Page 32 of Doctor Daddy Dilemma

I walked away, stewing and feeling myself getting worked up. For the past nine months, I’d been on a very strict diet—they called it the DASH diet for high blood pressure. No salt, lower fat, high fiber, basically nothing good in life. And they wanted me to cut back on my drinking which had escalated to more than a twelve-pack a day. It had become the only natural thing for me because without it my hands shook, my heart pounded, and I couldn’t shut off to sleep. Not to mention the night sweats.

I never meant to let it get this bad, and I was ashamed that I had, but I felt I was managing it well enough to continue functioning. I’d even begun to cut back a little, which had made me confident enough to plan this golf outing with two men whom I knew drank little to nothing, which previously would have been impossible for me. I’d have a drink in my hand round the clock otherwise.

Standing back, I watched Divens take his shot, which of course sailed right down the center of the fairway. Then Price took his shot, almost matching his predecessor’s. It irked me that I was off my game, but I knew it was just withdrawal. It bothered me that I felt the way I did, but there was nothing I could do other than put on a happy face and keep going.

“Well, fellas, I’ll be down by the pond I suppose.” What was supposed to be a crack at myself came out sounding more upset than humorous, but both of them chuckled at me anyway.

“We can drive you down there if you’d like.” Dr. Divens put his club back in the bag on the back of the golf cart and climbed into the driver’s seat, but I waved at him, passing on the offer.

“A little walk will be good for me.” I shoved my club into the bag and chose a nine iron for the next shot. Then I lowered my sun visor over my eyes before beginning the trek down to the water’s edge.

My life didn’t revolve around Charlie anymore, though there were times—specifically like today—when I thought about her a lot. Days when I wrestled with wanting a drink and remembering why I’d begun the descent into madness to begin with. It was harder when I was sober, and so much harder still when I was alone. The combination challenged me to my core with each step.

I almost lost my practice; I started renting out my yacht since I never used it anymore, and my temper was worse than ever. Every staff member at my office had mentioned their disdain for my grumpiness or lectures. It was a miracle any of them continued to work for me, though I had to credit my two new partners for that. Without their help, I’d have gone completely under.

Arriving at the water’s edge, I pulled a ball from my pocket and dropped it in the rough, only a few yards from the shore. A cormorant stood in the shallows watching me, as if warning me to come no closer. I wondered if that was how my employees and former associates—who now had nothing to do with me—felt about me at times. Losing Charlie in such an unexpected and hurtful way made me so prickly no one liked me and no one would come near me.

I lined up my shot, seeing only the very tip of the flag flapping in the light breeze. Divens and Price were probably already at their spots waiting to see my ball soaring. I angled my body correctly and took the swing. The ball flew onto the fairway landing just out of sight and I started the climb up the hill toward my position. I’d already added a stroke to my total and even though I was at a birdie before, and at par now, I wasn’t happy with my performance. I could always do this particular course at three under par.

By the time I got up to the guys my chest was tight. I was out of breath and wheezing and really wanted a drink. Divens had taken his shot with a four iron, which in my opinion was a rookie move. I scoffed and rolled my eyes but said nothing as Price followed his lead.

“Problem, Doc?” Dr. Price glanced at me in a confused fashion as I coughed and leaned on my nine iron. These guys hated golf tips, but a little trash talk never hurt anyone.

“You play golf like Divens’s mom. A four iron?” My tone was probably more sardonic than sarcastic, but I was only poking fun. Unfortunately given my temperament most times, he probably took it as an insult.

“You have a better idea?” Price asked as he stepped up to his ball and corrected his grip on the club.

“Come on, Doc. Don’t pick on the guy. He’s only played golf for ten years.” Dr. Divens got in on the jibes which made me feel a bit better and honestly got my mind off Charlie and needing a drink.

“Looks like someone’s swinging with all the finesse of a rusty gate! Maybe you should try a club with a little more finesse, like a ballet slipper. Or hey, maybe a snorkel for when you inevitably end up in the water hazard.” I found myself funny and began chuckling, but Dr. Price scowled at me, clearly not amused.

When he took his shot the wind picked up at the same time and made his ball slice right. He remained on the fairway, but barely.

“Ohh,” Dr. Divens cackled.

“We’ll need to talk to air traffic control to find that ball now.” I moved toward the golf cart and continued my playful assault on his golfing skills, already feeling better despite the tightness in my chest from that climb. “Should I walk you over there so you don’t get lost?”

“Alright, Hartman. I’ve had enough…” Dr. Price put his club into the bag a little more forcefully than he should have but I understood perhaps I’d taken my jokes a little too far. I hadn’t been known as the jokester in the office, and we’d only gone out golfing a few times before this, both of which I’d been slightly tipsy the whole time. I knew my personality wasn’t for everyone, but it did annoy me that he took my jokes personally.

Dr. Divens stayed quiet as I climbed onto the golf cart and said, “Didn’t mean to steam your veggies. Just having a bit of a go at you.”

When Dr. Price climbed on and Divens took off toward the balls, I gripped the railing and held on. My chest felt like it was on fire now, as if that walk up the hill had put too much strain on my heart. I coughed a few times, but he must’ve taken it as chuckling because he snapped at me.

“Making fun of my driving now too, old man?” Dr. Divens wasn’t usually defensive, but we’d had a rough week at work with a few stressful situations where I’d lost my cool. I only had myself to blame that these men were edgy around me.

I took a breath to respond but felt dizzy when I did. My heart thumped hard against my ribcage and another cough came out.

“Guys…” I grunted, wondering what was happening. I felt lightheaded; my chest burned, and suddenly I thought I was going to pass out.

“Oh sorry, can’t call you old man anymore. We’ll get the raw end of the stick again, won’t we?” Dr. Price went on from the back seat even as I leaned forward and braced myself on the dashboard of the small cart. My head was spinning now, eyesight so blurry I didn’t know what was happening. I needed air but I could barely breathe.

“Guys…” I coughed again, but Dr. Price went on.

“You’re always riding us, never giving us the benefit of the doubt. When will you just ease up?” I heard him scoff at me, but my eyes shut and I swayed with the motion of the cart.

When I felt it pull to a stop, I didn’t have the equilibrium to stand up. I tried, but fell to my knees right beside the cart, and as I did I whispered, “Help…”

Lights flashed over me. I heard beeping and the whir of machines. My head spun, and my chest felt like an elephant had sat on it.

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