This is a work of fiction involving an unmarried minister and a single woman, both in their 30s. If the notion of a minister (or a physical therapist, for that matter) falling in love and having sex within a committed relationship offends you, please move on; this site has some wonderful romantic stories you will enjoy more. If you do like this story, I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for reading -- and please vote!
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Sarah
The big man stood before me, his forehead slightly furrowed, his eyes unfocused.
"Ben," I said in my best commanding voice. "Into the pool. Let's get into the pool."
I took him by the wrist and led him toward the water. He followed, unresisting. I stopped at the edge, said, "Step down" in the same tone, and guided him onto the first step. His well-muscled legs took him into the water, step by slow step, without incident and I allowed myself a smile. Six weeks ago, the first time we had gone to the pool, he had tumbled in and I'd had to haul him upright, frantic with worry that he had injured himself further. My supervisor, Brad, had ticked me off about it, and rightly so. Ben's body, so fit and strong from his life before the accident, had lulled me into forgetting about the state of his brain. Amateur mistake.
"That's great, Ben!" I said encouragingly. "You're getting better all the time!"
Ben didn't smile. He didn't appear to have heard a word. But the research shows people can hear even when they don't show it, and I wanted to support this man in any way I could.
"Let's walk now, Ben. Walk in the water."
Pool walking is great therapy for people who have been injured in body or mind. The water cushions any falls they might take and provides resistance, keeping muscles toned. It also stimulates the skin in a positive way, and provides an instinctual comfort with its womblike buoyancy. We do a lot of it in physical therapy. In fact, I was surprised my fingers bothered to prune up anymore.
Ben obediently put his right foot forward and began walking. My colleague and friend Julie smiled at this progress from across the pool, where she was working with her own patient.
"Get those knees up!" I said, putting one hand under his thigh to bring his leg higher. "Gotta work those quads harder."
He snorted and I almost laughed. A response! His wife, now heavily pregnant with their second child, would be thrilled.
We walked up and down the pool for quite a while. I stayed close to him, but did not touch him unless he threatened to tip over or veer into someone else's path. His face remained expressionless, but I sensed he enjoyed moving through the chest-deep water. For one thing, he kept at it, which he didn't do for several of his other exercises. For another, his forehead lost its lines when he joined me in the pool. That might have meant nothing to an outsider, but I observed my patients carefully for signs like that. Tiny changes can signal huge progress after a head injury.
"Had enough yet?" I asked. Ben kept walking.
"OK. Five more minutes."
We continued our stroll, neither speeding up nor slowing down, until our time ran out. Although he probably could have walked for another thirty minutes, I needed to towel him off for his hour with the occupational therapist.
I patted his torso dry and the male nurse's assistant took charge of changing his clothes (our facility, always litigation-minded, has strict rules about such things). I gave his damp hair an affectionate tousle as Steve took him by the wrist.
"Bye, Ben. Great going today. You're doing so well. I can't wait to see what you do next!"
He gazed at me, his handsome face impassive, before Steve got him on his feet to leave. I turned to my iPad to record my notes on our session before I moved on to my next client.
Long ago, when I was in PT school, patients like Ben had gutted me. To see a strong, capable man like that reduced to the skill level of a toddler was almost more than I could bear. One of my smarter teachers had taken me aside after one particularly teary-eyed session and said something that fifteen years later, I still recalled nearly word for word.
"Sarah, sympathy doesn't do our patients one bit of good. To be effective as a therapist, you have to move past that reaction and look at what's best, long term, for your patients. You have to develop your own core of toughness, for your sake and theirs. When they're weak, you have to be strong. And as they get stronger, you have to be even tougher. A physical therapist can't coddle anyone. Not her patients. Not their families. Not herself. And if you can't manage that, you have no damn business being here."
And so I had learned how to walk that tightrope, to show positivity when I felt hopeless, to coax, goad and bully patients into pushing themselves hard enough to improve. Although I usually developed great affection for them, I learned not to show that until the final visit, lest they see weakness they could exploit.
Some patients, of course, never recovered. I went to every funeral I could, and cried along with their families.
"Whatcha doing tonight?" Julie asked, picking up her iPad and plopping down on the bench next to me.
"Trivia with Seamus and his buddies at Sky-High Pie."
Julie sighed.
"Shameless, not Seamus. I still don't know why you like that guy."
"He's funny, and I can't get enough of his accent."
"For someone so smart, you sure can be stupid."
"Nobody's perfect, wiseass. Besides, he's great in the sack."
She sighed again and rolled her eyes. "You have the most complex love life of anyone I know."
"Goes with the territory," I grinned. "I like men, therefore nothing's easy. In fact, you could say everything is hard."
"You're an idiot."
"Don't I know it! You know I would totally go gay for you if I could."
She rolled her eyes again.
"Like I would date someone as shallow as you."
"I'm not actually shallow," I said, typing in my final notes on Ben. "I just can't pick men. I always fall for a face or a voice, then learn the awful truth later."
"Ladies, if I may interrupt your fascinating discussion, your next patients await your kind attention and ministrations."
We both looked up guiltily, but Brad simply smiled at us, nodded and left as quietly as he had appeared.
"He's so weird," Julie said after the door had closed behind him. "He's perfect for you. Why don't you date him?"
"I don't date colleagues. Besides, he's not my type."
"Yeah, he has a good job, is real smart, and even I think he's cute. Why would you want him?"
