Читать книгу Deep in the Heart - Jane Perrine Myers - Страница 11

Bluebonnets covered the hills with a light purple haze, a shade somewhere between blue and lavender, which could seldom be caught in a photo or description. The sight filled Kate with amazing joy to be home.

Kate had started for the hospital a little earlier than necessary so she could catch the shimmer of the last trace of dew as the petals caught the sunlight. Although the wildflowers were not at their glorious peak, in a few more days the flowers would grow thick along the verge of the road and paint every inch of pasture with their vibrant beauty.

For a moment she pulled off the road to revel at the colorful scene before she stepped on the gas. Abby wouldn’t appreciate her arriving late because she’d been gawking at wildflowers.

After she entered Abby’s room ten minutes later, Roger Davis, the physical therapist, explained the process. “The idea of physical therapy is to teach the body that it’s okay for the joints to move.”

Abby lay flat, arms in the air to accept the cane the physical therapist placed in her hands.

“Don’t force the movement.” The therapist watched his patient before he turned to Kate and said, “You’ll have to make sure she does all six of these exercises five times a day.” He passed Kate several pieces of paper stapled together.

“I can do them myself,” Abby grumbled.

The expected response. Kate knew her sister wouldn’t take kindly to having her younger sister help her. Not in any way.

“You’ll also have to help Mrs. Granger with dressing, showering and getting out of bed,” Roger said.

“I can handle all of those for myself,” Abby repeated.

The therapist turned toward Abby. “Mrs. Granger, if you use that shoulder before it’s healed or don’t complete the PT, you may need surgery again.”

For a moment, Abby shut her eyes. After what looked like an intense internal struggle, she said, “All right,” in a voice that expressed grudging acceptance of the therapist’s warning.

“For the next exercise, you’ll need a pulley attached to a door and a rope with handles.” He handed Kate a diagram.

Kate studied the picture. “I’ll go to the hardware store and look for these.” She put all the information in her purse. “So, four to six weeks for recovery?”

“That’s pushing it a little.” The therapist picked up his clipboard. “More like six to eight. The injury was more complex than the surgeon expected.”

Six to eight? Well, okay. What difference did a few weeks make? Maybe with a few extra days, she’d know where she’d end up after her sister’s recovery.

By ten-thirty, Abby had received her physical therapy, prescriptions and discharge orders with a doctor’s appointment set for a week later. Over her continued protests, she’d been helped into a wheelchair and pushed by an orderly to the front door while Kate brought her car around.

On the trip home, Abby leaned back against the car seat holding her firmly immobilized right arm. Her clenched lips and pallor showed how much the surgery and the physical therapy had worn her out.