Chapter 101

My physical therapy got under way in earnest on Monday morning.

We got everybody packed up and off to their next destinations. The California crew was taking a detour – to Disney World in Florida – before returning back to San Diego in time for the Fourth of July holiday. The adults fought the idea of an all-expenses paid trip to an amusement park. It wasn’t the concept that bothered them. It was the idea that Liz was going to foot the bill for everything. They relented when Liz threatened (jokingly, I think) to just tell the kids that she offered to send them to fun places but the parents had vetoed the idea.

I had relaxed and enjoyed their company on Saturday night and Sunday. Ben and Kim came across to retrieve their children and stuck around for supper. That meant we invited Ryan, Sondra, Dom, Skye, Brian and Jill out, as well.

Sondra was on call at the hospital and the others had already made plans for the evening but Ryan came out. It seemed that he was always reluctant to pass up free food.

We all enjoyed a nice evening as the kids splashed around in the pool until it got too dark. Liz noted that the pool had lights but the parents thought it the young ones had been in the water long enough.

I suspect the parents knew best because all five of the tykes were asleep in minutes.

The kids didn’t appear to hold my lack of preparations against me – or perhaps they just didn’t notice I had screwed up on our walk – because they spent their time out of the pool clustered next to me. Even Amber appeared to have forgiven me for the “owie” on her foot – though she did ask me to change the band-aid for her (which I couldn’t do).

The start of physical therapy was ... underwhelming.

The therapist and his assistant showed up exactly on time, which surprised me. In Little Rock, I had to visit the therapist’s office and was generally kept waiting at least 45 minutes past the scheduled start time.

But Bill Black and his assistant, Ciera Goodman, were there exactly when they said they would be. Liz had set aside a portion the former ballroom for my exercise routine. It was the largest room in the house and she reasoned that she wasn’t going to be using it much for the next few months.

She went to great effort and expense to acquire everything anybody said I might need to help my recovery. And we used exactly none of it.

Well, that isn’t exactly true. We used the padded bench of one of the machines so I could rest my good hand on it. The other hand just hung downward from my body while I tried to make it move in circles.

I will admit that I hoped having my arm free for an extended period of time might help regain some sense of feeling in my fingers and hands but it didn’t happen. My thumb and forefinger still had limited feeling and movement but the rest of the digits were numb and lifeless.

It only took three or four minutes to complete the routine but it felt very good to have my arm actually away from my body.

The next exercise felt even better at the start. I got to recline on the massage table Liz had brought in and Bill lifted my arm upward until it was 90 degrees from the floor. He lowered it and then did it again. The movement felt incredible – even if I wasn’t the one doing it. By the midway point, however, my muscles started to tire and even cramp. He hoped to get at least 30 reps but we managed less than 20 before he called it quits.

We took a short break and then completed the last of the repetitions.

We were on the last one when Liz and her employees – Skye and Jill – came in to see how things were going.

“Are you OK, Travis?” Skye asked. My face was bathed in sweat from just the most meager of movement. Part of it was from exertion but the rest came from the pain in my damaged and abused muscles. Her hand immediately went to the small scar I knew she carried from her days playing volleyball.

I gave a grunt and a nod just before Bill elevated my arm for the final time.

“Damn,” Jill muttered. She moved closer to get a better view of the scarring that went pretty much everywhere on my upper arm.

“Yeah,” I said as Bill put my arm downward again. Ciera looked a bit perturbed at the interruption but Brea just shook her head dismissively when the younger woman scowled at the health care professional.

“You need to get a full-sleeve tat to cover that sucker up!” Jill said, reaching over to tug on my ear. “Of course since we’re taking hiding disfigurements ... you’ll want it to cover your face, too.”

I chuckled when she pie-faced me then I licked her palm that was resting near my mouth.

“Cooties!” she said, pulling away and winking at me.

“It is not a disfigurement!” Ciera stated.

“Take it easy there, Tigress,” Jill said. “I’m just screwing with him.”

“You’ll get used to his entourage,” Brea said. “You’ll want them on your side. He’s pretty hard-headed but they can usually bring him around.”

Ciera Goodman looked as though she might be 19 or 20 years old. She was a student at one of the most prestigious universities in America and she dressed as though she had always come from money. It was pretty evident that life hadn’t risen up to take a bite out of her ass just yet. I figured the athletes that she normally dealt with had fawned over her and been willing to do anything she’d asked just so she’d grace them with a smile.

