Page 3 of Written in the Charts

“Hey, taking a break?” Serah, a doctor who’d joined up a bit later than normal, was my best friend on the inside. She sat next to me, smacking my sore leg, and I winced, grimacing and clenching my jaw. It was no secret that I had a bad knee. It was in my record, and Serah handled all the medical records around her with the help of Major Thurlow.

“Yeah... just needed water.” I squeaked out the words, trying to not let on exactlyhowbadly it hurt.

“Evan, your knee is acting up again? You need to go to MTF, let me run some tests.” Serah was always mothering me, but I didn’t need to be mothered. I didn’t need help at all.

“I’m fine, thanks.” I drank my water, crushing the cup when I finished. She pursed her lips, and I saw her nostrils flare. As a higher-ranking officer, she could order me to go to MTF to be checked out, but she knew that would end our friendship. If I had any ounce of openness or connection with anyone here, it was her. She wouldn’t dare do that to me.

“You have to stop lying to yourself before you end up getting a knee replacement. You’ll be stuck behind a desk the rest of your life.” She stood and walked around me, careful not to bump my leg. Her plastic cup was filled with water, and she stood over me, sipping it. The sun overhead was hot, but not as hot as May could be in New York State. “Don’t make me have to pull rank. If it’s bad, you go in. Got it?”

I shrugged, not about to admit weakness. “I’m fine. I just tweaked it a little. No big deal. You worry too much.”

I braced myself as I stood, knowing my knee wasnotfine, and she was right. If it was bad enough, that would mean benching me, so to speak. I refused to end my military career because of knee pain. I knew there were treatments, but the way things worked around here, I’d end up being flagged as having a pre-existing condition and the treatment would be on my head to pay for, or they’d just tell me I was no longer on active duty. I’d worked too hard to get where I was to let that happen.

“Gotta get back. The guys are finishing their mile.” I tightened my jaw, looking away from her as I started walking. The pain was so intense I almost buckled again, but I refused to let her see me limp. So I swallowed it, calmly walking back to the suspension training area.

When I glanced back at the barracks, she was gone, moved on to pick on someone else. And I let out a gasp of pain, held in since the moment I stood up. I’d probably driven my blood pressure high by tightening my shoulders and holding my breath. I got lightheaded as I looked down at my throbbing leg. Pain shot down my shin and up into my quad. There was no way I could keep this up.

The guys came back from their run, and I sent them for a five-minute break to get water. While they were out, I pulled my phone out, finding my old family doctor’s number online. I refused to let Serah know I was in this much pain, but old Doc Marshal knew my knee about as well as anyone. He was just starting his practice when my mother found him, but now he was head of surgery at Mercy General.

I called the number and waited.

“Hello. Doctor Marshal’s office.” The nurse who answered sounded friendly enough, not like the robots they pumped out here on base.

“Hi, my name is Evan Miller. I’m a patient of the doctor’s. I need an appointment with him to check out my knee.” I waited, listening to her fingernails click on her keyboard.

“Ah, yes. Mr. Miller, it says here you’re one of his general practice patients. You know he has expanded the practice to orthopedic issues too, right?” More clicking in the background distracted me. I sighed. The pain was worse this time than any time before.

“Yeah, I heard that. This is more a follow-up from my knee injury in high school, but his expertise is what I need.” I wasn’t certain they’d even accept me anymore. It had been years.

“Sure, let’s see...” More clicking. “Thursday at two thirty? Does that work?”

I thought about it for a moment before answering. “That’s great. I’ll be there. Thank you.”

With the appointment booked, I knew I’d get relief from this flare up soon. Now I just had to focus on getting through the day without screaming any more than normal.

CHAPTERTWO

Gypsy

With months left in my residency, I had been putting in such long hours I forgot what day it was. Becky, the receptionist, had to remind me to look at my calendar for the appointments she’d booked for me. Dr. Marshal had been more than helpful when he took me on, leaning on my established license as a certified nurse practitioner, but because I wanted to transition to general medicine with my doctorate, it meant working here with Dr. Marshal instead of at Holistic Health with Derek and Maggie, my good friends. I did hours in both places, but this new job was growing on me.

“Thanks, Becky. I’m sorry I missed that checkup with Selma Waters this morning. Was Doc upset?” I leaned in the doorway of the reception office, watching her type away at the keyboard in front of her. She looked up with a grimace.

“He had to rush out of one patient appointment to the next, and he’s been behind all day because of it. I don’t think he’s upset—you know how easygoing he is. But I do think you should apologize to him.” Becky stood and walked to the copy machine, its beeps indicating that whatever function it had been doing for Becky was finished. She opened the lid and took out the papers and tucked them into her arm before turning. “Well, go on! You have a patient in fifteen minutes. You need to look over the chart and get ready. You’ll do fine.” She shooed me with her hand, and I backed into the hallway toward the breakroom.

I had been around long enough to earn somewhat of a reputation for being the office baker. When working with Derek and Maggie, Barb—office HR rep—was always bringing in goodies to share. And with my love for food, I decided to extend the tradition to Doc Marshal’s office to keep the love going. I sat down at the break table in front of the plate of warm crostini I’d brought and picked one up as I opened the patient’s chart.

The savory sourdough bread topped with tomatoes, basil, and cheese melted in my mouth as I read through the chart. The patient was likely enduring a painful flare up of patellar tendonitis due to a knee injury followed by repeated abuse. I’d know more when I saw him. Another military guy who refused to let the VA know he was struggling. If I had a quarter for every time I treated someone who should have gone to Veterans’ Affairs, I’d be rich.

As I scanned the rest of the documents, I looked back at the cover of the chart, reading the name. My brain felt like it froze for a moment as I carefully read the name out loud. “Evan Miller.” Now that was a name so familiar to me that it gave me pause. Evan Miller was one name I’d never forget. Our fling just after high school had impacted me enough to change the entire course of my life.

I shrank back into the chair, suddenly losing my appetite for the crostini in my hand, and set the snack down on the table. Evan had been at Maggie and Derek’s wedding. Another thing I’d never forget, the spicy kiss we shared, the way he flirted with me all night as I chased the twins around the dance floor. When the evening was over, I promised I’d call him, but I never had. Not after what happened when we were no more than kids. That time of my life still haunted me, and I wasn’t yet ready to confess to Evan everything that happened.

For a moment, I had to sit and breathe deeply, hoping against hope that this Evan Miller was nottheEvan Miller, the one I was hopelessly in love with at one point of my life. The one who had gotten me pregnant but never knew about it. Whose baby I miscarried in a very painful and traumatic way. Whose hurtful words and disappearance from my life left a scar that penetrated through my heart to the deepest places of my psyche. That Evan Miller. I prayed that it wasn’t him.

And then I prayed it was.

Before I could take a spare moment to think, I stood and collected the file, tossing the half-eaten crostini into the garbage. Evan—whichever Evan it was—was sitting in exam room three, waiting for me to check in on him. My feet felt like lead as I waded through my anxiety toward the room, a stethoscope draped around my neck. I had seen patients for years, but this one gave me dread just thinking about it.

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