“Coma.”
“Coma.”
He parked Jordan in the waiting room and grabbed a clipboard and form from the clerk at the desk. “Fill this out, best you can. I’ll be back in about an hour to get you.”
“Thank you.”
He only got through his name and social security number before his name was called. Setting the clipboard and pen on his lap, he tried to wheel himself to the door leading back to the examination area, but knocked his extended leg into the side of the chair. The tech who had called his name wheeled him into the exam room and helped him up onto the table.
Physical therapy had better get me walking soon.He felt fucking helpless. Physically and emotionally. Damn it, he wanted to call Emme.
The door opened and Bree Marks walked in. She was wearing scrubs and her hair was wrapped in a bun on top of her head, a hospital badge clipped to the pocket of her shirt.
“Uh. What are you doing here?”
“Well.” She stepped into the room and closed the door. “I’m your physical therapist.” She sat on the stool and rolled close to the exam table.
“Oh. I didn’t realize you worked here.”
“A few years, now. If it makes you uncomfortable for me to be your PT, I’ll get someone else to take your case,” she said. “Your choice.”
His brow pinched together. “Why would it make me uncomfortable?”
“Well, the last time we ran into each other you were a little upset.”
Fuck. “The last time we ran into each other I was a head case and drunk.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘head case’.” Her stare was level and assessing. “You sure you’re okay with this?”
“Yeah, Bree. I’m good with it. Shit, should I call you Doctor Marks?”
She wheeled over to the computer and logged on. “Bree is fine. Let’s pull up your file and see if they put the images of your knee in. Otherwise I’m going to have to send you down to x-ray.” She clicked through the different pages until she opened up a black and white picture. “Oh yeah, that had to hurt like hell.”
He tried to peer over her to see what she’d pulled up. “I don’t remember it.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Really?”
“Nothing.”
Her head bobbled a little. “Might not be a bad thing considering the pain you would’ve been in.” The monitor was mounted to the back wall of the desk on an extendable arm and she moved it closer to him. She pulled a pen out of her pocket and used it as a pointer on the screen. “Here. This is your patella. Looks like it split almost exactly in half. You can see where your proximal tibia fractured.” She circled a portion of the x-ray.
She minimized the picture and pulled up another one, showing bright white lines and screws. “And this is how they fixed it. There’s a plate down the outside of the tibia with…six screws holding it in place and two screws in the patella.”
“Fuck.” He rubbed his hand back and forth across his head. “How soon until I can walk?”
“That’s going to depend on how quickly you respond to treatment. Have you seen the orthopedist yet?”
“I think he’s supposed to come by later today.”
She walked to the door and stuck her head out, calling for someone. “Thanks. Can you page Ortho and ask them to send a consult for Major Grant? Thank you.”
Closing the door, she turned to the exam table. “First things first, we need to get your muscles working again.” She unwrapped thin cords from the small device she held. The cords had small alligator clips on the ends and she clipped them to large, square, foam pads. “Let’s get your leg unwrapped.”
He tried to help by lifting his leg, but he couldn’t get the muscles to respond. It was as if his leg wasn’t even attached to his body anymore.
“Relax,” she said. “This is normal after knee surgery. For the next few days, the focus will be on getting your quads to respond again.”
She unwound the ace bandage, revealing his swollen, discolored knee. “Is the yellow normal?”
