1. Elle

ONE

Elle

Saturday, July 6, 2024

113 Main Street, Birmingham

3:12 pm

"Just another tiny little pull on this ribbon and… engagement party perfection. I believe that's it! What do you think, Sophie?"

I lean back on the ladder and keep my knees on the rung for stability. Surveying the etched crystal vases, with their elegant looped ribbons, on each end of the outdoor mantle, I look at everything with a satisfied smile. I finally feel like we nailed it. Isabella will love it!

Dozens of freshly cut purple, baby blue, and white hydrangeas, my and Isabella's favorite flowers, fill each vase. Greenery trails along the length of the stone ledge, spilling over and literally bringing a tear to my eye.

I can't wait to see her face when she arrives and sees everything pulled together for her engagement party. We've been planning for about six months, and our group Pinterest board for the event now has over two thousand images. As soon as we all got the text, within days of Isabella's engagement, we sprang into planning mode.

"What do you think?" I yell across the yard at Sophie, where she's unwinding strings of Edison bulb lights to string across it.

"I told you it looked great thirty minutes ago, Elle! You've been fussing over those vases for too long now. Leave them be and come help me hang these up."

I toss the stem of a broken flower at her. "You know I'm a perfectionist. I do want this night to be absolutely flawless for Izzy. I need to stop fiddling with it, though. You're right."

As soon as the last word leaves my mouth, I lose my footing, and the uneven ground causes the ladder to shift.

In an instant, as if in slow motion, the ladder and I both fall straight toward the herringbone brick floor below.

Reflexively, I grab onto the vase closest to me, grasping for anything to steady me. I meant for it to be on the mantel's edge, but a split second goes by a lot quicker than I imagined it might. The vase is the only thing my hand grasped.

The thud of hitting the ground reverberates through my body, and then the aluminum ladder, as it pins my arm, makes a metallic clang on the brick. As I struggle to breathe, I'm trying to comprehend everything. It dawns on me that the fall must have taken the breath out of me.

In an attempt to free myself, I try to move and push the ladder away, but my arms feel like jelly, and my vision blurs and darkens.

"Oh my god, Elle!" Sophie's shriek cuts through the ringing in my ears, and dark spots dance before my eyes as I struggle to keep my grip on consciousness. I can't pass out. Not here, not now?—

"The party is in four hours." I struggle to get out as several people rush to me; unidentifiable figures stand over me. Someone picks up the ladder, and I struggle to sit up.

"There is still so much that needs to be done…" I need to get up and finish setting up for her engagement party tonight before...before...

Little pastel pompoms are all around me, swimming in the red sea of the blood flowing from my hand. I feel nauseated at the sight. Someone bends down close to my face and says something I can't make out. I feel like I am dreaming. Figures and voices seem to float and echo all around me. Nothing feels right.

Streams of blood are gushing between my trembling fingers as I try to move them, unable to close my hand. I'm too tired.

Bile surges in the back of my throat as the coppery scent of blood slams my senses. The pain crests over me in a suffocating wave. All I want to do is go to sleep, to rest for a bit, then we can finish.

I try to speak, but my lips are numb, and my tongue is a lifeless lump of clay. The tang of blood fills my mouth as my vision blurs and dims once more. Faintly, I hear the sirens wail in the distance, growing steadily louder. And then everything goes black again.

UAB Hospital

1802 6th Ave S, Birmingham

3:59 pm

I slowly blink my eyes open. The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room cause me to squint. A dull throbbing pounds in my wrist and hand, emanating all the way up my arm and taking up residence in my shoulder and neck. Everything aches.

What happened? The last thing I remember is decorating for the party at Isabella's house and putting up the final touches. Shit! The party!

I adjust myself in the bed, trying to find a comfortable position.

"Elle? Oh, thank god, you're awake!"

I turn to see Sophie sitting beside the bed, her face drawn with concern. Her eyes are red-rimmed like she's been crying. "Are you okay? Soph...what's going on?" My voice comes out in a raspy croak. "What happened?"

She takes a shuddering breath. "You fell off the ladder at Izzy's house. Cut your hand open badly. You were bleeding everywhere and passed out… You scared all of us to death!"

The memories come flooding back—the fall, the sharp pain, the blood, the feeling of the ground rushing up at me. I glance down at my left hand, now bandaged. It feels heavy, like I can't muster the strength to lift it up off the bed.

