Mrs. Mercier, fifty, has been rehabbing a shoulder blade injury for weeks. Today, for her final appointment—and for the first time—she’s wearing high heels. The overall balance of her posture is altered. A detail that’s hard to ignore.
—I still feel some tension, right here.
She points to a spot at the back of her neck. I rest my hand on her shoulder, zeroing in on the spot. She smiles at my touch with calculated intensity.
—It feels good when you press here.
—You’ve got some residual tension from bad posture. Or a movement you may have repeated too often these past few days.
—I guess… the body can’t lie.
—That’s what they say, Mrs. Mercier.
Actually, there is one part of the human body that knows how to lie. The central nervous system. It’s the one that distorts the body’s signals and blurs how they’re perceived. That stubborn machine challenges me every single day. Sometimes patients come to see me complaining about an injury that’s already healed. Others refuse to admit that their pain is nothing more than a reflection of their inner turmoil.
So when someone’s mind tries to resist their own body, I rely on my own methods. They’re far from conventional by medical standards, but they allow me to create a space where people feel safe enough to finally let go. That’s why I went along with her. I’d rather she leave with the pleasure of encouragement, and the confidence she came here to find.
I finish the massage, then guide her arm through a series of assessment movements.
—You’ve done an excellent job with your rehab. Just keep up the exercises. You’ve regained your full range of motion. That’s really great.
—I’m going to miss you, Doctor.
Her fingers absently brush the skin just below her collarbone. A spot that, I know, has nothing left to do with the memory of her injury. I stay silent, letting a faint smile linger somewhere between professionalism and amusement.
—I’ll miss all the physical therapists too, of course, but… I’m really glad I came to your clinic. I truly felt heard. And I could tell you genuinely cared about my case.
Not exactly. In truth, their injuries don’t always interest me, but I was taught to welcome them all with kindness. That’s who I am. I string together their bodies’ stories, release them from tension, then move on to the next.
—This is where our path ends, Mrs. Mercier. It’s been a pleasure to accompany you. I leave you in good hands: your own.
—I don’t know if I’ll find the strength without you.
—I’m not the one who gave you that strength. It’s always been in you. You simply learned how to use it.
—You say that as if it were obvious.
—Your posture doesn’t fool me. Your shoulders are back where they belong, your spine is straight and your stance is balanced. Your body already understands what you hesitate to admit. You’re healed, Mrs. Mercier. You’re ready.
She thanks me with the brightest smile, and I close out her file. As I open the door to walk her out, I make sure the next patient, sitting in the waiting area, doesn’t see me. I still catch a glimpse of her and instinctively take two steps back. My left hand clamps around my right wrist, and I freeze for a few seconds.
Then I quietly slip out and head straight for the rehab room, leaving the door wide open behind me. I immediately position myself in front of another patient, using him as cover. From there, I watch the waiting room.
Yeah. It’s Lovi. And she’s in really bad shape with her ankle. It looks like it just happened. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I think… I need to restrain myself.
Unsure, I head back to my office with my head down and grip the back of my chair. From the reception desk, the receptionist squints, trying to figure out what I’m doing. Then her voice echoes through the lobby.
—The doctor shouldn’t be long!
I automatically slide my glasses back on, then grab a surgical mask. I unfold it halfway… then set it back down. I can’t hide. It’s stupid, but I don’t know if I should really take her on as a patient. If I’m even… allowed to.
I wave my arms to get Camille, the receptionist’s, attention. She walks over, looking thoroughly confused. I gently pull the door mostly shut behind her.
—Please, can you tell that patient I can’t see her? Could you transfer the appointment to Dr. Dublé, early this afternoon?
—It’s nine thirty and your schedule isn’t full. You’ve got time. If you want, I can tell her to wait a little longer. Anyway, she can’t really go anywhere in that state.
—No. Please. Reschedule her.
—What, another ex you’re dodging?
—No. She’s not my ex. It’s worse. She’s the one I never dared to approach. I just watched her from too far away, for too long.
Camille leaves my office with a sigh, not even bothering to shut the door behind her. I press myself against the wall, listening to her speak to Lovi. After a brief exchange I can’t make out, I hear Camille grow concerned.
—Wait, are you sure, ma’am? If this afternoon doesn’t suit you, I can check for tomorrow. Didn’t you have someone to come pick you up? Do you want some help? There’s nowhere to sit outside, you know?
I can’t help looking at her. Lovi is bent over, hands on the low table, shuffling sideways toward the exit. It’s absurd. I don’t understand why she’s trying to leave on her own in this condition.
What an asshole I am. I rush out of my office to fix this.
…
—Ma’am? Excuse me, there’s been a misunderstanding with my colleague. I can see you now.
📖 Next chapter: Lovi’s point of view! 🔥
