Page 60 of Off the Rim
He smiles at everyone like he didn't just walk in on the kind of tension you'd expect in a hostage negotiation. "Looks like the family's all here now. Good. I'm Dr. Zeiss." I accept the doctor's handshake and introduce myself as the other Ashton James. "I bet that never gets confusing," the doctor jokes, and I have to chuckle. I like him immediately. His calm demeanor seems to melt away some of the tense atmosphere in the room.
"Well, I've got Mrs. James' test results here. The CT confirmed that she suffered a hemorrhagic stroke, and there is still some bleeding that needs to be addressed. We've already got her started on medications to control her blood pressure, but we'll also need to take care of the current bleed surgically. The good news is that the procedure is minimally invasive. I believe an endovascular embolization is our best option. It's a procedure where we enter a catheter into the brain through a blood vessel in the groin and take care of the bleeding that way. There are some risks to the procedure, of course, especially as Mrs. James is in delicate condition currently, but the sooner we can get this taken care of, the sooner she'll be able to wake up and start the healing process."
Dr. Zeiss continues to rattle off information, answering any questions my parents can think of. I ask about recovery and am given a run-down of the long road of rehabilitation she'll likely need. She'll be in the hospital for a minimum of a week, and then she'll need full-time care, whether it be in a facility or at home with nursing care.
She's going to hate it.
My father signs all the necessary paperwork, and the hospital staff begins preparations for surgery. While the room is buzzing with people coming in and out, I pull my phone from my pocket and look over the texts I sent from the plane this morning.
Me: Good morning.
Me: I didn't want to wake you, but I have to go home for a few days. I should be back for the game on Saturday. Keep my bed warm for me ;)
Hot Trash: Is everything okay?
Me: Mimi is in the hospital. I'm not sure what happened yet.
Hot Trash: I'm sorry. I'll keep you in my thoughts, and you keep me posted.
Me: Keep me in your thoughts how?
Hot Trash: …
The next text was a picture of his dick. I recognize the sheets and blankets in the picture, so I know he was still in my bed when he took it.
Me: It'd be a real shame if someone made a mess all over that bed and left it there for me to find.
Hot Trash: That would be a shame.
Me: It'd be so rude.
Hot Trash: …
The next text I got was several minutes later—a photo of my pillow covered in sticky, wet streaks of white. They’ll be dry and crusted over by the time I get back, but I really like knowing it’s there.
Me: So fucking rude.
Me: Do you know how hard it is to jerk off in an airplane bathroom when you're 6ft 10?
Me: I ended up leaving a mess behind.
Hot Trash: Now that's rude.
I smile down at the text chain, firing off a quick update.
Me: Mimi had a stroke. They're prepping her for surgery now.
Hot Trash: Are you sure you're going to make it to the game Saturday? Want me to tell Coach what's going on?
Me: I'll call him once I know more, but I'm expecting to be there.
"Good afternoon, Mr. James."
"Ashton," I correct the nurse for probably the thirtieth time in the past four days. "And good afternoon to you, Ms. Tyler. I assumed you'd be off by now."
"Oh, I am. I just wanted to pop in and check the score."
I look down at my phone, where I'm streaming the CVU game against St. Louis. "Ninety-six to twenty-five. I think they've got this one in the bag."
