Chapter 4 Her Final Bow, Her Last Plié

• What everyone had imagined would be a quick visit to the ER ended up being a week-long bed rest in the orthopaedic wing of the Mediclinic in Glen Eagles for Holly.
• When she wasn't consulting with some specialist or other, she found herself entertaining an endless stream of visitors—from family to colleagues to the management team at the Royal Dance Institute.
• Cooper was pretty much a permanent fixture in her private ward, and her only source of updates about work. When he casually announced the show was on a break following her injury and faced a possible cancellation, Holly naturally felt terrible for everyone, especially him. He'd wanted the show as much as she did, and had worked just as hard. To see all their hard work go to waste was gut-wrenching. So, she tried to steer their chats away from work. But somehow, they always circled back to the show and, of course, Lola.
• Rumours had begun to swirl at the Institute. Half the corps was convinced she had maliciously stepped on Holly's dress and deliberately caused her injury. The other half, Lola's loyalists, were up in arms, defending her, chalking up Holly's fall to bad luck and horrible timing.
• Most days, Holly found herself flip-flopping between the two groups. Some days, it was easy to convince herself that Lola would never do anything to harm her. After all, they were once inseparable. But on some days, when the pain in her knee was so unbearable she could hardly sleep without a shot or two of morphine, she resented her former best friend with every fibre of her being and secretly blamed her for her injury.
• Three days into her hospital stay, Holly was almost going stir-crazy from being cooped up; there were only so many TV reruns she could watch. So when Sunday—exactly a week after she was admitted—rolled around, and the nurses informed her she was being discharged, Holly immediately called her parents, Lois and Clarke, and asked them to pick her up.
• But by 4:00 PM, after a final round of scans and tests, she was still at the hospital, waiting anxiously in her private ward with her folks.
• "What's taking him so long?" Holly asked for what must have been the hundredth time as her mom looked through the overnight bag for a change of clothing. "Something's wrong—"
• "Honey, you need to calm down," said Clarke while flipping through the TV channels in search of something decent to watch.
• "Yes, darling, your father's right," Lois jumped in, handing Holly a set of clothes.
• The door squeaked open just as Holly was about to change out of her hospital gown. The three of them turned to the doctor as he strode into the room, a medical file and a large envelope in one hand, and a vending machine coffee cup in the other.
• Dr Evans placed the cup on the bedside table and waited for Holly to finish dressing up before he pulled out the results of her latest MRI scan and launched into a lengthy explanation, all the while throwing around big, frightening words like 'osteoarthritis' and 'torn anterior cruciate ligament'.
• Of course, Holly had heard them all before, and all she wanted to know was how soon she could return to the stage.
• "What's the prognosis?" Holly asked when she grew tired of listening to the doctor's explanation. "How soon can I return to dancing?"
• Dr Evans and her parents shared a look, setting off alarm bells in her head.
• "What are you not telling me?" she asked shrilly. "My knee will get better, right? And I can return to work in a few weeks, right?"
• "Honey," Clarke gently threw his arms around her shoulders to calm her down. "The doctor says you'll need surgery to fix your knee, and your arthritis has progressed far beyond—"
• "I heard that. But I can still dance, right?" Holly said again, hot tears welling up in her eyes.
• She was only twenty-four, at the peak of a brilliant career as a world-renowned ballerina, and her star had only just begun to shine.
• It couldn't be.
• It couldn't dim so quickly.
• There was no way it was over.
• "I'm sorry, honey," Lois opened her arms, and Holly gladly welcomed the hug, unaware that the sounds of anguish filling the room were coming from her.
• "I just want to dance."
• "I know, sweetheart," Lois kissed her forehead and brushed away her tears.
• "There's still so much I want to do, so much I want to learn," Holly sobbed harder as she rested her chin on her mom's shoulder and held on to her for dear life.
• "It's alright, honey," Clarke gently patted her back, and slowly, Holly's tearful sobs subsided until silence surrounded them again.
• Feeling calmer and ready to fight for her dreams with renewed vigour, Holly pulled away from her parents and looked at Dr Evans expectantly. "After the surgery, with the right physiotherapist and proper treatment, my knee will heal, right? What are my chances? I'm willing to do anything you say and push myself hard. Just tell me what it will take to fix me."
• Dr Evans shook his head and spoke quietly, "Holly, I'm sorry. The swelling in your knee has gone down, but the damage is extensive. As for your hip, you'll need physiotherapy as part of your ongoing pain management. But you can't dance anymore. Not professionally, at least."
• Those five words—'But you can't dance anymore'—were like a stake through her heart. The final nail in her coffin. Her death sentence.
• What was she supposed to do if she couldn't dance?
• Who was she if she couldn't dance?
• Dancing and being the greatest ballerina of all time were the only two things she'd ever wanted. So, starting at the age of four, she'd worked exceptionally hard and poured all her heart and soul into her craft. All her hard work had begun to pay off at the tender age of ten when she was accepted into Rock Castle's Dance Academy, one of the country's elite ballet schools. She'd had the pleasure of gracing several international stages in her short career, and planned to perform on several more over the next few years.
• But now…her star had burnt out, and her light would shine no more.
• What was she supposed to do now with herself?
• Was Romeo and Juliet truly her last dance? Her final bow? Her last plié? The last time her toes would ever bruise and bleed like that?
• It couldn't be.
• There had to be another way to reverse the damage.