It's Nothing, Really

Greta walked into the clinic holding her arm.

“So, what happened?” the physiotherapist asked.

“I had a small fall on the stairs,” Greta said. “It's nothing, really. Just a tiny thing.”

The physiotherapist looked at her shoulder. “Can you lift this arm?”

Greta lifted it halfway and stopped. “There. Fine.”

“That's not fine. Does your neck hurt too?”

“A little. But I've had worse. I cycled to work today.”

“You cycled? With that shoulder?” The physiotherapist wrote something down. “This isn't an injury you can ignore. You've torn something.”

“I have a lot to do this week,” Greta said.

“I'm sure you do. Everyone does.” The physiotherapist handed her a sheet. “No cycling. No lifting. Rest the shoulder.”

“For how long?”

“Until it stops hurting. Then a bit longer.” She smiled, dry as toast. “I've heard ‘it's nothing' a thousand times. It's never nothing.”

Greta looked at the sheet. “So, no work?”

“Physical rest. Yes. Doctor's orders.”

Greta sighed. “My shoulder is going to enjoy this more than I am.”