But I awakened beside Liz Larimer that morning (and I was at least 10 years Ciera’s senior) so I was able to keep my drools to a minimum.

“I’ll want Miss Larimer to watch the next sets we do,” Bill said, possibly to keep his assistant from disrupting the session (or cutting into the substantial amount of money I was certain Liz was paying for his services). “Miss McCann seems to have done this before but I’m certain she is not here all the time.”

“I’m not,” Brea answered. “And I’ve just read up on what needs to be done. I’m sorry if I gave you a different impression. I’ve never actually participated in physical therapy sessions.”

“No, that’s fine,” Bill said. “You seemed quite knowledgeable about what we were going to do today. That’s all. Now, Travis, do you feel up to another round of what we’ve just done?”

I nodded gamely. The pendulum exercises had been pleasant. The supine forward flexion exercises had started out that way.

“For the next week or so, I’m going to want him to do this four or five times every day,” Bill stated. “I want him to work up to 45 to 50 repetitions each time. Wednesday or Thursday, if these are going OK, we’ll add a couple of new ones. I think it’s best, given the severity of what I see here, that somebody be in the room with him while he exercises. Will that pose a problem?”

I saw four heads shaking in unison – Liz, Jill, Skye and Brea.

“Ciera or I will be out several times each week to make sure that things are going well,” Bill added as I began trying to circle my arm in front of me. “For now, we’re keeping things at 90 degrees. I don’t want his hand going higher than his shoulder. Under no circumstances should it go behind him.”

He paused for a moment.

“Uh ... I’m not a physician,” Bill continued. “I am a physiotherapist. In most cases, our biggest concern would be dislocation. The quickest way to dislocate a shoulder after arthroplasty is from internal rotation and induction.”

He again showed us the concept. He first extended his arm to the side and rotated his arm until the thumb was pointing toward the floor. Then he moved his hand behind him as though he were a runner accepting the baton in a relay race. I didn’t foresee me doing either movement. Both looked extremely unnatural.

“That includes this motion,” he added.

He demonstrated by putting his hand behind his back as though he was tucking his shirt into his pants.

“Really?” I asked. I was interested because this was not something I’d heard seven years earlier.

“Really,” he stated firmly. “Tucking in your shirt, taking care of hygiene, they’re both highly dangerous right now. In fact, I would say it will be at least four months before we even attempt those movements.”

It took me a moment to understand his word choice. He was saying I couldn’t wipe my ass with my right hand.

I nodded my understanding.

“Now, as I said, normally our biggest concern would be dislocation,” Bill said. “In this case, we have additional concerns. I’ve spoken extensively with your doctors. Dr. Davis has made herself available for consultation at any time. She’s well versed on the case and she freely admits what she might not fully understand and points me to the answer from other doctors. I...”

He paused and looked around the room.

“It’s not always that way,” he said. I thought he’d altered his words in deference to the other healthcare professional in the room.

Instead, Brea only laughed.

“It’s never that way,” she corrected. “A lot of those people think they’re God walking on Earth. Sondra isn’t that way. If she doesn’t know or isn’t sure, she’ll tell you so.”

“Correct,” he said. “So I’ve also spoken with the other physicians involved. We have to concern ourselves with not only dislocation but with the restructured bone. I have been told that it looks very good ... considering. It is that one word that gives me pause.”

He stopped to look at all of us.

“Considering,” he repeated. “This is a unique case for me, too. I’ve never dealt with something so ... extensively damaged. So we’re going to take things slowly. I am thankful that we have that opportunity in this case. That’s rare.”

I glanced at Liz but she looked as confused as I did over the statement.

“Insurance companies,” Brea clarified. “They use statistics and actuarial tables to decide how fast somebody should heal – completely forgetting that every case, and every body, is different.”

“Even at the university, I operate under restrictions from the insurance industry,” Bill admitted with a touch of chagrin. “With student-athletes we can sometimes circumvent those problems but in most cases we have to push things more than I’d like.”

“In this case, I want you to do what you think is best,” Liz cut in. “Time or money is not an issue.”

Bill nodded his agreement as Ciera looked around the opulent room that probably housed better equipment than the university facilities.

“OK, Travis, let’s move to the next one,” Bill said.

I moved back to the table where I was stationed when the visitors had arrived.

“I’ll get things started then turn it over to Miss McCann and Miss Larimer,” Bill said.

“It’s Liz,” Liz replied with a smile.

“Miss Goodman, would you like to demonstrate the exercise?” Bill asked.