Oxley says I should take it at face value. Some people genuinely have a change of heart. Maybe something happened that made him realize he was being a dick. Perhaps he had a visit with karma.
I don’t know what to think about it, but when Mark decided I was ready for PT, I readily agreed. That was three days ago, and Ihurt.
I’m sitting on the floor in Oxley’s living room, my legthrobbing and tears threatening to fill my eyes. It’s the kind of pain that’s deep inside. You can’t reach it to rub it out or touch it with heat.
The pain is frustrating. Mark explained that the way the bullet tore through my leg is going to take some time. PT isn’t just to regain my strength but to retrain damaged muscles. Yes, it’s going to hurt.
When Mark and Oxley come back into the room, I’m ready to accept not walking for the rest of my life again if it means the pain stops. Mark has been here for the past couple of days, and each day he brings a new torture device.
Uh, I mean, new tools to help with my healing. I like Mark. He’s a good guy and a good doctor, but I still scowl when I see him walk back into the room.
He chuckles. “Ready to try again?”
“No,” I say, pouting. “I think I’ve had enough today. I’d rather be bedridden.”
He’s amused. He’s always amused.
Mark is young. I’d be shocked if he were in his thirties. He has a very chill demeanor and the kind of aura that instantly puts you at ease. Because of that, I imagine he excels in medicine. The ability to put your patient at ease is huge, especially when they’re in pain and maybe scared. I’ve been both of those things.
He offers me his hands to pull me to my feet. I debate acting like I’m three and refusing to reach out. The only thing that has me getting to my feet is that Ireally don’twant to never walk again. That sounds miserable. As much as I love Oxley waiting on me and carrying me all over the apartment, I don’t want to be apartment-bound for the rest of my life.
I want to walk in the park and climb stairs and do fun things. Iwant to reach the cabinets over the fridge on my own. I want to be able to crouch down and get back up on my own.
There are things I’ve taken for granted that walking allows me the freedom to do. Even just taking a shower is a challenge. Moving from the toilet to the sink and then to the door. It’s all exhausting.
Pressing my lips together, I place my hands in Mark’s and allow him to pull me to my feet. I was under the false impression that this would be easy. I was getting around on my crutches just fine. As it turns out, I didn’t put any weight on my leg at all. The crutches took up that burden.
“Let’s try something else for a while,” Mark says. “Come sit here.”
The chair is maybe three feet from me, but it feels like it’s a mile. Taking a breath, I put my weight on my uninjured leg so I can step forward with my hurt one. When I transfer my weight to take the step, my breath punches from my lungs.
My fall into the chair is just that. I fall. Oxley dives for me, but I don’t fall out of the chair. “I’m fine,” I assure him, even as my leg pulses and tears sting my eyes. “I did that on purpose.”
Mark chuckles, shaking his head. He has a long, stretchy rubber band in his hands, and I watch as he secures it to the legs of the chair, hooking it over my ankle.
“Have you been to the gym before?” Mark asks.
I give him a shrewd look, which makes him laugh.
“I’m asking so I know if you’re familiar with the leg machines. This isn’t a comment on your physique, Huntley.”
I humph and then nod. “Once or twice.” That’s the truth of it. I like immediate results, and the gym takes far too long.
He places a hand on my knee, gently keeping my thigh on the chair, and then instructs me to kick my leg up slowly. His other hand rests on the back of my heel to guide me up slowly. It fucking hurts.
“That’s it. Let’s begin small. Just eight inches or so. No need to fully extend right now. We’ll work up to that. Very good, Huntley. Don’t release your leg quickly. Control the fall back. Better. Make sure you keep this leg touching the chair.” He removes his hands and watches my leg as I struggle to push up.
I’m shaking by the time I get through ten. “I hate everything about this,” I mutter.
“I know. You’re doing great,” Mark says.
“I’m going to dread your visits,” I mutter.
He smiles. “I know.”
We alternate between these leg lifts and taking a few steps for the next twenty minutes before Mark decides I’ve done enough for the day. He’ll be back tomorrow. I’m already scowling at him, but he smiles kindly all the same. I’m sure he’s used to being scowled at.
Oxley walks him out while I lie back on the couch, trying to catch my breath. I don’t go to the gym, but I do stretch every morning and every evening. Stretching is really good for your body. Needless to say, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve gotten some good stretches in.