"Oh, my God." I am fighting tears as the reality of what is happening hits me. "Where are we?"

"At the UAB emergency room. We decided we needed to call an ambulance since we couldn't get you to stay conscious for more than a few seconds at a time. I was scared for anyone to move you. I rode with you in the ambulance here," Sophie continues.

"I rode in an ambulance?"

"Yes. The paramedics literally just rolled you into this room, not even a minute ago. We are still waiting for a doctor, nurse, or someone to come in and tell us what will happen next."

"This can't be happening right now. Does Izzy know?"

"I texted her on the ride here but haven't heard back. If she isn't already, she should be getting done with her massage any minute."

We sent Isabella off to get a massage while we got everything set up. The point was for her to come home to a magical night to celebrate with our closest friends.

The party is in her gorgeous backyard, which is ideal for outdoor entertaining. It already has an enormous stone fireplace on an expansive brick deck. The centerpiece is a live oak with draping arms and Spanish moss all around.

"Oh, my God. I'm so sorry this happened. I can't even recall what caused me to fall. I'm losing my shit that you called an ambulance! And I missed the whole thing! I've always wanted to ride in an ambulance, watching cars pull over as I zoom by."

"We wouldn't have if you didn't keep passing out. I think we all want to ensure that falling on your head isn't serious. Thank you, God," she says dramatically, looking up at the hospital ceiling. "You landed perfectly on the seat cushion that just happened to be on the ground under the ladder. Someone up there was looking out for you. It was so scary, Elle. I'm so grateful you're talking now! God, I've never been so frightened in my life."

"My mom always said I had a hard head."

Sophie squeezes my arm. I can see the worry on her face and my blood all over her shirt. I hope I didn't make a mess at Isabella's house. I have so much anxiety right now, and none of it has anything to do with my fall.

I look down at my right arm, which is completely wrapped, resembling the end of a giant Q-Tip with the tips of my fingers barely poking out. They are covered with dried blood. My jeans are now a maroon color.

An IV is in my left arm, and some contraption is clipped to the pointer finger of my right, uninjured hand. I feel like I'm tied down to this bed.

All I can think about right now is Isabella's engagement party tonight. A sense of dread washes over me, and an extreme need to get out of here overwhelms me.

"Now that I am awake and apparently fine, I think we should go. I don't need to be here in the emergency room."

"Um, that would be a big, fat no. You fell off of an eight-foot ladder. And you passed out multiple times. You'll sit right here until we hear what the doctor says."

"What is going to happen to the party? I can't let this ruin her night. Is there a lot of blood at the house? Did it get all over everything? Will the yard be ready for the party?"

"Elle, don't worry about all that right now. But to answer your question, everything will be fine. I promise you. Everyone else stayed there to finish up and, yes, there was a lot of blood, but Charity thought quickly and hosed off the brick. Vic put his ROTC experience to good use and made a tourniquet for your hand and wrist, so the blood was limited to just that space on the patio. Everything will go according to plan. We just all want you to be okay so you can enjoy all of your hard work!"

The door opens, and a nurse in light blue scrubs walks in, eyes glued to her clipboard. "Eloise Klass? Good to see you are awake. How are you feeling?"

She is reading something on the clipboard in her hands as she interrogates me. Somehow, it feels like she isn't really interested in how I am feeling, at least on an emotional level.

I grimace. "Like I fell off the top of the Empire State Building."

She gives me a sympathetic look. "Well, the good news is, your vitals are stable. The bad news is that the laceration on your wrist is pretty severe. You're going to need stitches for sure, but we still need to determine if you'll need surgery and if there's any tendon or nerve damage."

Surgery? On my wrist? Panic squeezes my chest. "But..." I am unable to utter any other words of protest as my throat constricts. I don't live here. I have a party tonight. My plan is to go back home to Florida on Sunday and then catch a flight to LA on Monday.

There is no time for surgery. Hell, I don't even have much time to get this stitched up and out of here in time to shower and be ready for the party to start at seven-thirty. Tears are welling up, and I want to tell her I have to go, but I know it will do no good.

My mind races with all the reasons I can't be here doing this right now, except for the fact that she told me the injury is severe. How can a silly cut on my wrist be that bad?

"If I just need stitches, then can I leave here soon? If there is no other damage, I mean, is this a pretty quick fix?"

Please, God, let that be all. I can't stay here in this hospital.

"We'll know more after you get an MRI to assess the extent of the injury," the nurse says calmly.

