The first two weeks after the surgery were the worst, the pain so crippling, so unceasing, that Nyheim Hines couldn’t even imagine climbing from bed.
The mere thought of ordering takeout made him cringe — that would require hobbling all the way to the front door of his apartment to pick it up. No thanks. Not happening. On rides to rehab, he’d grip the armrests in the backseat, bracing for any bump in the road, fearing that even the smallest ones would cause his knee to throb. At the hospital, when doctors would ask him to straighten his leg, he’d want to shake his head and refuse, convinced the stitches were going to rip open right then and there.