My specialist reviewed the new scan before asking me to stand, bend, twist, plus describe every movement that produced discomfort. I answered without minimizing the remaining ache because medical clearance mattered more than reaching Thursday's plan. Hiding pain would only transfer medical risk into a private room shared with Nina.
The examination room contained no romance, anticipation, fantasy, or hidden relationship reward. Its paper-covered bed made noise beneath my hands while the doctor tested strength around the healed injury.
"Your recovery is progressing normally," Doctor Mensah said, returning toward the scan displayed beside his desk, "the remaining sensitivity does not require activity restriction."
"Does that include sex?" I asked, choosing direct language despite heat rising beneath my collar.