"MRI?"

"Yes, we want to get images of your hand and your head, since you passed out."

Lord have mercy. Of course, this is happening to me when I'm here to celebrate and have a fun weekend with my friends.

"The sooner we get you stitched up, the better, so we have you expedited for imaging."

I feel lightheaded all over again. This can't be happening—not now. I've been planning this party for months. Isabella is my best friend, and I can't be the reason her engagement party was ruined.

"Don't worry, Elle," Sophie says as if she can read my mind. She gives my unencumbered hand a squeeze. "Everything is going to be okay, and I will stay right here with you."

I force a smile that I don't feel at all. If only that would make it all better.

5:51 pm

I've been in this damn room for almost two hours. If this is the expedited service for imaging, I'd hate to know how long you have to wait for the standard one. The nurse said that the doctor will review them once we finish. It doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot if it takes hours to get the MRI in the first place.

I'm trying to keep calm. Sophie hasn't left my side, but it's becoming increasingly hard to keep my emotions in check. I've gone from desperation over the situation to pure rage at my lack of control over my own body and decisions.

"Soph, you should go. You've got about an hour to get showered and ready for the party."

She is reading the hospital brochure on recognizing the signs of Alzheimer's like it's a New York Times Best Seller. "Hmm?"

"I want you to go get ready for the party. There is no reason we both have to miss it. I'll be fine."

"I'll leave soon. I really want to be here when the doctor comes in. There is still some time left. It takes me around thirty minutes to get ready, you know."

I'm so frustrated I could cry. I wish she would leave. Then at least I'll feel like I have some control. Her being here and running behind for the party on my account makes me feel worse than I already do.

"Allow me to take care of you for once, considering you're constantly worrying about everyone else.

"You're amazing. Thank you. But seriously, knowing that you are there and not here trapped like I am will, strangely, give me comfort. Like I'll have some semblance of sovereignty. And I'll live vicariously through you and everyone else at the party."

"Just give it a little more time. Hopefully, someone will be here any minute to tell us what is happening. Okay?"

"Based on their attentiveness so far, I'm not holding my breath…"

"I'm so glad we didn't have to deal with the wrath of Isabella's highfalutin in-laws this time." Sophie changes the subject, realizing I need a diversion. She might be as stubborn as I am, and her redirection is helpful. "That really would have sent you over the edge."

"Oh, don't worry. They will be there in all of their snobby glory tonight. They wouldn't miss an Alabama garden party. But you're right. Thank the good Lord above that Izzy didn't ask them to come help us set up!"

Sophie is alluding to the bachelorette weekend we hosted for Isabella in Miami. For some reason, Isabella invited her soon-to-be sister-in-law and mother-in-law to join us. They were a royal pain in my ass the entire weekend and demanded everything to be over the top.

Since I'm the maid of honor, they treated me like their personal concierge, responsible for turning all their ridiculous ideas about how things should be into reality.

"Speaking of insufferable snobs, how was that double date last night?"

Memories of Wentworth Billings III's arrogant smirk and appraising gaze resurface as I readjust in my hospital bed. I'm convinced I'm getting bed sores in real-time. "I've never felt so annoyed by a hot man buying me a nice dinner and bottle of wine in my life. I couldn't get out of there fast enough."

"That bad, huh?"

"Of course, I enjoyed Izzy, and it was good to catch up with Evan, but why they ever thought to set me up with that man is beyond me. He's exactly the kind of superficial, self-important jackass I've spent years avoiding. I've never met anyone who talks about himself so much."

Sophie snickers. "What did he say? It can't have been that bad, Elle. Come on."

"Let's see… He talked about how he made four hundred thousand dollars that day on stock futures for a client, drives a super exclusive BMW convertible, one of only two hundred and fifty ever made, and has the biggest house in his neighborhood."

"Oh, wow. He got all of that in before the desert?"

"Yep, oh, and he managed to scrunch his nose at the fact that I scrape crustaceans off the bottom of sedentary ocean objects to study."

"Is that bad? I mean, hanging out at the beach and studying cool Marine life seems pretty amazing to me."

"That's exactly my point!" I throw up my one good hand. "When I told him I have a PhD and work at a biotech firm studying marine life, he scoffed and asked if I work in a non-profit with a condescending look. As if, somehow, that is beneath him."

