Work Text:
Everything at the hospital fastens with stupid fiddly little ties. Isaac tries to be unfailingly polite to the staff, because he really is grateful for what they're doing, but on the morning of the third day he practically bites the head off a nurse who tries to help him tie his hospital gown. He doesn't want help. He's not an invalid.
The nurse puts his hands up, placating, and busies himself with Isaac's chart. After a few minutes, when Isaac can't tie the johnny shut -- not one-handed, and especially not with IV ports in the backs of both hands -- the nurse quietly fastens it for him without a word. Isaac's face burns hot and he looks away.
The next day, they bring him pyjamas that fasten with velcro.
The day he goes home, his wife tucks his coat around his shoulders like a cape. In the shopping bag he carries over the crook of his arm are his release papers, several pill bottles rattling (two blood pressure medications, something for cholesterol he secretly doesn't intend to take, and a jumbo bottle of baby aspirin -- he's supposed to take one per day for the rest of his life) and a subscription to Stroke magazine, which he throws away as soon as he can because it reminds him of how much worse things could have been.
The numbness in his right side is long gone, but his hand still shakes when he tries to do something fine. Every morning he practices buttoning an Oxford shirt, and unbuttoning it, twice. He doesn't want to return to work in a sweater, a sweatshirt, anything that would make him look infirm or out-of-control.
Isaac Jaffe is a smart dresser. He's damn well going to be neatly buttoned when he returns to CSC.