Justified frustration
Strange was beginning to doubt that he would regain the use of his hands. He spoke with surgeons and other medical professionals but they had no answers.
He was, to say the least, frustrated. How could you not be, after you talked with more than ten people, and got the same answer?
"Look, you just have to live with it. You can always find another job or-"
"You do not understand, Christine! This is my passion. My life's work! I know a colleague in Asia. He and his team are working on a new treatment and-"
"Stephen, look at you! You are spending more money then you have right now-"
He slammed his hands onto the table out of frustration, which made her stop talking. (And telling himself not to do it again because it hurt)
"That is enough. I don't want to talk about this again. Leave, Christine."
He didn't see it, but Christine was at her limit. The tears threatened to spill but she somehow held them back. This was the first time he spoke to her like this. Strange watched as she stormed out and slammed the door as she left. He sighed and sat down.
A message popped up with a ping sound on the laptop that was sitting on the table.
I know a former patient with a similar problem like yours.