"What a pretentious prick." Sophie puts the Alzheimer's brochure on the small makeshift tray table. It's beside the large water cup the nurse brought me a lifetime ago, which is now sweating and has a ring of water around it.

"God, you'd think with a face and body like that, he could at least have a decent personality. Why does it always have to be one or the other?"

I hesitate, secretly supposing he wasn't hard on the eyes beneath his off-putting arrogance. But his condescending assumptions instantly soured any physical attraction for me.

"So, how long did you subject yourself to Mr. Moneybags after that lovely first impression?" She quirks an eyebrow. "Based on your tone and the look on your face, I'm guessing it didn't get any better.

"It was the longest dinner in the history of humankind. Unfortunately, I couldn't escape him even after we got back to Isabella's. It's like he thought I would invite him to my room and hook up."

"Eww."

"Finally, around midnight, I told everyone I was turning in. He looked stunned, and I scurried out of the den as fast as possible. Maybe that charm offensive works on some, but not me."

"Geez, I'm so sorry. Are you supposed to see him tonight?" She asks, implying that the hospital will release me tonight. With each passing minute, I am less and less confident that will happen.

"Well, I guess that is one good thing to come out of this. I don't have to be Wentworth, III's date. That is if I am stuck here instead of drinking our signature cocktail and listening to that amazing Tina Turner cover band."

"Well, praise the Lord for that," Sophie chuckles. "That you might not have to see Wentworth, III again."

"A fate worse than death," I deadpan, shifting again in the bed. My lower back is starting to hurt more than my throbbing hand and the growing crick in my neck.

I've worked hard recently to bury thoughts of The Love I Always Dreamed Of. The One. It is starting to look more and more like that isn't in the cards for me. Loneliness is undoubtedly better than deluding myself with impractical fairytale fantasies.

"I'll never understand why you ended things with Justin," Sophie muses, interrupting my reverie. She started to bring this up earlier today while we were decorating, but I was able to walk away and shut it down. Now I'm captive.

"I just knew it wasn't right. It was time. It's not like we're getting any younger. Justin deserves someone who will appreciate all his goodness. He is a great guy, just not my great guy."

I recently ended things with my boyfriend of five years. Justin truly is a good man, and there is nothing I can point out as to why I did it. I was just never head over heels for him. And as much as I keep finding out that head over heels can be an illusion, I am not willing to settle.

When I turned thirty, I suddenly felt I had to make real, long-term decisions. Justin didn't seem like lifelong partner material for me, regardless of how comfortable and easy our relationship was. Once I realized it, it took me a full year to finally pull the trigger and make the break.

"Yeah, yeah. You've told me. You loved him but weren't 'in' love." She levels me with a bewildered look.

"But he adored you, treated you like gold, and God knows that passion stuff fizzles out after a few years for everyone anyway. Wouldn't it have been wiser to just…be happy with that? Most of us would kill for a guy like that."

It's an echo of my own nagging doubts these past few weeks. At thirty-one, shouldn't I embrace security, family, and companionship, even if it isn't the epic romance I dreamed of as a foolish girl?

Ultimately, I keep coming back to the same thing. I'll wait for that epic romance or enjoy my life all by my lonesome. I'm not so bad, after all. Indeed, he is out there. Somewhere.

6:09 pm

"I'm going to walk down the hall for a bit," Sophie declares as she stands and yawns. "I want to stretch my legs. Do you need anything from the cafeteria?"

"No, I'm good, sweet friend. You know you can go, right? I'm going to be okay."

"I told you, I'm staying until we hear from the doctor. So stop trying to get rid of me."

My guess is she's really going out to make a call that she doesn't want me to hear. I love that she is sticking around so much for me, but I just wish she would go. I feel terrible keeping her from everyone. There is no need for both of us to ruin our weekend.

As if on cue, a handsome man walks in wearing a white coat with a stethoscope hanging around his neck. "Hi, I'm Dr. Hampton," he says. "Looks like you got in a fight with some glass shards. Didn't your momma tell you not to play with broken glass?"

I'm not in the mood for jokes, even if he does look like he belongs on the pages of Vogue .

"Yes, apparently, that is not a fight I should have picked. Am I going to be able to get out of here tonight, Doc?"

"We are going to take a look at your scans. I'll review them as soon as they come back, and then we can go from there."

"Can you give me some hypothetical scenarios? In case things don't look good, I want to know what to expect. I like to be pleasantly surprised when things go better than anticipated. My life is in your hands. Or, my hand in your hands.

