The new year started with physical therapy victories and setbacks.
By mid-January, I could raise my arm above my head without screaming. By February, I could chop vegetables again slowly, carefully, but competently.
"You're making excellent progress," my therapist said. "Most patients with your injury level aren't this far along at three months."
"Most patients aren't as stubborn as I am."
"True. But stubbornness only gets you so far. The rest is hard work. And you've been putting in the work."
I returned to the restaurant in late February. Not full-time just a few hours a day. But it felt like coming home.
"Chef!" Jerome called out when he saw me. He was working the line now, having been promoted from Second Course instructor to actual cook. "You're back!"
"I'm back. Show me what you've been working on."
He demonstrated a new pasta dish he'd developed. The technique was solid. The flavors were balanced. It was good. Really good.
