Page 47 of Doctor Enemy

Yeah. Somehow, I feel like that would turn into a real laughing matter.

Chapter sixteen

Lori

It’sbeenalmosttwoweeks since I was let out on out-patient status.

The stitches have been taken out and most of the bruising from the seatbelt has been reduced to streaks of mottled yellow.

Today, when I step into the hospital for my checkup, I’m determined to get them to let me come back to work.

I can’t stand sitting at home any longer. Also, my bills totally won’t allow it.

I’m led into the check-up room by Julia, and a little bit later, a doctor named Hugo Macowl steps into the room. He’s a big guy, and it looks almost silly how he’s shoved himself into slacks and a button-up. The guy clearly spends every moment that he’s not at the hospital at the gym.

“Alright, Miss Lange, let’s see how you’re doing today,” says Dr. Macowl.

He runs through the check-up basics first. Takes my temperature, checks my heart rate, listens to my lungs. Then come the specifics of a brain injury. Testing my memory and thought processing skills, making sure that I can perform more complicated motions with my hands, arms, and legs.

My balance is a little wobbly when I stand on one leg, but I sheepishly admit, “I’ve always struggled with this.”

“Yoga,” he suggests, which makes me cringe.

Whether it’s the actual answer or not, that’s the last thing that any patient wants to hear. In fact, it’s often the one thing that no patient will ever actually go home and do.

I let it slide though and finish up the checkup without an issue. It’s not until the end of it that I make my move. “So I’m pretty much recovering on a straight track?”

“It doesn’t look like the brain bleed has caused any lasting damage, and you seem to be recovering well from the surgery,” agrees Dr. Macowl, with a nod of his head. He’s got long hair, pulled out of his face and twisted into a bun at the top of his head.

“Then I should be fine to do half shifts at the hospital,” I say.

Dr. Macowl seems caught off guard by that. “You want to come back this early?”

“Yes, I do,” I tell him, nodding. “I want to come back as soon as I can get you to give me the all-clear.”

Dr. Macowl purses his lips together, seemingly thinking it over. “Give me a moment?”

I nod, watching him leave the room. I know how this goes. He needs to do a thorough review of my chart, and then he needs to talk with the doctor that presides over my case, meaning, he needs to go and see if Kurt Lockwood will give me the all-clear.

That makes me nervous.

I’ve been bouncing back and forth on what I want to do about Kurt. On the one hand, Olivia’s right. He’s a lot older than I am. On the other hand, that didn’t bother me before. I know that I’m just using it as another excuse.

I don’t want to get hurt again–and if there’s anyone out there who could hurt me, it would be Kurt.

Still, I can’t get him off my mind, either.

My fingers drum against the edge of the paper-covered table that I’m sitting on. I’m wearing a pair of lounge pants because my legs are still a little too sore for tight jeans to be pulled on over the scabbed-up lacerations, but the tight-fitting tank top makes it look less like pajamas and more like a casual outfit, I think.

Plus, I even went the extra mile and did my hair and makeup, in an effort to look as put together and ‘healthy’ as possible for this check-up.

It feels like it takes forever before Dr. Macowl comes back into the room. He returns to his seat on the little rolling stool with the blue plastic covering, and nods at me, just once. At almost six foot five, and with shoulders that broad, the sight of him on the stool is ridiculous.

“Your recovery is coming along well enough,” Dr. Macowl says.

“And the hospital is short-staffed?” It’s not really a question.

“Perpetually,” laughs Dr. Macowl. “But we’re just looking at your recovery.” Doubtful. “And I think that we can put an all-clear on half-shifts. Nothing longer than five hours to start. We don’t want the stress causing an adverse reaction in your recovery.”

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