That pun wasn't intentional. I start to babble when I'm uncomfortable. And to say I am uncomfortable would be a massive understatement.

Sophie has been glued to my side all afternoon, but when the moment she has been waiting for arrives, the part the doctor comes in with the "plan," she's out in the hallway on some clandestine call.

I pull out my phone. Speaking of calls, I want to call Isabella right now. But I don't want to ruin her night. She is the one person I would always consult on something like this. And Justin, before we ended things. But now it's just her.

Still, I decide to text my mom instead. I don't want to freak her out, but I want to reach out to somebody.

Suddenly, I realize that Sophie's constant presence has been comforting. Now I have to rethink my whole, "I'll be fine alone if my shining prince doesn't come along," mantra.

"I'll take excellent care of you. I know it is getting late, but if you need surgery, we will aim to do it within the next hour or two. If we can't get everything lined up by nine, then we will schedule it for first thing in the morning. Trina will keep you updated on everything and take excellent care of you until I see you again sometime after you get your MRI."

"Like we might have surgery tonight? Did I just hear you right?"

"Possibly. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Let's see how the scans look, and then we will know better what we are dealing with."

Great. There are no good scenarios here. I'm fucked either way. Even if it is minor, I'm not getting out of here anytime soon. And if it is more than minor, I have to have surgery.

"Thank you so much. I'll be right here anxiously awaiting your return."

I'm trying not to cry as I absorb all of this information.

"Can I get you anything else?" Trina asks after Dr. Hampton is gone.

The surgeon sweeps in, delivers terrible news before the terrible news, and then sweeps right back out, leaving the nurse to pick up the pieces. I just wish someone would hug me, tell me everything will be alright, and that I'm not alone.

"No, I think I'm okay right now. Thank you so much."

As she leaves the room, I watch her pink scrubs with little bears on them walk out. I'm sure they're supposed to make the patient feel better, but they only make me feel worse. All my friends are getting ready for a party I mostly planned and am financing while I sit here with Teddy bears and Alzheimer's brochures.

Coming to terms with the fact that I'm going to have to have some kind of major surgery alone is pretty fucking miserable. I'm a thirty-one-year-old woman, and I have no one to bask in my misery with.

On top of wallowing in my realization that I am all alone in this world, I don't have time to work a hand surgery and recovery into my already-packed schedule. I'm supposed to be in Los Angeles in less than forty-eight hours for work.

Perfect timing: the International Marine Conservation Congress in LA is next week. I'll miss it if I can't get back to Florida in time to catch my flight Monday morning. The thought sends a wave of frustration and disappointment crashing over me.

This conference is more than just a professional obligation—it's a lifeline. It's where I connect with fellow marine biologists, share my research on coral reef restoration, and learn about the latest advancements in marine conservation.

Every year, I return home inspired, armed with new ideas and collaborations fueling my work. Missing it would feel like an enormous setback, not just for my career, but also for the passion that drives me.

The ocean is my life's work, my escape, my everything. I've dedicated countless hours to studying its mysteries, advocating for its protection, and this conference is where I recharge that dedication.

"Ms. Klass?" Trina's voice breaks into my thoughts. "Are you alright?"

I blink, realizing I've been staring blankly at the wall. "Yes, I'm fine," I manage a weak smile. "Just processing everything."

"It's understandable," she says kindly while she does something with the beeping machine attached to my body. "But try not to worry. We'll take good care of you. I'll keep you posted as soon as I know anything."

I nod, trying to believe her words. But the truth is, I'm scared. I'm afraid of the surgery, of the unknown, of possibly never waking up again if I do go in for surgery.

For a brief moment, I consider picking up my phone to call Justin. I know he would be kind and would probably offer to drive here to be with me. Selfishly, I want to do that just to have someone here—someone to know if I don't wake up from surgery.

But I know it isn't right. I know he would be here for me at a moment's notice, and that is exactly why I shouldn't. Because I know it would be for the wrong reasons. Nothing has changed for me regarding our relationship. I can't do that to him.

He is everything any woman would want in a husband. But I never had those feelings for him, and I could not see myself marrying him. He'd been dropping the hints for a while. I just knew I wouldn't get there because my annoyance and resistance grew every time he mentioned it.

Part of me worried that by staying with Justin, as wonderful as he is, I might end up holding both of us back from finding our true life-partners. So I ripped off the band-aid and broke it off, as painful as it was, convinced it was for the best.

