5 Bikers for Valentines

“You’re doing great, Olivia!” I said, my voice light and full of encouragement.

Olivia struggled through the next rep of arm lifts, pain etched on her face. She was only eight-years-old, and already, she possessed more strength and determination than most people four times her age.

“Are you sure she can handle it?” her mom asked, but I shot her a smile, and she relaxed.

“One more, sweetheart,” I said softly. “Just one more and you’re done for the day.”

“I can do more,” Olivia said.

“I know you can.” I took the small weight from her hand and laid it on the floor. “But we can’t push you, okay? Your arm has to heal the right way, remember?”

Olivia nodded and turned to her mom, who hugged her tightly and looked relieved that it was over. These physical therapy sessions were never easy, especially for the loved ones of my patients. It was hard to watch, but it was necessary. Sometimes, even I had a hard time making it through, but this was just the beginning of my clinical rotation, so I knew things would get easier with time.

“Same time next week?” I asked, looking from Olivia to her mom.

“I have a couple questions,” her mother said.

“Sure.” I forced a smile to my face, but my head was beginning to ache again. Olivia was my last patient of the day, and I just wanted to be alone to finish my paperwork.

“Well, I was reading about this new treatment plan online. Something called controlled hyper-extension. The article said it could be helpful.”

“I don’t recommend that for Olivia,” I said firmly. “She’s very young, and her arm is healing properly for now. We don’t want to change anything and risk reversing her recovery and possibly doing her more damage.”

“But I really think it might be worth trying,” her mother said. “The article said the amount of pain associated with this new treatment is way less than traditional physical therapy.”

“That’s not yet proven,” I said. “These tests are still very new. Olivia is not an ideal candidate for something like that.”

“Are you sure?” her mother asked. “I really think we should.”

My patience waning, but I was trying not to show it. I had to remind myself why I wanted this job so much. Growing up seeing my father care for his patients with so much care and love always left me so excited to be a part of the same world.

“I know how worried you are. But I can assure you that Olivia is doing quite well. Her treatment is rough, but it will get easier. Now, if you would like a second opinion, I’m happy to give you a few numbers to call. My colleagues can review her file and tell you what they think.”

I tried to keep my voice light and calm, but it wasn’t easy. People who believed the internet as the end all be all thought they knew more than licensed professionals, and it was often not the best for the patients in vulnerable states like Olivia. This was my job. I was new to it, but I was also damn good.

“No,” she finally said, sighing deeply. “You’re right. I’m just nervous.”

“I understand,” I said, smiling kindly.

“We’ll see you next week.”

“Bye, Tara!” Olivia said, grinning widely as her mother led her through the door. I smiled and waved until they disappeared.

With a groan, I walked

behind my desk and fell into my chair. My physical therapy clinic was located just off the main hospital, giving me just enough privacy to help my patients but not enough for a single second of true alone time.

My head was throbbing at this point. These headaches were nothing new. I’d been getting them for over a month now. I knew I needed to get myself checked out, but I simply didn’t have the time. My patients and my job were more important. This was my last rotation, and if I did well, I would graduate Physical Therapy school with honors and finally get my hard-earned license.

I laid my head on my desk, breathing deeply and rubbing my temples with my fingers. I drank water and tried desperately to relax. The day was almost over. Soon, I would be able to go home and get some rest. For now, I just had to tough it out, push through the pain until I could get to bed and let it overwhelm me. It was hard, but after a few minutes, I managed to pull myself together.

My clinical instructor, Abi, peeked in the room. “You okay?” she asked. “You’re looking a little tired.”

I smiled weakly and nodded. “Yeah, my lunch just didn’t agree with me. Remind me not to eat sushi from the cafeteria again,” I said, trying to ease her obvious concern.

Finally, she nodded and smiled. “Well, yeah, that’s kind of a given,” she said before turning around and heading out into the main corridor to catch a doctor she needed to speak to.

With a groan, I got to my feet and walked around my desk to clean up the room. Olivia’s weights were still on the ground, and I hadn’t yet wiped down the surfaces for the day. I put the weights back on the rack and grabbed a bottle of sanitizer and a towel. Just as I wiped down the last bar, a chime echoed through the room. I turned toward my computer with a sigh and hurried over, sitting down to read the e-mail that had just come through.