Chapter 115: The Despair of Dr. Stephen

Dr. Stephen Strange suffered a severe car accident while driving. When he finally awoke from his coma, his entire body throbbed with pain, yet his hands were numb, devoid of any sensation.

His friend, Christine Palmer, sat by his side, offering comfort. Stephen glanced at his hands—suspended in the air, encased in frightening braces and supports. The sight was terrifying.

He gasped heavily, struggling to accept the harsh reality, his voice trembling as he asked, "What have they done to my hands?"

Tears welled in Christine’s eyes as she spoke with a mournful tone, "They airlifted you to the hospital, but it took a long time to find you... The golden window for nerve repair passed while you were trapped in the car..."

"What have they done to me?" Stephen asked again.

Christine lowered her voice beside him, explaining, "They implanted eleven stainless steel pins into your bones, multiple ligaments were torn, and the nerves in both hands suffered severe damage. Your surgery lasted a grueling eleven hours."

Stephen could hardly bear to look at the restraints holding his body so grotesquely in place. "Look at these fixators..." he muttered in despair.

"No one could have done better. This was performed by the best surgeons," Christine reassured him.

"I could have done better!" Stephen retorted, turning to Christine before closing his eyes, resigned to the cruel truth.

Five months later.

Stephen had the metal pins removed from his bones, and his fingers could move, albeit weakly.

Those months had been torturous. He was unable to care for himself, but thankfully Christine had been there, tending to him with patient devotion.

Another month passed, and finally, the bandages came off his hands. However, the nerve damage was so severe that both hands trembled uncontrollably. It was no longer possible for him to perform surgeries for others; even managing his own daily life was a struggle.

"Give your body time to rest and heal," his attending physician advised gently.

"You’ve ruined me!" Stephen exclaimed in despair.

Determined, Stephen approached the hospital administration, requesting the implantation of experimental Stent-Mold scaffolds in his hands to stimulate nerve regeneration.

The procedure was costly and still in the experimental stage, only theoretically viable.

The hospital approved his request and implanted the Stent-Mold scaffolds.

After the surgery, it took three months for the wounds to fully heal.

He began rehabilitation exercises, but his hands still trembled and lacked strength.

Stephen was overwhelmed with despair. He saw the rehabilitation as futile; he believed his hands would never recover.

Yet the doctors told him of a patient named Jonathan Pemberton, once paralyzed, who, after three years of rehabilitation, could now walk normally.

Stephen doubted their words and demanded to see Jonathan Pemberton’s medical records. The doctor said they would search the archives and send them to him.

Days turned into months, and Stephen continued his relentless rehabilitation, but his hands showed no improvement. He couldn’t even use a razor to shave.

His hopelessness deepened. He scoured all the medical literature but found no cure for his hands.

He consulted every renowned neurosurgeon worldwide, only to be met with helplessness. His savings depleted, he had even borrowed a large sum from Christine.

Stephen recalled something Arthur once told him—that he would help him someday. Though Stephen doubted Arthur could offer any real assistance, perhaps he could borrow money from him.

He called Arthur, but his phone was off. He then asked around for the Avengers headquarters number.

When he finally got through, a man answered, saying Arthur hadn’t been to the headquarters for over a year and couldn’t be reached. Stephen’s despair deepened.

Christine came to visit Stephen at his home. She found him brooding.

"What’s wrong?" Christine asked gently.

"There’s a new technology developed in Tokyo," Stephen said excitedly. "They cultivate donor stem cells, collect them, and use 3D printing to create skeletal structures. If I could just get a loan..."

"Stephen! You’ve always spent money as fast as you earned it. But now you’re no longer spending your own—it’s time to stop," Christine admonished.

"No! Now is not the time to give up! Look at me—my injuries haven’t healed at all!" Stephen shouted.

"But you’re no longer seeking treatment for yourself. You’re obsessed. Some problems just can’t be perfectly fixed," Christine said.

"I’ve lost my career and my life!" Stephen cried.

"That’s life! This isn’t the end of the world. There are many other things that can give your life meaning," Christine tried to comfort him.

"And like what? You mean you?" Stephen retorted bitterly.

"You’d better take back what you just said!" Christine was taken aback by his words.

"Better you leave now!" Stephen said indifferently.

"Fine, I can’t stand watching you torture yourself like this," Christine said, her gaze heavy with sorrow.

"Can’t stand it, huh?" Stephen suddenly demanded loudly.

"Yes! It breaks my heart to see you like this," Christine replied, disappointed.

"I don’t need your pity!" Stephen snapped.

"I’m not pitying you!" Christine said, fighting back tears.

"Oh really? Then why are you here? Bringing cheese and wine, planning to picnic like old friends? We’re not friends, let alone lovers! You just like hearing sad stories, don’t you? I must look so miserable now, right?" Stephen’s voice rose as he vented all his despair.

"Poor Stephen Strange, a man who needs help, finally needing me! Another lost soul for you to save! Comfort him, make him face life again! Doesn’t that make you feel good, caring so much about me?" Stephen mocked Christine with biting sarcasm.

"Goodbye, Stephen."

Christine shook her head, deeply wounded by his words. She tossed the key to his front door down and walked away, deciding to sever ties with him.

Stephen turned, leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the rainy city. He had no strength left. He regretted speaking so harshly to the one person who had cared for him so devotedly.

Crushed by life’s blows, utterly desolate, he had lost everything: his career, his savings, and now even his only friend.

He took out his phone and, with great difficulty, sent Christine a message—three simple words:

"I'm sorry."

...