“That’s what’s good about having access to a private plane. We took the jet; the Bailey kids are invading the Dupart home. Hope and Faith are both almost six pounds, and Lola just passed eighteen pounds. I am exactly where I should be.
“I’m putting the boss hat on. Are you good with Holland? If you need me to, I can change your PA,” Martin offered.
“No, he’s good, actually great.” Troy scanned the room.
Tim, dressed in green scrubs, returned to the room with another man in his thirties dressed in navy slacks and a navy polo, with his name embroidered over the pocket. “Troy, Mr. Bailey, this is Jackson Parker, your new physical therapist. Pete Walter poached him from Walter Reed.”
“Hi, Troy, Mr. Bailey. You can call me Jack. I saw you scanning the room. I hide the torture equipment.” He approached Troy with a welcoming smile.
Martin smiled and waved. “I’m here for moral support. A friend, not a boss. Call me Martin.”
“Okay, Martin.” Jackson walked over to Troy, shook his hand, then pulled up a stool. “I’ll tell you a little about me. I’m forty. I resigned my commission with the Navy as a major to take the opportunity here. I have my doctorate in physical therapy and a resumé chock-full of experience and recommendations. Feel free to read away. It’s worthless if we don’t get along.
“I have specialized training in both bladder and bowel control issues, in addition to what most consider regular PT.” He leaned in toward Troy. “I’ve worked with many sexual assault victims.” The therapist’s green eyes conveyed warmth and understanding.
As Troy focused on him, a stream of consciousness conversation went off in his head.Trust him? If anyone sees my PT records, it’s going to get out. You can’t keep Gwen in the dark. Get your shit together. Stop being scared.
“Jack, I will confess: I’ve seen a battery of medical professionals. Some have made me want to run, and some I trust. All I can promise is I’ll do my best to work with you.”
“That’s all any of us can ask. I’ve read your PT notes, as well as your complete medical chart. My plan, in a nutshell, is to return your body to where it was before the attack—as close as possible. I’d like to see you off the muscle relaxants and most of the pain meds,” Jack said. “And post-op, I want you to have normal bowel and bladder activity.”
“Don’t you think that’s overly ambitious?” Troy sounded skeptical.
“No. And anyone who has said otherwise sucks,” Jack said without ego.
Troy turned to Martin and laughed. “Can’t say he minces words.”
“Then it’s a go.” Jackson waggled his brows, walked to the sink, and washed and dried his hands. Troy instantly tensed. “Whoa, someone on your medical team really fucked with you. I’m not going to touch any part of you without warning. This is an evaluation.” Jackson held his hands out. “Palms on mine and push down. Good.”
Elizabeth Bailey’s words floated into Troy’s mind:No surprises.
Slowly, Jackson tested each muscle group as they chatted. “I saw your Virginia PT documented a rapid increase in improvement.”
“Because he wasn’t a PT. I worked with our athletic trainers and Eleanor West. She’s an equine therapist with a degree as a PT assistant, among others.”
“Doesn’t say much for our profession. But the equine therapy worked on your center of balance.” Jackson moved his hands down his back. His thumb pressed on an area.
Troy jumped. “Son of a….”
“Breathe through the pain.” Jackson waved Holland over. “I have a marker in my pocket. Put an X there.”
“You’re thinking trigger point injections?” Tim asked.
“Yeah. Sorry, Troy. See, if I press here, it sets off a spasm in an array,” Jackson said to Tim before pressing another spot.
Troy jumped and saw stars. “The pain feels like a hot poker.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you but glad I found it,” Jackson said.
“I’ll get the tray.” Tim placed the pen beside Troy.
“Martin, grab the marker. Lie back. Your abdomen supports your back.”
After Martin helped Troy lie back, Jackson proceeded to find more spots. When he pressed on one area in his pelvis, Troy turned sweaty and his eyes rolled in his head.
“Tim,” Jackson yelled. “Troy, take a breath. Talk to me.”
“I don’t know, you pressed, and my head spun.” Sweat covered his body.
