Page 20 of Stay this Christmas
“Sure, but this way, they’ll know they’ll be taken care of even when you’re not on site.”
Twenty-four-seven access made sense for emergencies, or maybe skilled nursing staff, but PT? The residents didn’t need me around the clock, and I didn’t want to encourage them to think they did.
“I don’t think anybody else offers something like that.” Hedging, but still true.
“Exactly! This will draw even more residents to Fiesta Village.”
And away from the other retirement community. Because of course.
“Your presence here means so much to our residents, Harper. This would remind them how much we really care about their health, and provide reassurance whenever any issues come up. We want what’s best for our residents, right?”
Right. We just had slightly different definitions for that.
“Can we talk about it more later? I have an appointment soon.” I needed to figure out how to respond to this in some way other than theOh, hell noI wanted to answer. Twenty-four-seven access to a PT was absolutely absurd, and way outside of my original job description. But I wasn’t ready to start that long, uncertain conversation right now.
“Of course. I was thinking we could trial it the first of the year. I’ll need to arrange phone lines and all of that. We’ve got time to work out the details. Thanks, Harper!”
She walked out of the PT room, leaving me in a whirl of dread and confusion. My dream job just got a little bit of nightmare fuel laid on it.
It took a few hours to mentally recover from her unusual proposal, but by lunch, I’d mostly come to terms with it. I might not be able to avoid her latest plan for the community, but the end result probably wouldn’t be as bad as I feared. A lot of the residents were what I called unwilling patients—they didn’t even like PT with me; they wouldn’t call me day and night just for the sake of complaining.
Actually, the ones who disliked it the most would probably light up my phone line the most often.
But if I refused? Just because I was their sole PT didn’t mean I was irreplaceable.
Trying not to let dread show on my face, I encouraged Arthur to spread his arms to make a T while he held an elastic stretched between his hands. The move helped prevent stooped posture, a common problem among seniors, but it worked best when my clients actually participated. Arthur usually mimed the moves, putting in as little effort as possible, and keeping the elastic too limp to do any good.
A great example of an unwilling patient. He, at least, wouldn’t call me at all hours of the day.
“Pull your arms wider until you feel a good stretch.” I touched just beneath his collar bones. “You want to feel it here.”
“You know, I don’t really need the physical therapy,” he fussed. “It’s all a bunch of bunk.”
I smiled sweetly at him, well aware of his views on PT, since he voiced them every time we saw each other. But his doctor had convinced him to do sessions with me twice a month, at least for a little while, so every other Monday morning, he enlightened me on how very worthless he found what I did.
Joy.
“It can help strengthen your muscles.”
His bushy gray eyebrows twitched like two huge caterpillars in a gyrating dance. “Who am I, Arnold Schwarzenegger?”
I put on my most encouraging smile. “Maybe one day.”
He ignored me, as he often did. Most of my patients at least pretended to appreciate our time together, but a few got through our sessions fighting and grumbling the whole time. Arthur grumbled loudest of all. Thank goodness he’d reached the end of his appointment.
“That’s ten.” I held my hand out for the elastic, hoping he couldn’t see evidence of relief on my face. An overly-enthusiastic goodbye could be as bad as an indifferent hello. “You’re good to go until next time.”
Dropping the elastic in my hand, he turned to leave without a second glance. Shouldn’t have been worried he’d notice anything about my reaction, since he rarely looked at me at all.
“I might not feel like it next time,” he muttered.
I followed him to the PT room door, assessing his gait even though he thought itbunk. “If you do, I’ll be here for you.”
He flicked his hand over his shoulder as if I were a particularly troublesome fly he needed to get rid of. Leaning on the doorframe, I watched him go, wishing he’d let me help him just a little bit more. Only so much I could do for residents who didn’t think they needed me, but it still irritated when people flat-out refused. What else was I here for but to help them?
“That man is adelight.”
I turned to see Sam leaning on the exercise room doorframe, separated from me by less than a foot. I must have been getting used to him, because seeing him so close only gave my heart a tiny flutter. See? The Sam-suppressants were doing their thing.
