Chapter 985 Lingering Scars
Lola's disbelief was evident in her voice, "Really? You're not lying to me? Look me in the eyes and tell me—how much function will I recover?"
"Seventy to eighty percent."
Lola was stunned. Only seventy to eighty percent? How would she play piano, paint, or maintain her reputation as an accomplished young woman?
Henry tried to reassure her. "I asked the doctor—with diligent practice, playing piano and painting won't be impossible. It'll just be difficult at first. Simple things like holding utensils might be challenging initially, but it'll improve."
Lola's shock deepened. "What did you just say?"
She'd thought losing her former skill at piano and painting was devastating enough, but now she couldn't even manage the simple act of eating?
Henry emphasized repeatedly, "Only at first! It'll get better."
Tears streamed down Lola's face. "How long? How long will this process take?"
"If your recovery goes well, you should be able to eat and drink soup in two to three weeks."
Lola's emotions shattered completely. Two to three weeks before she could eat like a normal person? The blow was crushing.
Seeing her breakdown, Henry's heart ached with regret. He should never have told her—ignorance might have been kinder, at least for a while.
Henry gently wiped away her tears. "Lola, it's alright. I'll be with you through this, no matter how long or difficult it gets. I'll find you the best doctors, the finest treatments, explore every possible option. I won't spare any effort to help you recover."
Lola collapsed against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. She couldn't understand why God was torturing her this way—letting her live as a wealthy girl for eighteen years before hurling her from the clouds. She'd thought she'd hit rock bottom, but God had taken her parents, disfigured her face, and now stripped away her ability to perform the most basic functions. This wasn't rock bottom—this was hell itself.
After crying for what felt like hours, Lola asked through her sobs. "Will my hands scar? And my forehead?"
This was what terrified her most. She looked up at Henry with tear-filled eyes. "Tell me the truth. What exactly did the doctor say? Don't hide anything from me."
Though it pained him, Henry chose complete honesty.
His voice was heavy with reluctance, "The doctor said the glass shards damaged the deep dermal layers. Neither the scars on your forehead nor those on your hands will return to their original state.
"Current medical technology can only fade and improve the scarring through surgery or laser treatment. Surgery requires one to three months of recovery, while laser treatment needs monthly sessions—about six treatments for optimal results. But even then, the scars will only be less obvious. If you look closely, they'll still be visible."
Fresh tears fell as Lola asked. "What about my feet?"
Henry fell silent, and Lola felt a wave of dread.
Her voice trembled. "My feet can't be healed either? Is it around the knees? I need to see."
Henry's voice was pained. "Don't look. Everything's bandaged anyway."
Lola threw back the covers, her clumsy hands unable to roll up her pant legs as easily as before. Frustration and anger overwhelmed her.
Henry helped reluctantly. "Let me do it."
He slowly, painfully rolled both pant legs up to her knees. White bandages wrapped around both knees, obscuring the damage, but Lola could feel the stiffness in her legs. Her left leg was encased in a cast.
Lola looked up at Henry through her tears. "My feet are injured?"
She remembered kneeling on the glass shards, kowtowing to Kimberly repeatedly. Her knees must have been filled with fragments. But why was her left leg in a cast?
Henry's eyes reddened. "You just can't walk temporarily."
"What do you mean? Why can't I walk?"
His voice broke with sorrow. "Some glass shards in your knees penetrated deeply, damaging tendons and bone. When you crawled across the floor, the fragments were driven even deeper into your flesh. We've surgically removed them, but you'll need a wheelchair for now."
The news hit Lola like lightning. No wonder she'd been in agony in that basement, especially her knees. Delirious with fever, she'd crawled to drink dirty water from a plastic basin just to survive. That's when the glass had been driven deeper.
Henry continued with difficulty, "Also, when the Medici family beat you, they broke a bone in your left leg. That's why it's in a cast."
Lola's eyes widened in horror.
Henry rushed to explain, "The doctor reset the bone—it'll heal in about three months. But your knees will need around six months to recover."
Fearing another breakdown, he quickly added, "After six months, you'll be able to walk again. You'll just need three months of physical therapy."
Lola's emotional state was devastation multiplied beyond all measure. Six months in a wheelchair, followed by three months of rehabilitation before returning to her previous level.
Through her tears, she asked, dread rising in her voice, "Will it be a complete recovery? Will I be able to dance ballet like before—or only seventy or eighty percent?"
"With current medical technology, only seventy to eighty percent recovery is possible," Henry replied.
His words sent Lola into a fit of hysteria. Her body shook violently as she wailed. Her hands would only regain seventy or eighty percent of their function—and now her feet wouldn't allow her to dance as before either?
Henry tried to comfort her. "After nine months, you'll walk normally—no one will notice anything different. You just won't be quite as agile when dancing. If necessary, we can give up dancing."
Lola sobbed even harder. How could someone in high society not dance?
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