Sitting in a bed in this cold hospital room, I can't help but wonder. Was I throwing away a good thing because I had unrealistic expectations? Maybe Justin was as good as it will get for me, and I torpedoed it out of some misguided search for a storybook romance.

8:04 pm

Sophie finally left about an hour ago after I recapped what the doctor said. And how he seemed to be leaning toward surgery, depending on the scans. Even in the best of circumstances, I'm not out of here anytime soon.

Here it is eight o'clock, and I'm still waiting on a prognosis. I'm so grateful Sophie finally listened to me and left.

My phone buzzes on the tray over my bed. I turn it over and see it's Isabella.

"What are you doing calling me? Go enjoy your party, you crazy person!"

"I'm just so worried about you. Have you heard anything?"

"Still nothing. Things move at a snail's pace around here. I've never felt so out of control my entire life."

"Well, we are all missing you here. It all looks amazing. Thank you for everything you did to make this happen. I'm so sorry you're not here with us. Can I come see you tomorrow?"

"Of course. Maybe if we are lucky, I'll be gone. But either way, yes, I want to see you."

I say that, but with each passing minute I'm less convinced that will happen. I try to keep all of my despair out of my voice, hoping to sound chipper and upbeat. But I felt anything but.

"Go to your party. Enjoy. I love you!"

"I love you, Elly-Belly."

I put my phone down, and then I lost it. Just hearing her voice somehow puts me over the edge, and I can't hold it back anymore. I reach for a small box of tissues on the same tray and blow my nose.

That is when I hear a man clear his throat with a deep baritone. I look up to see Dr. Hampton.

"Oh, hi there. Don't mind me. I'm just having an existential crisis over here. All my friends are enjoying the party I was decorating for when this happened," I say, trying to lift my hand to indicate the marshmallow hand that feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.

With only one hand, I blow my nose again and wipe my cheeks. It's more challenging than I might have imagined it would be using only one hand. "Okay, I need some good news. What are we doing, Doc."

He pulls out the computer beside the bed and swivels it to face me. He types something on the keyboard, and black-and-white images of what appears to be my hand pop up on the screen.

"I hate to tell you this, but your scans show what we suspected. You have severed your flexor tendon as well as a few smaller but still important tendons. This type of injury requires surgery to repair. Otherwise, you will not be able to use that hand."

The surgeon's words stay on repeat in my mind. A juxtaposition of Isabella's kind, hopeful words and his harsh ones is like a tsunami in my brain. I want to make all the words stop, but I can't.

His voice feels like the teacher from Charlie Brown's school. "Womp womp womp womp womp." His words are all blurred together, and they don't make sense. The only thing I can process is surgery.

I feel like I am free-falling. My heart is racing, and all I want to do is scream my lungs out.

"You probably can't tell because of all the bandaging, but as it is now," Dr. Hampton keeps droning on. "You will not be able to move your fingers, at least the first three, unless we reattach these tendons where they were severed."

I have so many questions, but I'm unable to articulate them. I feel overwhelmed by everything he's saying. It's too much all at once.

"Will there be any irreversible damage? I mean, if you're able to fix the tendons, what can I expect?"

"It's hard to say for sure if you're going to have permanent nerve damage, but there's a pretty good chance that you will. Our primary aim is to deal with the tendons. Once we are in your hand, we may find that we have to also deal with the nerve component as well. Most of the time, you'll have some degree of both with an injury like this."

That doesn't sound promising. He really knows how to put the patient at ease.

"It's hard to know the impact on the nerves from a scan. We will know more once we get in there with the scope."

Um, okay. There's nothing like assessing a major issue on a prominent limb on the fly. I thought doctors and surgeons were all-knowing. I do not get a lot of confident vibes from this fella.

"Since it has gotten so late, and this isn't urgent, I have pushed surgery off until tomorrow morning, first thing. That way, I will have my vascular surgeon, Dr. Reeves, on hand if we need him."

The sooner, the better, they said. Something about scar tissue forming and tissue dying. But apparently, that isn't the case anymore. So much for getting in there as quickly as possible to get ahead of scar tissue.

The best-case scenario, he says, is that he will be in and out in a couple of hours and only have to fix the severed tendons. After surgery, he will be able to discuss rehab and recovery options.

This all seems like the pretty much worst fucking case scenario I can imagine, no matter what happens in the future.