“If he doesn't cooperate, I need you to tell me immediately,” Ken continues. “This is professional hockey. The organization is investing a significant amount of money in his recovery. He needs to hold up his end.”
“An injury of that magnitude must be incredibly stressful,” I say. “Not knowing if you'll ever play again or what your future looks like. It can bring out the worst in a person.”
Ken nods. “All the more reason for him to cooperate and give himself the best chance at recovery. Keep me updated on his progress. I want weekly reports.”
“Of course.”
Ken nods and leaves me at the door. I take a deep breath and walk in.
Ethan is already there, sitting on the treatment table with his injured leg extended. He's wearing shorts and a Renegades t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders. His jaw is tight,and his blue-grey eyes are fixed on his phone. He doesn't look up when I enter.
“Good morning,” I say brightly. “I'm Natalie. We met yesterday.”
“I remember.” He still doesn't look at me.
I set down my bag and pull out his file, even though I've memorized every detail. “How are you feeling today? Any changes in pain levels since your last assessment?”
“No.”
“Any swelling or discomfort overnight?”
“No.”
“Did you do the exercises Dr. Burke recommended?”
“Yes.”
Three questions, three monosyllabic answers. This is going to be fun.
I put on my most professional smile and approach the table. “Let's start with some passive range of motion exercises. I'm going to move your leg through different positions, and I need you to tell me if anything hurts.”
He finally looks at me. His expression is flat and unreadable. “Fine.”
I place my hands on his knee and begin the exercises. His leg is warm under my palms, and there’s tension in his muscles. He's fighting me even though I'm trying to help him.
“Try to relax,” I say.
“I am relaxed.”
He's not. His whole body is rigid, and his jaw is clenched so tight I'm surprised his teeth don't crack.
I guide his knee through a gentle bend, and he winces. I stop immediately. “Did that hurt?”
His eyes widen slightly. Just enough for me to notice the fear slip through before his walls come slamming down again. “I’m fine.”
“Ethan, I need you to be honest with me. If something hurts, I need to know. It could affect your treatment plan.”
He looks at me, and there's a flash of anger in his eyes. “Keep going.”
I continue the exercises, and he tolerates them in stony silence. Every few minutes, I ask him questions about his pain levels, and he gives me the bare minimum response.Yes. No. Fine.I don't push. Not today.
The session is basic. Passive range of motion to assess his current flexibility. Some gentle massage to manage the swelling around his knee. Ice therapy at the end.
When we're done, I hand him his crutches. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Do I have a choice?”
I give him a tight-lipped smile. “Not really.”
