Post by Classy Ken Styles on Dec 13, 2010 20:29:22 GMT
Ken Styles was sitting in his hospital bed, after his third surgery on his left femur. Ever since being mugged in Atlanta back in September, the hospital stays had become less frequent, but that didn't make them any easier.
When Ken was first admitted to The Atlanta Emergency Medical Center, the doctors were giving him a 10% chance or survival, based on the location of the gunshot wounds, as well as the amount of blood he had lost when he was admitted.
Of course, Ken didn't know all of this until after his first surgery and a lengthy blood transfusion. When he had awoke, he had a long talk with Dr. Roberts, who had been working non-stop for 27 hours to repair the damage that had been done on Ken. After speaking with the good doctor, Ken was completely unable to control his emotions. He wept, and wept, and wept, for many hours, unable to thank Dr. Roberts enough for what he had done.
Ken was then told about the incredible amount of physical therapy he must endure for the next several months, just to be able to walk again. He was also told that there were two more surgeries that had to be done in order for him to even CONSIDER physical therapy.
Knowing that there was no other alternative if he was to ever set foot in the ring again, and fulfill his destiny to himself and to his father, Ken had no choice but to undergo these surgeries. However, they would come at a cost. Ken knew that he did not have Health Care through his current place of employment, TNB, and these surgeries, along with the intense physical therapy that followed would most certainly put him on the brink of poverty.
The surgeries went well, and as Ken expected, it took a nearly fatal toll on his savings.
And here he was, sitting in his hospital bed, sore, but in good spirits, with a phone in his hand. He dialed the one person he thought could help him out; the one man that could bring order to his finances, Chris Hart, the owner of TNB. If anybody could help get him the health coverage he needed, it had to be Chris Hart.
He slowly dialed the phone, and after nearly a minute of ringing, a young woman picked up on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Yes, hi, this is Ken Styles, I'm trying to reach Chris Hart, please."
"Alright, one second, I'll get him for you."
"Thanks, dear."
Anxiously waiting, Ken listened for any sign that Chris was available.
When Ken was first admitted to The Atlanta Emergency Medical Center, the doctors were giving him a 10% chance or survival, based on the location of the gunshot wounds, as well as the amount of blood he had lost when he was admitted.
Of course, Ken didn't know all of this until after his first surgery and a lengthy blood transfusion. When he had awoke, he had a long talk with Dr. Roberts, who had been working non-stop for 27 hours to repair the damage that had been done on Ken. After speaking with the good doctor, Ken was completely unable to control his emotions. He wept, and wept, and wept, for many hours, unable to thank Dr. Roberts enough for what he had done.
Ken was then told about the incredible amount of physical therapy he must endure for the next several months, just to be able to walk again. He was also told that there were two more surgeries that had to be done in order for him to even CONSIDER physical therapy.
Knowing that there was no other alternative if he was to ever set foot in the ring again, and fulfill his destiny to himself and to his father, Ken had no choice but to undergo these surgeries. However, they would come at a cost. Ken knew that he did not have Health Care through his current place of employment, TNB, and these surgeries, along with the intense physical therapy that followed would most certainly put him on the brink of poverty.
The surgeries went well, and as Ken expected, it took a nearly fatal toll on his savings.
And here he was, sitting in his hospital bed, sore, but in good spirits, with a phone in his hand. He dialed the one person he thought could help him out; the one man that could bring order to his finances, Chris Hart, the owner of TNB. If anybody could help get him the health coverage he needed, it had to be Chris Hart.
He slowly dialed the phone, and after nearly a minute of ringing, a young woman picked up on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Yes, hi, this is Ken Styles, I'm trying to reach Chris Hart, please."
"Alright, one second, I'll get him for you."
"Thanks, dear."
Anxiously waiting, Ken listened for any sign that Chris was available.
