It takes a second for her words to sink in, but when
they do, I grin. Last night was by far the best night Mo and I have had since getting back together. I say that every time, but it’s always true.
“I guess tonight I’ll have to take your ass instead.”
Mo’s eyes grow wide as she looks around to make sure no one heard. Lucky for her we’re the only ones in the room, other than the walled-off receptionist.
Before Mo has a chance to scold me, a door off to the left opens, and a woman in black scrubs steps out. With a folder in her hand, she looks at Mo and me. “Rhett Allen?”
We follow her through a set of wooden doors, down a hall, and then into another room. She takes my blood pressure, asks a few questions about how I’ve been feeling—to which I reply great—and then disappears from the room.
“I hate these offices,” I announce once she’s gone. “They’re so cold. Look at the walls; you’d think they could infuse some color or something.”
“You’ve seen plenty of them; you should know.”
“Really, Mo?”
She frowns, but once again, she gets interrupted. I’m grateful because I’m not sure I want to hear what she has to say. Plus, she couldn’t say anything that hasn’t already been jammed into my head a million times over.
This is a dangerous career.
What if you get seriously injured?
The next blow to your head could kill you.
“It’s great to see you again, Mr. Allen,” Dr. Wong says, offering me his hand.
“So, what’s the verdict?” I ask as we shake.
He drops my chart on the counter and sits down in a roller chair. With his hands clasped in front of himself, he smiles. “Your physical therapist sent me all of your records, and he seems to think you’ve made quite a bit of progress.”
“Does that mean I don’t need surgery?”
Monroe reaches for my hand.
Dr. Wong nods and stands up. “You’re correct. You won’t need surgery,” he says, manipulating my arm into several different positions.
I sigh in relief, and Mo smiles. My shoulder has felt great for the last couple weeks, but the thought of surgery has lingered in the back of my head.
“Does that mean I can go back to work?”
“Yes, I’m clearing you from your shoulder injury to return to work.”
He says the words, but his eyes are guarded, and I know there’s a but coming.
“But I want you to know the risks,” he continues. “I’ve looked over your history, and this isn’t your first shoulder injury. On top of that, your rotator cuff is still fragile, so while I will release you, I highly encourage you to start thinking about retirement.” He returns to his seat.
“Retirement? Are you kidding me?”
Mo squeezes my hand, but I shake her off.
“I’m nowhere close to retirement. I’ve got years ahead of me in this career.”
Dr. Wong holds up his hands. “I’m not telling you you have to quit. I’m simply suggesting that you start thinking about your future. Another injury like this one, and you’ll be out for surgery with months of rehab, and your shoulder still might not get back to a hundred percent. Look,” he says, scooting to the edge of his seat. “You’re young, and you have your entire life ahead of you. There are lots of things you can’t do with a bum shoulder.”
“If his shoulder is still fragile, why are you clearing him to return?”
You’ve got to be kidding me. I shoot a nasty look at Mo, but she keeps her eyes locked on Dr. Wong.