Tiffany:
Dr. Russel was talking, but I stopped listening after he had said the word surgery. This was why I couldn’t dance professionally in the first place. The surgery was a botch job, and my career was ruined. Now he wanted to insert more pins and rods, turning me into the robotic woman. I had already lost my career; I didn’t need to lose my humanity, too. I needed rest, and meds, and my boyfriend. That’s what I wanted. But Harry was questioning everything.
“So, there’s a chance with the right recovery time, and this rehabilitation program you’re suggesting, that Tiffany could dance again—professionally?” The excitement in Harry’s voice caused my breath to feel heavy in my lungs. He had too much hope.
The doctor glanced at my paperwork again then leaned closer. “It’s not a guarantee. But if she follows the program, her odds are excellent. I had a cancellation, so I could get her in as early as Friday morning.”
“Tiff, are you listening to this? You could go back to the stage!”
“Uh-huh. Is there anything you could give me for the pain now?” I asked, not even letting the thought of this guy cutting open my knee enter my mind. I’ve already seen this play before, and I wasn’t a fan of the tragic ending.
Dr. Russel folded his hands. “Tiffany,” he said gently, like a father would talk to his daughter. I wondered if that’s how my father would have said my name if he had decided to stick around. “I saw your scar, and I know firsthand that you were the victim of a surgery that never should have been performed. I imagine you were rushed into the ER, and they treated you, not understanding the consequences. They took a shortcut to fix you fast before they even knew who they were operating on.”
The hairs on the back of my neck were raised. This was the first time someone was saying what I had always thought. “You most likely have a malpractice suit on your hands. That’s neither here nor there. Today, we need to rewind and look at your body and see if we can undo what they did two years ago.”
“So, you know how to reverse this?” Harry sounded too excited. Why was he so excited? Didn’t he hear those other words? Victim. Malpractice.
“I’ve seen this injury before in football players. Your ACL snapped. Now you need to have had it repaired in a way that would have created a type of tightrope technique.”
“A tightrope technique?” Harry asked, his brows furrowed as he raised a finger to his lip. “Yes.” Dr. Russel nodded then turned to look directly at me. “By taking some ligament from your hamstring to create a new ACL, I can then use surgical string to anchor this new ACL, which will suspend the ligament. The graft will allow for more room to heal.” He unfolded his hands. leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms. “I won’t lie. The recovery will be long.”
“How long?” I asked, my voice void of all emotion.
“Realistically? Six months. Four if you are a perfect patient. But I will start you on simple physical therapy as early as the day after surgery, so there’s no rest for the weary. The last thing I want is for atrophy to set in.”
Hearing the word atrophy made me light headed. My legs were my instrument. They currently played out of tune, but they still played.
“I’ve operated on dancers before. Many who went back to work again.”
Harry reached for my arm and gave it a squeeze. I hated having to burst his bubble of happiness. “And many who did not,” I said.
“With all due respect, Ms. Hart, you are a young girl with a bright future. I wouldn’t offer you this if I didn’t believe it would work, but you have to meet me halfway.”
“Tiff,” Harry said softly. “If he’s offering you a chance, how could you not want to take it?” The look he gave me was so tender it caused a crack in the wall of protection I had built two years ago. Tears threatened, so I looked away.
I turned to the doctor. “Could you excuse us for a second?” He nodded and left us alone in his office. I took a deep breath, collected my thoughts, and tried to explain my reasoning. “Harry, I know what you’re hearing and what you think this means. You don’t understand. To go through all that rehab, and it might not even work…”
He looked at me, like I had shattered him. If anyone understood my doubts and fears, it was Harry.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
But Harry shook away my words. “Listen to me. Last time, you were alone in this. But I’m here now.” He cupped the side of my face, bringing his head against mine. “You have been so strong for me, let me be strong for you.”
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
“I know. But you don’t have to be scared alone. You can move in with me, and I can take care of you.”
I stiffened. What was he even suggesting?
