Page 2 of Necessary Roughness

Tanner let out a string of obscenities as the pain roared to life in his bad leg.

“If my mama was here, she would wash your mouth out with soap, bro,” Harrison said. “She’d whoop your butt.”

“She’d have to catch me first,” Tanner said. “It’s not going to happen.”

Harrison burst out laughing. “She’d call your mama. Get your ass in the car.”

***

WHILE MOST TWELVE-YEAR-OLD girls dreamed about being a fashion model or a veterinarian when they grew up, Jordan Mueller had already decided on a career path. Like many other big decisions in life, it happened by accident. Jordan broke her leg skiing the winter she was twelve. It hurt. The recovery wasn’t fun, either. The only positive things were her mom had let her have ice cream every day, her dad put a TV in her bedroom, and she got a hot-pink cast her friends from school all signed.

A couple of weeks after she got her cast, her mom helped her into the family car and took her to physical therapy.

“Honey, the doctor told me this will help you as your leg heals,” her mom said. “You’ll do some exercises. It’s about an hour. I’ll be in the waiting room.”

“Will it hurt?” Jordan said.

Her mom glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “It might. How about we get a treat on the way home? How’s that?”

Jordan was assigned to a physical therapist named Stacy, who worked with her twice a week for two months. Stacy gave Jordan a sheet of exercises she could do at home too. PT wasn’t the most fun part of the week, but two months passed quickly.

At Jordan’s last appointment, she sat down on the weight bench after her final set of exercises and said to Stacy, “Did you always want to become a physical therapist?”

“I actually wanted to become a software engineer,” Stacy said. “I was in a bad car accident while I was in college, and I spent over a year in physical therapy. My physical therapist helped me learn to walk again.” She sat down next to Jordan on the bench. “It probably sounds corny, but I wanted to help someone else the way she helped me. So, I switched my major.” She reached out to pat Jordan’s knee. “It was a lot of math and science. I kept going to school until I graduated with a doctorate. It wasn’t easy, but I love what I do.”

Jordan walked out of the physical therapy clinic for the last time with Stacy’s e-mail address, in case she had more questions. She’d set goals in life, and she intended on achieving all of them: She wanted her doctorate in physical therapy. She wanted to concentrate on sports medicine because she could help other people who enjoyed sports as much as she did. She also wanted to own a physical therapy clinic someday.

Jordan’s parents were thrilled that she worked harder in school than she had before. They were a little mystified that their youngest daughter bought herself subscriptions to the New England Journal of Medicine and Perspectives, a magazine for physical therapists. As long as she stayed on the honor roll, it couldn’t be that bad.

Eighteen years later, it was a typical overcast June morning at Eastside Physical Therapy as Jordan glanced up from her work to see her boss, Marco, limping toward her. Whatever Marco wanted would need to wait for a few minutes. She had a full roster of clients, and her afternoon was booked solid already. She gave him a somewhat apologetic smile as she turned away from him to focus on her patient. Thankfully, she loved what she was doing, so even a busy day wasn’t a hardship.

Jordan had been working with a ballerina from Pacific Northwest Ballet for the past hour. The dancer had torn ligaments in her right ankle after slipping in some water at rehearsal a month ago. Rehab would be slow, but Jordan was hopeful the ballerina would see significant improvement within a few months.

“Okay, Chloe, let’s try the resistance exercise for a few minutes.”

Jordan bent down to help her client loop a thick rubber strap around her injured ankle. Chloe would use the resistance from her healthy ankle while she stretched the injured one.

“Take it slow. Let’s try ten reps to start.”

Chloe folded her lips as she moved the ankle that was still painful. She gripped the ballet barre in front of her and checked her posture in the mirror.

“Good job. Slow and steady will get it done. One. Two. You’re doing great,” Jordan said.

Marco was on crutches due to the aftermath of a car wreck four days ago. Jordan couldn’t believe he was already back at work, but the clients couldn’t wait while he healed up.

Marco spoke up. “Got a minute, Jordan?”

“Sure,” she told him. “I’ll be right over there if you need anything,” she said to Chloe as she indicated a spot about ten feet away.

The ballerina nodded as she returned to the exercise program Jordan had devised for her.

“So, what’s up?” Jordan said to Marco.

“I’m giving you one of my clients,” he said. “The doc says I have to be off my feet for at least two weeks. I’ve divided up the rest between everyone else.”

“Is there anything else I can do to help?” Jordan said.

“Keep things running around here.”

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