Dr. Mill looked down at the young man lying in the bed in front of him and just for a second, hated his job. He loved being able to help people, to save them, to make a difference in others' lives. However, there was another side to his job that was definitely more of a burden. When he couldn't help or save someone. Or when he had to deliver bad news.

"Don't beat around the bush please," Craig said quietly, interrupting his thoughts. "Just tell me."

"Okay, Craig," Dr. Mill replied, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. He couldn't stand the way Craig was looking at him but kept his eyes on the boy's face. "Well we got the results of some of your tests back already. All your blood tests came out fine."

"And the bad news?"

Dr. Mill knew there was no fooling Craig. "Okay. Do you remember when the nurse was poking your arm with the needle? Well, that was testing your nerves to make sure that none of them were damaged. The bullet did damage one."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, this nerve controls most of the movements in your hand." Dr. Mill took a deep breath. "So, for now, you won't be able to use your right hand."

"F-for now? Does that mean the nerve will heal?" Craig looked pretty terrified.

Dr. Mill tilted his head. "Ah yes it definitely possible." He was trying his best to gently break the news but also not get Craig's hopes up. "Here's what we're going to do. You're going to stay here for a while longer. We're going to have you start physical therapy once your arm heals more, which may help the nerve heal. Then, in a few weeks, we can see how the nerve is doing, okay?" He paused, watching Craig intently. He sat in his bed, clearly stunned by the news.

"I-it's possible?" Craig said finally. "That means that it's not likely. Not likely that I'll ever be able to use my hand again." He stared down at his arm. Dr. Mill knew at that moment that Craig was trying his hardest to move his hand.

"There have been plenty of cases in situations just like this where the nerve healed just fine. We're going to do everything we can to make that happen, Craig."

"Can't you repair it surgically or something? I-I'm a journalism major and photographer and my guitar..."

Dr. Mill shook his head. "No, I'm afraid we can't. We would only damage it further. It needs to heal on its own."

Craig nodded slowly. "Okay. Thank you." The doctor could see he was struggling to keep his composure.

"Do you have any more questions?"

"No. Thank you," Craig repeated a bit more forcefully, his voice trembling slightly. Dr. Mill could tell that this was his cue to leave but was reluctant to do so.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about anything else?" Dr. Mill pressed.

"No!" Craig burst out. He swallowed hard. "Please, I-I just want to be alone right now."

Dr. Mill sighed and stood up. "Okay, Craig. But if you have any more questions just buzz the nurse and she'll come get me okay?"

Craig nodded quickly.

Dr. Mill turned to leave but when he got to the door he stole one more glance behind himself. Craig was sitting with his knees drawn up, his forehead resting on his uninjured arm. Although he couldn't see the boy's face, he could see his shoulders shaking with his silent tears.

And again, as he watched, Dr. Mill hated his job. This time, it lasted longer than a second.