CHAPTER 1
BEATRIX
MaybeIshouldtryto run a 5K.
After all, how hard could it be?
If memories from high school math hold correctly, a mile is equivalent to something like one and a half kilometers. So five kilometers would be what? Just over three miles?
I can do that, right? Between walking to and from work, plus rushing around the hospital, I must hit close to that every day.
Although.
Do I travel the entire three miles in one go? Not walking, but jogging, no less?
Hmm. Maybenotso easy.
“Does everyone run during the 5K?” I ask Derek, my patient and hopeful 5K recruiter. “Would I be competing like I’m in a race? With times and everything?”
Derek adjusts his gym bag on his shoulder and shifts his weight to one side. Pain tenses his features for a moment, but it’s gone just as quickly. He lifts his left leg and gives it a little shake, loosening muscles that have to be sore after our hour-long therapy session.
His mouth quirks at one corner as he replies, “Not everyone runs, Bea. Some people do, but plenty walk, too. You can go at whatever speed you’re comfortable with.”
I grab my laptop off the workbench and slide it into the case that was lying beside it. “When you say plenty of people walk, do you mean people twice my age?”
Derek grins. “Actually, the last 5K I did, the third-place finisher was in his late sixties.” As we head towards the door, he gestures for me to go ahead of him. “The guy used to be a D1 runner back in college. It was really impressive.”
With a little laugh, I ask, “So you’re saying I’ll beslowerthan all the sixty-year-olds?”
“Hardly. I’m just saying there’s a broad range of participants. Former athletes, senior citizens trying to be more active, families with their kids, casual joggers”—he glances down at his prosthetic foot before giving me a wry smile—“and people like me.”
Once we’re both in the hallway, I fall back so we’re walking side-by-side. “You mean a kickass Army Ranger who could probably lap me three times on a 5K, at least?”
“AformerArmy Ranger,” Derek retorts. His smile fades. “And I doubt I could lap you three times.”
“A Ranger,” I correct. “A hero. And one of the best patients I’ve ever had.”
His lips twitch. “Oh, really?” He pauses as a man with a bandage over one eye wheels himself past us. With a tiny jerk of his chin, Derek silently greets the man. A beat later, the other man lifts his chin in return.
“Out of all your patients here,” Derek continues once the man’s moved past us, “I’m one of the best? That’s quite an honor.”
“It’s true.” From the other end of the hallway, Helen, another PT, spots me and gives a quick wave. I wave back at her, thenturn to Derek. “I probably shouldn’t say it. But the progress you’ve made is incredible. Not that recovery is a race?—”
He laughs. “Just like what I said about the 5K.”
“You’ve done amazingly, is what I mean. Not just with the work you’ve put in getting used to the prosthetic, but your attitude, too.”
As we arrive at the doorway to the reception area, we both slow to a stop. Derek turns to look at me. His expression sobers. “It’s because of you, Bea. Not to sound all cheesy, but I was pretty down when I got here. With my injury”—his gaze dips to his prosthetic again—“and losing my job, well, it was tough. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever feel whole again.”
“Derek.”My nose prickles; just as it always does when one of my patients talks about feeling less in the wake of their injury. “You’re not?—”
“I know I’m not,” he interrupts with a gentle smile. “NowI know. Six months ago, I wasn’t as sure. But you kicked my ass with those exercises, kept on me to do them at home, didn’t let me feel sorry for myself, and look. I’m about to do my third 5K post-injury. Which is something I never would have imagined when I first came here. And that’s because of you.”
Aww.
I know my feelings aren’t the important thing when I’m working with patients. It’s howthey’refeeling. How they’re coping with such a traumatic shift in their life and coming to terms with a devastating injury. It’s encouraging them to believe in themselves, to believe that their life isn’t ruined just because they lost some or all of a limb.
Yes, my primary goal as a physical therapist working with amputees is to help them strengthen their body enough to adapt to a prosthetic. But I want them tofeelconfident about it, too. I want them to know they can still have a fulfilling life, just like my dad did after he lost his leg.
