Black Into Gold // Demi Lovato // 3

2. Recovering (Part 2)

After another week being bedridden, I started physical therapy, or PT as my mom liked to say to save time. Okay most people were saying PT, not just her. There was just part of me that thought it sounded weird.

Demi was allowed to come to the hospital when I got my cast off. My bones were healing nicely, and I wasn't pushing myself too hard to be able to use my leg. If I did, I wouldn't be healing as fast. The stitches came out and the incisions were pinkish scars that would fade more over time.

Meanwhile, my wrist was fine after just a couple weeks of resting it with the brace on and soon after my leg was cleared for PT. Everyone was ready to see me walk again.

Demi was there, wrapped in a blanket, along with my mom, and Demi's family. I was in a wheelchair, looking at the two metal bars in front of me. My physical therapist, Calvin, was encouraging me to try to put some weight on my foot. Not stand just yet, only test to see how much weight I could stand.

I stared at him nervously, not looking at anyone else. He nodded and I slowly put my foot down on the floor. My socked foot felt fine touching the floor, and I started pushing it down more, acting as if I were going to stand. Then pain shot up my leg and I winced, lifting my foot again.

"It hurts too much," I said.

"That's alright," Calvin assured me. "It'll take some time, but we can do other exercises while you're sitting, okay?"

I nodded, feeling like everyone watching was as engaged as a die-hard football fan would be during the final quarter of the Super Bowl. Not that I ever watched a Super Bowl.

But it felt like I was letting them down. They all came to see me walk for the first time, and I couldn't.

Calvin had me stretch out my leg as high as I could and he held my foot, lowering my leg when the pain got to be too much. We didn't do this for long, since I was still in a lot of pain, so for the first two weeks of PT, it was just about getting my leg stretched until I could put weight on it.

Everyone returned to see me walk, after those two long week, those metal support bars taunting me. I held onto Calvin as I stood, most of my weight on my right leg as I hobbled two feet to the bars. My left toe against the floor, I grabbed the bars, standing between them and slowly put my foot down. It hurt, but it was a lot more bearable than the first time I tried to put weight on it. I limped, but I was walking on my own. As long as you didn't count the bars, at least.

I heard gasps from behind me.

When I reached the end of the bars, Calvin asked if I could turn around. In order to do that, I had to completely let go. Calvin held out his hands, in case I needed support, but I managed to turn without his help, my pain nearly gone. My fingers grazed over the bars as I carefully walked back to where I started.

"Awesome, Maia," Calvin said. He helped me back into my wheelchair, claiming we didn't want to overwork my leg. Demi gave me a hug and kiss.

"I'm so proud of you," she told me, grinning.

"We all are," my mom said.

It was seeming taking forever, but I was healing. And I had taken my first real steps without help.

Pretty soon I figured I'd be able to run a 5k. Not that I'd want to, but my leg would be up for it if I did like running for fun.

~//~//~//~//~//~//~

It was now mid December, and Demi was out of treatment. I was totally back on my feet, finally able to work for the magazine with Abby full time and be with Demi.

"Holy shit," Demi mumbled, looking intently at her phone. "We've been together over a year and we didn't celebrate our anniversary," she said.

"Oh, my God. You're right." I was making cookies, just because I hadn't been able to in so long. And Demi had heard the nurses talk about them and was dying to try them. She sat at the kitchen table while I baked, knowing these would probably be the best ever. At least, until the next batch, because I seemed to get better with each batch I made.

"I can figure something out." I glanced at her after she said that and she had a distant look in her eyes, and a smirk on her face.

"What?" I asked, balling the dough for the cookie sheet.

"Oh, nothing." She grinned. "Planning."

"I'll mind my own business with my cookies, then," I said, making her laugh.