Page 18 of Doctor Second Chance

My stomach drops. I basically know what's coming. Shep gave me a brief rundown. But I hope the doctor who actually performed my surgery gives me more hope.

“We discovered more extensive nerve damage than initially expected. Fortunately, we had Dr. Reeves, a neurosurgeon specializing in vascular injury and repair, step in to perform the delicate connections. So it was a good idea to wait until this morning. Everything went perfectly.”

I nod, feeling a wave of dread wash over me. Shep had hinted at this earlier, but hearing it from Dr. Hampton makes it feel more real, more daunting.

"What does this mean for my recovery?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I don’t know why I insist on torturing myself. Shep already told me it will be a long haul.

Dr. Hampton takes a deep breath. "It means we're looking at a longer rehabilitation process. The nerve repair will take time to heal properly. Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do but give your body time to heal. Time, that’s what it will take. And rehab, of course.”

I swallow hard, fighting back tears. "How does rehab work? Is there any way I can do it back home in Florida?"

He shakes his head slightly. “I'd like you to stay in Birmingham for at least a week, possibly two, so we can monitor your progress closely. After that, we can discuss options for continuing your rehab at home."

The weight of his words settles on me like a heavy blanket. At least another week in Birmingham. Alone. Away from everything familiar.

My mom wanted to come with my dad when I told her, but I thought I would be in and out, so I told them to stay put. Now I need my mom here.

Isabella came to visit for about an hour. She left not long ago, and it almost made my loneliness feel even more severe than it felt before she came, if that is even possible.

"We'll need to decide if you'll find a new hand therapy team in Florida or travel back here to continue with our team," Dr. Hampton adds.

I nod numbly, feeling more overwhelmed and isolated than ever. The thought of navigating this recovery process in a strange city with no support system—it’s almost too much to think about right now.

"Thank you, Dr. Hampton," I manage to say, my voice trembling slightly. "I... I need some time to process all this. Do I need to do anything with regard to rehab? Like, is that something I need to secure?”

“Our team has already reached out to your insurance for approval. If there is an available bed, you can leave as soon as tomorrow to transfer to rehab. They can monitor your vitals there, but it will be less invasive than being in the hospital so that you can get proper rest. Oh, and you’ll have physical and occupational therapy six times a day.”

Six times a day?

“Oh, wow. That sounds intense.”

“That is what it will take. But I believe you will do very well at the end of this.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hampton. I appreciate your care. This is all so unbelievable,” I say, shaking my head, still beside myself that I’m going through this.

He nods understandingly and leaves the room, the automatic sliding door closing softly behind him. As soon as he's gone, I let the tears fall, feeling utterly lost and disheartened.

4:17 pm

I'm staring out the window, looking at the flurry of the floor that has become so familiar, when I hear a familiar, “Yoo hoo.” My heart skips a beat. I would recognize that anywhere. Shep walks in, a gentle smile on his face.

"Hey, Elle, I've got some good news for you," he says, his voice warm and reassuring.

I sit up straighter, curiosity piqued. “Oh, really? I need some.”

Shep's eyes light up as he explains. "I've managed to secure you a bed at the best rehab facility in Birmingham. It's connected to the hospital, which means you'll have easy access to any additional tests or treatments you might need.”

“Oh, wow. Thank you?” I meant that to come out as appreciation, but it sounded like a question. “I didn’t know you were working on it.”

I feel a surge of gratitude and irritation at the same time. The idea that I have to stay here longer really chaps my ass. Also, I can’t help but wonder why he is taking such ownership of my care. Especially since I’ve been such a bitch to him.

"The facility is brand new," he continues, "with state-of-the-art therapy equipment. You'll be in good hands there."

"Wow, Shep. That's... that's incredibly kind of you," I stammer, genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness.

He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it makes my chest ache. "It's no problem at all. I just want to make sure you’re well taken care of. If you leave here unhappy, it makes all of us look bad.”

Of course, it is about him. And here I was, thinking he just wanted to do something nice.

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