“Look, according to the doctor, you’ll be in a hospital bed for at least a week, then it’s crutches for another six weeks, and then there’s all those rehab appointments. That’s a lot to worry about if you’re alone in your dorm room with a ghost for a roommate.” He was right.
I had almost forgotten the horror of hobbling along my mother’s apartment with that damn cast on. “I could move in with Brit…” I bit my bottom lip realizing Brit was graduating and therefore, wouldn’t even be at the Delta Sig house much longer. “Or go home early. I was planning on spending the summer with my mom anyway.”
“You don’t want to live with me?” He looked heartbroken.
“I… I don’t want to burden you. We’re finally together, and now I’ll have to be like a patient. It’ll be cute the first few days, then you’ll get sick of me.”
“Tiffany, you are driving me insane. Have you heard nothing I said to you this morning? I’m in love with you. When you love someone, you don’t hide when shit gets tough, you stick by them and prove you’re in it for the long haul.”
“Can I at least think about it? I mean, I wouldn’t feel right making any decisions about surgery until I spoke to my mom anyway. She deserves to know.”
Harry nodded. “Understandable, but I have a feeling Dr. Russel will have to know soon, though, if you want that Friday slot.”
The thought of having my leg carved open in a few days made me dizzy. I looked down at the hard plastic brace the doctor had given me, knowing it was only a temporary fix. “I’ll call her right away.”
Harry drove me back to the dorm so I could pack up some stuff and call my mom. Of course, she was all for the surgery and cried when I told her this surgeon was optimistic that I’d professionally dance again. She asked for his number so she could call him and ask questions. Next, I called Iris and explained what happened and how surgery might seriously be in my future so I couldn’t say when I’d be back at work. She reassured me that with summer coming she had been interviewing people anyway and the only thing I should worry about was healing. I still hadn’t made up my mind, but I was in too much pain to go through tonight alone. Back at his apartment, Harry was already in nurse mode, whipping up soup and watching me like I’d turn to dust if I moved an inch too far.
“I don’t have a cold,” I said when Harry brought me his homemade chicken soup.
“Soup has healing powers.”
I smiled as he sat beside me on the couch and put on the television. He suffered through two episodes of The Bachelor, so I knew he was really concerned. Finally, I turned off the TV. Pain or not, classes were still in session, and I had a paper to write. He washed the dishes while I caught up on homework, and I wondered if this is what living together would be like. A series of simple moments strung together that summed up an almost perfect life. He finished in the kitchen and came to sit beside me on the couch. He looked positively beat. I guessed worrying about me was a full time job.
“Hey.” I tapped his arm. “Thank you for being an amazing man today.” He looked at me for a while, almost in a state of confusion by the compliment. I guessed, with all he’d been through, it had been awhile since someone called him out on something good.
“If I’m amazing it’s because you make me want to be amazing.” He reached for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “I really do love you, Tiffany.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Even with the pain, his words seemed to melt away the hurt. “I love you more.”
“That’s debatable.” He leaned over and kissed me, his tongue parting my lips as it twirled around mine. The tingles started to spread all over my body as he deepened his kiss.
“Harry, would you make love to me?”
He looked surprised by my request, instantly looking down at my knee. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“We’ll go slow.” I bit my lip. “Please? I need you to distract me from everything I’m about to face.”
With a newfound understanding, he nodded and disappeared to fetch a condom. When he returned, I noticed he had already unbuckled his jeans. I slid down my shorts and panties while Harry put on the condom then settled between my legs. After asking me several times if I was comfortable, he finally tried to surrender his angst and focus on us.
“You are the one thing I can’t resist, you know that, right?” He rubbed his shaft against me, entering slowly as I hooked my good leg around his waist. I took a breath as he pushed deep inside me. We kept eye contact as we moved together, saying a thousand words with a single glance.
“Good.” I rocked my hips against his as we slowly made love on the couch. It was gentle and tender. “I’m the one habit you’re not allowed to quit.”