Page 52 of Finally Mine
“Lieutenant Moretta, welcome to PT. I’m Annalise.” She extended her hand to him.
She was tall, slim, and utterly no-nonsense. And he didn’t see any signs of pity or “poor baby” in her hazel eyes behind her glasses.
He shuffled his crutches and shook her hand. “Aldo,” he said by way of introduction. He wasn’t keen on his rank following him into what was his earlier-than-planned civilian life. The nurse turned to Harper, and before Aldo could cobble together a “best friend’s girlfriend and woman I begged to drive me here” intro, Harper took over.
The two women exchanged names and shook hands.
“Thanks for coming,” Annalise said, leading the way through the door into a space with padded tables and cardio machines. Exercise balls, wooden benches in varying sizes, and even a small trampoline were neatly organized on the beige carpet. The dreaded bridge of steps was sequestered in the corner next to a stack of exercise mats. It was half gym, half daycare. “It’s important for family to be involved in recovery.”
“We’re just friends,” Aldo mumbled.
“Well, it always helps to have another pair of eyes and hands,” Silver Lining Annalise told him. She pointed to a pair of chairs next to a set of parallel bars. “Let me get these set to your height, and the doctor will be here shortly.”
God, he hated these bars. He’d fallen from them about a dozen times in Germany and once or twice at Walter Reed Medical Center, his arms too weak to hold his body weight. And when he wasn’t falling, he was sweating and swearing and hating his own weakness.
Harper was silent for once next to him, and the look on her face told him she was worried about him.
“Lieutenant.” A slim man in a white coat and thick-rimmed glasses approached with a clipboard and a half-drunk green smoothie. “I’m Dr. Steers. I’ve heard a lot about you.” The introductions were made while Aldo felt a surge of anxiety rush through his system. Part of the “healing” process apparently involved facing his own failings again and again and again. It would either break him, or he’d crawl through it half the man he’d been.
“Let’s get started, shall we? lieutenant, Walter Reed gave me your file, and you already have our staff impressed. To be where you are right now, barely a month from the injury, is almost superhuman.”
Superhuman, huh? That sounded more like the old Aldo. He hoped to God the doc wasn’t blowing smoke up his ass. This was the first scrap of hope he’d felt since…Dust. Red. Silence.
Since.
“Heispretty awesome, isn’t he?” Harper insisted.
“We can understand the lieutenant’s frustration with the pace of therapy, and we’ll do our best to write a program that challenges him at his level. We just need to make sure we’re not asking too much of your body while you’re still so early in the recovery process. Okay?”
Aldo nodded. He’d heard the bullshit before. Rest. Slow. Incremental progress. Blah blah blah. Never be who he used to be. That last one was part of his own internal monologue.
“So let’s get you up.” Dr. Steers pointed at the bars. “You know the drill.”
Aldo stood and handed his crutches to Annalise. He gripped the ends of the bars and walked, one foot in front of the other, moving one trembling muscle at a time, toward Dr. Steers who paced him backward on a wheeled stool.
Fuck. It hurt. Everything hurt. He was so sick of feeling like this. Weak, wrung out.
“Looks good,” the doctor said, making notes. “Go ahead and go back to the top.”
He walked the bars, up and back, again and again, pausing here and there to make slight adjustments to the metal and plastic that was supposed to be a part of his body now.
“Lieutenant, let’s try it without the bars,” Dr. Steers said, peering over the tops of his glasses.
Aldo dropped his hands to his sides and put a little saunter into his stride as he walked slowly toward Annalise. It took every ounce of effort to keep his face impassive. But beneath the surface anxiety, exhaustion, and a fleeting spark of hope all danced a two-step.
“That’s perfect,” the doctor said with an approving nod. “Your gait looks great.”
Again and again, they put him through the paces without walking aids. But this was where he thrived, going up against the wall and finding those last pockets of energy or perseverance. It was like finding a piece of the old Aldo.And fucking hell, it felt good.
His t-shirt was soaked fast to him with sweat, his quads were trembling from walking. But he was pushinghard. And that’s where he was most comfortable.
“Let’s take a quick water break, and then we’ll move on to some of the balance exercises,” the doc suggested.
Aldo tried to play it cool but dropped into the chair next to Harper like a stone.
Annalise directed Harper to a refrigerator with water, and she returned with two. Aldo drained half of his with the desperation of a desert wanderer.
The doctor piped up again while Aldo wondered if he could talk Harper out of her water. “I know the energy expenditure is frustrating. Typically, mobility with a below-the-knee amputation consumes up to forty percent more energy than what you’re used to. That’s why you feel like you just finished a marathon. It might only seem like a few steps to you, but to your body, it feels like almost double that.”
