In with the New Baby

He makes it sound like it might be tough for someone to love me, though. For me to find the right woman. I just don’t get it. I’m a nice guy but no one else sees that. I suppose I’m a big rough around the edges, as this little incident at Big Apple Physical Therapy shows.

I was taught to be tough, the caretaker everyone can depend on. I’m the one who takes care of everyone else.

I don’t want anyone to pity me or feel sorry for me.

I need to take care of myself.

So today, with the holidays not too far off even though I’m not feeling as if I’m in very good holiday spirits – but when am I ever in any kind of good spirit?, let’s be honest – I’m driving in some lightly falling snow over to Big Apple Physical Therapy, where I’ve been referred for my knee. Damien assures me it’s a great place – he went there himself after being injured in war, and he says his physical therapist Anne was the best.

Still, I’m not thrilled about having to go, and that’s putting it fucking mildly. My Ford F150 that I just bought rides like a charm. I love the new smell of a truck. She’s my baby. The only one I can depend on.

I might be a billionaire but I still like to drive a humble truck. Plus, not many people in New York even have the luxury of owning a car so I know I’m lucky.

When I arrive, I walk in and see that the waiting room is a mess of magazines I know I won’t even read. I hate that I have to come here. I don’t want to wait. I’ve got shit to do.

I walk up to the counter and ring the bell. Who has a bell anymore, anyway? It’s the twenty-first century, for God’s sake. It isn’t the Dark Ages.

No one is there, and no one answers. I just want to turn around and leave.

Fucked-up knee or not, I don’t have time for this, and I’ll look for any excuse to get the fuck out of here.

I wait a few minutes and start to leave.

“Can I help you?” someone finally walks out and asks.

Great. Just when I thought I was about to get out of here.

She’s dressed in scrubs but I guess she works the desk, too. She looks respectable enough, so I give her a chance.

“Yeah,” I say. “Name is Lincoln Drake. I’m here for some rehab.”

The woman clicks away at the computer.

“Yes,” she says. “We have you scheduled. A referral from Dr. Hung.”

“Yeah,” I say. “He’s a good dude but he thought I needed a specialist.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “My name is Anne, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you.”

So, this is Anne, the physical therapist that Damien had mentioned was so great and helped him so much. At least I’m glad I got a good one and not some quack.

We shake hands and I follow her into an examining room. I jump onto the crinkly white paper on the table and Anne looks at my chart.

“So, tell me, Mr. Drake, are you feeling any pain right now?”

“Fuck yeah I am.”

When am I not?

But it’s particularly bad lately, hence why I have to be here.

“On a scale of one to ten, one being the least severe and ten being the most severe, how would you rate it?”

I take a minute to think about this. It fuckin’ hurts but I don’t want to be a pussy, either.

“I would have to say a seven.”

“Seven?” she asks and starts to write on her clipboard.

“No,” I say, deciding to be more honest. Fuck it, if I’m already here, I might as well let them try to help me. “I have to say it’s an eight.”

She looks at me.

“An eight?

I nod my head.

“Yeah but I don’t want you to think I’m a wimp.”

Anne laughs.

“It’s not about that, Mr. Drake.”

“Lincoln,” I say.

“Lincoln,” she says. “If you’re in pain, you’re in pain. And given your background, I can’t say that I am not surprised.”

I lean back against the wall as the white paper crinkles under me and sigh.

“Whew,” I say.

Anne laughs.

“Why do you seem so relieved?”

“Because when it comes to pain, I’m supposed to be a man.”

Anne shakes her head.

“Like I said, you certainly have an impressive background and I don’t think anyone would argue that you’re not a man.”

“Glad to hear it,” I say. “You know, nowadays at the VA hospitals, things ain’t too good. But I’ve heard good things about you and am glad you can be my therapist.”

Anne lifts his arm and scratches the back of her head.

“About that, Lincoln,” she says.

“What?”

I knew there had to be a fucking catch.

There always is.

“I’m really overbooked and so I’m going to have Amanda Nelson be your physical therapist. I’m assigning her for you because she’s really good.”