Page 54 of Doctor Second Chance

A couple of light knocks on the door frame jerk my head up to attention and my brain out of my death spiral.

"Good morning! I'm Maya, the occupational therapist. Dr. Hampton asked me to come by and see you.”

A young woman with a bright smile and bouncy ponytail enters the room, pushing a small cart full of equipment.

"Hi, Maya," I respond, trying to muster some enthusiasm. My mom straightens in her chair, clearly interested in what's about to happen. This will be her inaugural therapy session.

"We're going to start your hand therapy today," Maya explains. "First, let's remove this temporary cast to work on those fingers."

She approaches my bed and gently takes my injured hand. With practiced movements, she begins to unwind the gauze wrap. I wince slightly as the pressure changes.

"Sorry about that," Maya says softly. "We'll go slow."

As she works, she explains each step to my mom and me. Once the outer layer is removed, she carefully peels back the padding underneath.

First, she applies light pressure to my fingers and the back of my hand, asking if anything is painful to touch. When I tell her no, she proceeds.

"Now, we don't want to disturb the incision site," Maya cautions. "So we'll work around it."

Finally, my hand is free. I'm shocked by how swollen and discolored it looks. It wasn’t this black and bruised last time.

"That's normal," Maya assures me, noticing my expression. "We'll start with some very gentle exercises to improve circulation and prevent stiffness."

She guides me through a series of small movements, encouraging me to wiggle my fingers slightly. The pain is intense, and I can barely move them at all.

"That's great, Elle," Maya encourages. "Even the tiniest movement helps."

Next, she shows me how to do some passive range of motion exercises, gently bending my fingers for me. It's uncomfortable but not as painful as trying to move them myself.

"We'll do this for about ten minutes," Maya explains. "Then we'll put the cast back on to protect the surgical site."

As we work, Maya talks about the importance of these exercises in preventing scar tissue from forming that could limit my hand's function. Despite the discomfort, I'm grateful to be doing something proactive for my recovery.

As Maya wraps up our therapy session, I hear a familiar voice from the doorway.

"How's my girl doing today?"

I look up to see my dad entering the room, his weathered face creased with a warm smile.

"Dad! Perfect timing. We just finished up my hand therapy," I say, returning his smile despite the lingering discomfort in my hand.

My mom chimes in, "Where have you been wandering off to this time, dear?"

He shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, you know me. Just getting the lay of the land."

I shake my head, amused. My dad's always been a bit of an explorer, even in unfamiliar cities. I can only imagine what corners of Birmingham he's discovered during his "wanderings."

"Dad, I'd like you to meet Maya," I say, gesturing to the therapist packing her equipment. "She's been helping me with my hand exercises."

Maya steps forward, extending her hand to my father. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Klass. Elle's been doing great with her therapy so far."

My dad enthusiastically shakes her hand. "Well, that's wonderful to hear! And please, call me Tom. Mr. Klass makes me feel ancient."

I can't help but roll my eyes at his attempt at charm. Some things never change.

As Maya excuses herself, promising to return tomorrow, I am grateful for this moment of normalcy amidst the past week’s chaos. Having both my parents here, fussing over me, and making small talk with my care team almost makes me forget about the complications with Shep and the uncertainty of my recovery.

Almost.

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