Mr. Murdock, but we don’t want you back here in a hurry.”
Matt smiled. “I understand.”
Now, leaning back in the recliner in the hotel room, Foggy’s even snores audible from the suite next door, Matt’s forehead was creased in thought. Even if he had been inclined to ignore the nurse’s advice, his costume had been reduced to smoldering rags by the explosion that had destroyed his house. He’d need to make a new one before he went out to patrol again. He thought of the time and trouble it had taken to sew the suit in the first place. He’d stitched his original costume by hand and the repetitive work had nearly bored him to tears. Having to rip out uneven stitches, or worse, discovering that he’d miscalculated and made the sleeve widths uneven had set him pummeling his frustrations out on a heavy bag, before gritting his teeth and resuming the task. He’d purchased a sewing machine for subsequent costumes. It, too, had been in the brownstone and was probably melted slag by now.
That settled it. He was going to start looking for work as soon as he could provide a valid address and telephone number to a prospective employer. He didn’t know what kind of job he’d be qualified for and he didn’t much care, but he was going to start contributing something to the rent and he was going to find some way to procure a sewing machine and some red fabric.
With these thoughts uppermost in his mind, and a painkiller adding to his drowsiness, Matt drifted into a dreamless sleep.