“Lily?”
Shit, he sounds surprised to see me.
“Hi Jude, I’m taking over your physical therapy as of today.” I keep my tone crisp and clinical, but the second I meet his deep brown eyes, something inside of me wobbles slightly. I swallow roughly. “I’ve read your file; I must admit to being somewhat surprised by the number of injuries you’ve sustained to your knee.”
He grunts. Like, literally grunts. “Yeah. That’s confidential, right? Anything you learn about me, you can’t tell anyone. Not even my sister.”
Heat rises at the accusation in his tone. “Yes, Jude. I am a professional and am legally bound not to speak to anyone about our sessions or your progress with the exception of the team physician and your surgeon, without your express permission. You don’t need to question my integrity.”
“Fuck, I wasn’t.” He has the decency to sound remorseful. Heaving out a great sigh, his gaze meets mine again. “Sorry. Can we start over?”
Eyeing him, I take in the obvious signs of discomfort, both physical and mental. I’m trained to recognize symptoms of poor pain management, and Jude is showing all of them. Add that to what I imagine is a lot of mental anguish over the possible ramifications of this injury, and I’m willing to cut him some slack.
“Of course.” I soften my tone and put on my best comforting smile. “Everything is kept confidential, I promise. Now, if you’re ready, I’ve got the first month of our program mapped out and I want to review it with you.”
He gives the barest of nods, but I take it. And over the next ten minutes, I map out my goals to get him walking, focusing on breaking down scar tissue, rebuilding muscle and range of motion, and working on balance and proprioception.
“Any questions?”
He’s silent for so long I jump to the assumption he isn’t going to answer. “You know, you’ll have to actually talk to me occasionally if this is going to work.”
His head bounces up from where he’s been apparently staring at the sheet of home exercises I gave him. “Excuse me?”
I fold my hands together in my lap and look at him, keeping my smile in place. “You heard me. Conversation makes time go by a lot more enjoyably. I asked if you had any questions.”
“You don’t want to hear my question.” There’s a whole lot of emotion laden in those words, enough that I should leave it alone.
I don’t. “I do. If I’m going to help you, I need to know everything.”
A flash of vulnerability fills his deep brown eyes. “Is this gonna work? Am I going to be able to skate again?”
All my breath escapes me on awhooshas I realize my critical mistake. Every therapeutic relationship should start with a discussion about goals. And I assumed — incorrectly — that Jude knew what reasonable expectations and goals would be for his recovery. Considering my words carefully, I respond.
“I don’t make promises, but I will say this. If you listen to me, work hard but within the limits I set, you will heal from your surgery. Anything beyond that is up to your team’s doctor.”
His face falls for a fraction of a second before settling back into the mask of grumpy indifference. “Got it.”
I want so badly to ask him what his plan B is. He had to be nearing retirement anyway, so what were his plans? Knowing those would help shape my therapeutic approach because if he wants to go into management or coaching, that will change how far we need to go with his knee rehab and strengthening. But it doesn’t take a genius to realize he’s not ready for that conversation.
Instead, I keep our session short for the day, since it becomes quickly apparent that until I break down the scar tissue in his quadriceps, we won’t be able to do much else. As we’re finishing up, I decide to mention that to him.
“Next time bring some shorts, please.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll need to start some manual therapy on your quads and glutes to loosen things up if we’re going to hope to activate those muscles at all.”
“You mean massage?” He sounds incredulous, and dare I say, nervous?
I nod. “Yes, that was part of the treatment protocol I explained in the beginning.”
“Right,” he says gruffly. “Fine, shorts.”
“Great,” I reply as chipper sounding as I can be. “I’ll see you in two days. Make sure you do those exercises tomorrow that I gave you.”
Another grunt is the only response I get as Jude crutches out of the room. Once he’s gone, I sag onto the stool I was sitting on. Holy crap, I expected him to not be in the best mindset, but I was not prepared for Oscar the Grouch combined with Eeyore.
But I’m up for the challenge.
