If Oliver had known that Verity viewed him as weak and broken he might have jumped up and done a jig just to spite her. As it was though, orientation came slowly and by the time he realised the wetness at his face was caused by tears, Verity had already wiped the majority away with a loving touch.
'I think I could do with a bit of water. I seem to be losing all of mine involuntarily,' he joked with the biggest smile he could manage. Margaret complied as the Healer stepped in to ask a few questions.
Oliver's shoulder, however, was commanding the majority of his attention, and he found it difficult to drink water, reassure his wife, and answer questions all at the same time.
Eventually, the Healer had the information he needed, though it wasn't good news. He explained to the Woods that as there was no way for magic to assist in the healing process that Oliver's wound would have to heal naturally, a slow process even without having to combat the infection which had set in over the weekend.
'There is a chance, Mr. Wood, that it may never fully heal.'
'I know,' Oliver replied simply. During the hours he'd been left to bleed on the floor, Oliver had already accepted the possibility that his shoulder would never be the same. That didn't matter; he was used to lasting injury. As long as he could play Quidditch, hold his wife, brush his own teeth, everything was fine.