Page 34 of Written in the Charts

Surprisingly, my doctor and the nurses were very kind when delivering the diagnosis of placenta previa. They put me on bedrest, and I obeyed their orders to aT. Unfortunately, it was too late. They told me I’d have to have a cesarean early on if the placenta didn’t migrate, but I started bleeding too heavily. They said it was abnormal to have a miscarriage or stillbirth due to the condition, but it happened to me.

I sobbed, letting the water wash away the tears and snot that drained out of my face. If Evan saw me he’d think I was disgusting, ugly-crying in the shower so hard I had to blow my nose. I thought the pain was gone, that I had grieved enough to move on. I had a good life now, so I didn’t understand why it was hitting me so hard, but it was. I was crippled with fear that it was going to happen again.

When I had cried it out and the water was running cold, I turned it off and dried myself, now eager to climb into the warmth of my bed. I felt sad that Evan had already tucked me in because I could really have used his messages now. So I plugged my phone in, turned on my alarm, and shut the lights off. It would be another night fraught with bad dreams and nightmares and waking up crying. I’d done enough of that to last a lifetime.

Only this time, the pain wasn’t behind me. It was haunting me.

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

Evan

I pushed myself harder than ever on that damn treadmill. My knee hurt a little, but the steroid injection was working for the most part. I took some pain meds this morning too, and that helped me perform a bit better. I wasn’t able to do the stair climb the way I’d have liked to, but I hadn’t limped at all. Lieutenant Briggs performed all the tests and was a complete asshat, but I managed to get along with him well enough.

When the mile clicked over and the treadmill shut off, I looked down at the time. I had forced myself not to even look at the readout for fear that I’d start freaking out. I’d never missed my time before, and I wasn’t about to start. I had to beat a six-minute mile, and I came in at 5:38 and some change. That put a smile on my face.

“A few more things to do here,” Briggs said, waving me over to him. As I got to his side, he handed me a bottle of water and a sweat towel. Fitness tests were usually done in the summer outdoors, and I knew why. The air inside was stagnant, thick and dry. I likened it to running a mile in a dry sauna where old men sat sweating and talking about business.

“What’s next?” I panted, sucking that water bottle dry faster than I could blink. My body screamed at me, pain in my knee, burning in my chest, tension in my shoulders from the stress of having to do this all. I was still angry with Serah, but I had chosen to prove myself to everyone rather than direct my anger at her. She wasn’t worth losing my shit over ever again.

“Well, we have covered all the basics here. Now we just need a few last things.” Briggs picked up a blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope and pointed at the chair near the treadmill. The room was small, only the size of my living room, but had so many pieces of equipment in it that he had to fold the treadmill to its storage position just to get to the chair.

Once we got to it, I sat in the chair and waited. My heart rate was slowly returning to normal, and Briggs seemed to be waiting for that. He jotted a few things down on a notebook and then typed into his tablet, likely on my medical records. I hadn’t seen Thurlow or Serah yet, but they’d be by to assess my results soon enough. Just thinking of that made me angry that I even had to do any of this. I’d like to have seen her face as I ran that mile without limping once.

“Alright, here we go.” Briggs slid the cuff on my arm and pumped it up, pressing the scope to my inner elbow. He listened and watched the cuff. “Hold on a second.” He let the air out of the cuff and started over, repeating the procedure. “Something might be wrong with this cuff. Hold on.”

Briggs slid the cuff off my arm and shuffled back over to the small counter along the wall where he left the notebook and tablet. He opened drawer after drawer until he found what he was looking for. Pulling a fresh cuff out of the drawer, he tossed the old one to the side and tore the plastic off the new one. It was brand-new, still in the packaging.

“This will do.” He grinned and came back over to me. I put the cuff on my arm myself this time, eager to get this over with. “Now, just relax.”

Relax? Did I not look relaxed? “Sure.” I chuckled, shaking my head.

Briggs repeated the procedure, pumping the cuff up and listening, watching. His eyes flicked up to mine and he furrowed his brow.

“When was the last time you got this checked?” he asked, tearing the Velcro cuff off my arm.

“Oh, it’s been a while. Why? Is something wrong?”

“It’s quite high, 150/100. It should be about thirty points lower, top and bottom.” He grimaced. “I’m going to have to put this on your file, and you’re likely going to have to check in again, might need medication. Are you under a lot of stress?”

I shrugged, trying to think of why my blood pressure would be high. I ate army-issued food. I drank plenty of water. I got regular exercise. “I don’t know, Briggs. I’m not stressed at all.”

The minute the words left my mouth, I realized what a lie that was. I carried around a shitload of stress like a volcano ready to burst at any second. I’d spouted off at Derek, Peter, Serah—more than once—and even Gypsy. The anger bottled up inside me was causing me health issues I didn’t even know about.

Two hours later, I was showered and seated next to Serah across the desk from Major Thurlow. His brow was puckered, matching his lips. Serah hadn’t said a word to me since I walked in, which was normal given the circumstances, but the way she avoided eye contact told me she was still angry with me too. It was fine with me. I was already moving on from that.

“Son, it looks like you’ve failed the physical.” Thurlow looked up at me, laying the papers flat on his desk. The trophy case behind him, illuminated so his trophies could be seen clearly, made his silhouette look ominous and menacing. He wasn’t a scary man at all, but the backlighting made him look that way.

“What? How?” I sat forward, glancing at Serah, who straightened in her seat.

“Looks like Lieutenant Briggs has gone through your file carefully. It appears you had the steroid injection without a BP check.” He eyed Serah, though I didn’t turn to see her reaction. That was on her. I had no idea cortisone could affect blood pressure. “And this number you’ve gotten on the readout shows a high number. We’ll need a recheck daily for a week or more. It’s likely aggravated by the cortisone, and after another few days, we should see it drop a bit, but the number is still too high to give you a passing mark.”

I scowled, once again angered by situations out of my control. Now blood pressure was a disqualifier? I glared at Serah, willing her to say something. If she was any friend at all, had any ounce of compassion in her heart, she had to know this was killing me.

“Sir,” she said, “permission to speak?”

“This is a relaxed meeting, Serah. Speak freely. You are his doctor.” Thurlow leaned back in his chair and scratched his head.

“Sir, I was concerned about that knee. And as you can see by all of the rest of the results, he performed far above expectations. As you know, I’m unable to disclose personal details of anyone’s medical files unless ordered to, but there are several soldiers who are currently being medicated for hypertension.”

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