Stephen sat in a large, beige colored room. Weights, bars, and other exercise equipment lined the walls, but Stephen's attention was fully on his hands.
A small, metal contraption rested on his palm, thick rubber ropes pulling at his fingers, forcing his fist closed. His task was to fight against the device and force the fist open. A young doctor sat across the table from Stephen; a supervisor he never caught the name of.
"Up. Up. Show me your strength!" The young doctor encouraged, much to the chagrin of the older doctor.
Stephen groaned in frustration, his fingers curling into a fist once more. "Ugh! It's useless!"
"It's not useless, man, you can do this!" The other doctor cheered, putting a hand on Stephen's shoulder.
Stephen faught again, pushing the doctor's hand off his shoulder and letting out an annoyed huff when he found the he couldn't pull his fingers back. "Then answer me this, bachelor's degree." He hissed, looking up at the physical therapist.
The therapist nodded.
"Have you ever known anyone with nerve damage this severe, do this and actually recover?" Stephen asked, upset and furious with himself, the therapist, and the world in general.
The younger man frowned. "One guy, yeah. Factory accident, broke his back; paralyzed. His leg wasted away and he had pain in his shoulder from the wheelchair. He came in three times a week, but one day he stopped coming. I thought he was dead. A few years later, he walked past me on the street."
Stephen stared at the other doctor in shock. "He walked?"
The young therapist nodded. "Yeah, he walked."
"Bullsh*t." Stephen exclaimed in disbelief. "Show me his file."
The younger man bobbed his head. "It can take me a while to pull the files from the archive." A grin made it's way onto the therapist's face, "but if it proves your arrogant a*s wrong, it's worth it."
Stephen sat at a circular granite table in his apartment, overlooking the city on New York. He tried writing his name with his shaky hands, but it was messy and unintelligible.
His therapist had suggested the exercise and now Stephen was doing it whenever he could, including in the middle of a zoom meeting with an elite French surgeon he had met at a conference a few years ago named Etienne.
"I've looked at all your research, I've read all the papers you've sent, but none will work." Etienne informed. "I… I don't think you realize how severe the damage is, I-"
Stephen looked up at the screen. "Look, here's the thing, I-"
Etienne sighed, cutting Stephen off. "At best, I'd try and fail."
Stephen looked back down at his incomprehensive name scribbled over and over again.
"Look, I understand," Etienne continued. "But the bottom line, I… What you want from me is impossible, Stephen."
Stephen growled, his frustration rising. "Come on…"
Etienne shrugged. "I've got my own reputation to consider." The Frenchman made a move to disconnect the call.
"Etienne, wait!"
Etienne shook his head sadly. "I can't help you. I'm sorry, Stephen."
Etienne ended the video call and Stephen desperately help back furious tears. "No. No, no, wait!"
Later, when Stephen had calmed down enough to think properly, he began to sift through medical files, his hands shaking every move. He watched as a small paper fluttered out of the stack onto to floor. Confused, he picked it up.
It was a post it note with 'Told you so!' scribbled in messy handwriting.
Stephen huffed, turning his attention to the paper it had fallen off. Stephen studied it, laughing in disbelief when he realized what it was.
Jonathan Pangborn's file.
The next day, Stephen walked up to a basketball court where a few men were concentrating on a game. Stephen couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at how they were playing and laughing together, jumping and moving. And here Stephen was, standing in front of his last resort, desperate to heal his hands and get his life back.
"Come on, man!" One man shouted. "Where's the competition?"
A second man rolled his eyes, shooting a hoop and making it. "You talk a lot!"
A third man scoffed and walked to the edge of the court, grabbing a water bottle and taking a few large gulps. Stephen recognized the man from the files his physical therapist had sent him.
"Jonathan Pangborn," Stephen muttered. Pangborn looked up at the sound of his name. "C7-C8 spinal cord injury, complete."
Pangborn stared at Stephen, his gaze wary. "Who are you?"
"Paralyzed from the mid-chest down." Stephen continued, disregarding Pangborn's question. "Partial paralysis of both hands."
"I don't know you." Pangborn announced.
"I'm Stephen Strange. I'm a neurosurgeon." Stephen answered. "Was a neurosurgeon."
"Actually, you know what, man? I think I do know you." Pangborn said thoughtfully. "I came to your office once. You refused to see me. I never got past your assistant."
Stephen shrugged. "You were untreatable."
"No glory for you in that, right?" Pangborn seethed, anger flashing in his gaze.
Stephen ignored the man's words, dripping with menace. "You came back from a place there is no way back from!" He argued. Pangborn opened his mouth to retort and Stephen sighed. Arguing wasn't going to solve anything. "I'm sorry." Stephen muttered reluctantly, lifting his shaking hands. "I... I'm trying to find my own way back."
"Hey, Pangborn, you in it or not?" The first man shouted.
Pangborn turned and yelled something to his teammates. Then, he turned back to Stephen. "Alright. I'd given up on my body. I thought my mind was the only thing I had left. Figured I should at least try to elevate that. So I sat with gurus and sacred women. Strangers carried me to mountain tops to see holy men. After a long and hard journey, I found my teacher and my mind was elevated. My spirit deepened and somehow…"
"Your body healed." Stephen finished.
Pangborn nodded. "Yes. There were deeper secrets to learn, but I didn't have the strength to receive them. I chose to settle for my miracle and I came back home. The place you're looking for is called Kamar-Taj, a building in Kathmandu, Nepal."
"Like the 1975 Bob Seger song?" Stephen asked. Pangborn shot him a confused look. "Nevermind."
Pangborn exhaled. "The cost is high."
Stephen sighed silently. "How much?"
"I'm not talking about money. Good luck." Pangborn turned and approached his friends once more, leaving Stephen to his thoughts and vast musical knowledge. "Give me the ball!"
Five days later, Stephen found himself in a small airport just outside of Kathmandu, Nepal.
He got off the plane, collected his bag, and with no place to stay, wandered the streets for hours asking anyone and everyone if they could point him in the right direction.
"Excuse me. Kamar-Taj?" He asked. A head shake and muttered 'no'.
"Do you know where Kamar-Taj is?" He tried again with a different person.
"No, sorry."
Stephen stopped and sighed, looking up at a sign that read 'Himalayan Healing! Find Peace! Find Yourself!'
Stephen stared at it. Not the place he was looking for. He moved on.
"Kamar-Taj?" He asked.
"No." The man walked away.
"Kamar-Taj?" He asked a woman in a bright yellow hijab, feeling like a lost puppy.
"मैले त्यो ठाउँको बारेमा कहिल्यै सुनेको छैन। म दु: खी छु।."* She spoke rapidly. Stephen couldn't understand a word of what she was saying, but she had shook her head so he took it as a no.
"Okay. Thank you."
*Nepali for 'I have never heard of that place. I am sorry.'