Page 5 of The Cutting Edge
“You're in no condition to leave,” announces the doctor. “And certainly no condition to drive.” She jots down some notes. “Are you dizzy? I’m sorry…” she looks at my chart, “Coco…but I need to finish your exam. Your friend upstairs needs to find another way home."
"At least let me call her,” I say to the doctor. “And I’m not dizzy, just klutzy off the ice. Same as always.”
"After your exam,” she says firmly as she studies my face. “You’re squinting, is the light bothering you?”
“Yeah,” I say. The noise is suddenly bugging me too, all the beeps, and rings, and chatter back and forth. “Does that mean I have a concussion?”
“Looks like it,” she says as she flips the light switch off. “You were out cold for almost 45 minutes. Any sensitivity to sound? Nausea?”
"Yes. Both.”
“With the light sensitivity… are you seeing double or just feeling like the light is too much or too bright?”
This is not looking good. “Yes to double vision. The light feels too bright – like staring at the sun until your eyes get those weird dots.”
Mmhmm.
“When was your last period?” she asks, right in front of my student, and my student’s insanely sexy dad. Seriously? Not embarrassing at all. Also,what does this have to do with me getting hit in the head with a hockey puck?
Please,” I plead with her. "She's waiting on me by now, and she has no one else. I'm sure she's worried and wondering what's going on."
"I can ask a nurse to check on her, but they’re short in the ER tonight so it might take a while, “ says the doctor.
"Where is she having chemotherapy?" asks Logan.
"Seventh-floor chemotherapy suite,” I say, as a feeling of desperation takes hold of me. “Eloise Markham.”
"Poppy and I are going to go upstairs and find Ms. Markham for you. We're going to let her know what is going on, and either I will drive her home or I’ll make arrangements for a town car to drive her – whatever makes her feel more comfortable.”
“Okay, thank you,” I say, reluctantly. I really don't have much choice. “I appreciate it. Would you please text me once you’ve talked to her and made arrangements, just so I know what’s going on? I know it’s a lot to ask, but otherwise, I’ll worry all night.”
“Sure,” he says, “No problem. What’s your number?”
“941-555-9084”
“Gotcha,” he says, entering my number in his phone. “I’ll text you once we’ve got everything settled.”
“Thanks,” I say. Poppy steps to my bedside and hugs my leg, her dark curls spilling over my knee.
“I hope you feel better soon, Miss Coco,” she says, patting me gingerly.
I’m feeling a bit guilty because I’m pretty sure that being the designated driver for an octogenarian isn’t exactly what Logan Rivers had planned for the night, but the guy was half an hour late for kid pickup and he smacked me in the noggin with a hockey puck. Let’s just agree that he probably has it coming.
I lean down to hug Poppy, and the room starts to spin a bit. “Thank you, sweetie. I’m sure everything will be just fine.”
As I lean back to sitting, Logan’s eyes catch mine. They’re warm and decadent, like melty dark chocolate. And stricken with guilt.
Before he goes, Logan grabs my skates from somewhere just outside the curtain of the emergency room bay and places them gently on one of the gray plastic chairs pushed against the wall in my room.
“You don’t want to forget these.”
“Thanks,” I smile.
He gives me a little wave, and I watch Poppy and Logan walk away, her tiny hand nestled in his large one. My eyes follow them until I can’t see them anymore. What is it about a really big manly guy being all loving and tender with a little tiny kid? I can practically feel my ovaries shifting inside my body like a sunflower angles itself to face the sun.
The doctor sends me to get an MRI and then resumes poking and prodding me for another 30 minutes after the orderly brings me back. By now the left side of my head feels like it's been run over with a Zamboni and set on fire. And maybe run over again. I feel woozy and exhausted, and all I want to do is sleep.
“It will take a bit to get the results back from the MRI, but you definitely have a concussion. Try to get some rest, and we’ll get you admitted once they have a bed for you upstairs.”
