Dr. Savannah Carter. She was young. Her brown hair was pulled back in a bun that had seen better hours, and her lab coat hung a little too loose, as if it were made for someone else.
She glanced up and smiled. “Mr. Grey, it’s good to see you. Have a seat.”
The paper beneath me crinkled as I settled in. I hated the sound of it. It felt too fragile. Too thin.
“How’s the knee?”
“Hurts,” I said simply. “Like always.”
“And the shoulder?”
“Still attached.”
Her lips quirked in response as she stepped closer, setting the chart down on the counter.
She lifted my leg. Pain flared when she pressed her fingers into the swollen joint. I didn’t move. She glanced up at me, her brow arching like she was testing me as much as my knee.
“Swelling’s worse,” she said to herself.
“I noticed.”
“Physical therapy?”
I shook my head. “Haven’t had time.”
She stepped closer to my shoulder. “Well, you need to start. Start small,” she continued, her voice quieter now. “PT, stretching, therapy—whatever you’re willing to try. Just try something. Because this?” She gestured to my arm. “This is not sustainable.”
She continued moving my arm. Every time she rotated it I felt pain tugging at the scar tissue. It was like she was doing it on purpose. The damn woman was trying to teach me a lesson for not following her orders.
If she was trying to prove something, I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction. But damn, did it hurt.
“You’re a tough one, I’ll give you that. But tough doesn’t mean invincible.”
I didn’t answer.
She scribbled something in my chart, the pen scratching against the paper. “I’m upping your anti-inflammatories. And if you don’t start physical therapy, I’ll know.”
“You’ll know?”
“You’ll be back here, and I’ll be able to tell. It’s your body, Mr. Grey, but it’s my job to make sure you don’t break it any more than it already is.”
She had no idea how close to breaking I already felt.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Do more than think. Thinking doesn’t fix anything.”
“Neither does complaining.”
“You’re stubborn,” she argued.
“You’re pushy.”
“You’re not big on doctors.”
“No.”
“You know, my uncle was the same,” she began. “He lost a leg on a deployment. Used to complain all the time about how the doctors didn’t know what they were talking about. He was hell-bent and so convinced he knew better than the people who were trying to help him. Said they were all just trying to coddle him, make him feel like a baby. Make him feel like he couldn’t handle life on his own. Then, one day, he tried to climb onto the roof to fix a leak and ended up falling off and breaking his other leg.”
