Nick spent the day limping around on
his leg and hoping to feel some improvement in it. However, by that night, there was still no
change. It still panged with every step
he took, and the swelling had not gone down a bit. He finally wrapped it in an Ace bandage and
went to bed, hoping things would be better in the morning.
However, when morning came, his leg
looked and felt exactly the same. He was
a bit concerned now, wondering what he could have possible done to it. You couldn’t sprain your shin, could
you? He had never heard of such a thing…
yet if it wasn’t sprained, than what was wrong?
He considered everything from shin splints to a fracture, but how could
he crack his bone on a bathtub? He
hadn’t clunked his leg that hard, had he?
“Maybe it’s a stress fracture,” he said
to no one in particular, as he sat on his bed, massaging his leg and
worrying. His friend James had gotten a
stress fracture when he was in high school, the result of cross country
running. He wasn’t sure how much overuse
it took to do such a thing, but he had done a lot of bouncing around on stage
during the tour. Could he really have
done that much damage to himself?
Now that he thought about it, this
wasn’t the first his shin had hurt him.
It had ached off an on before throughout the tour. The bathtub incident had only worsened
things.
It’s gotta be a stress fracture, Nick
thought confidently. Knowing what it was
made him feel better, but realizing what he might have to go through because of
it definitely didn’t. He remembered
James being on crushes for weeks, his leg strapped in a giant and
uncomfortable-looking brace. That was
the last thing Nick needed. Why did
everything bad have to happen to him all of a sudden? First Leah and now this… only a few days ago,
his life had seemed perfect. Now little
things were adding up to make his life much harder.
Sitting up in bed, gazing absently out
his bedroom window, Nick thought about his predicament and wondered what to
do. If he really did have a stress
fracture, he knew he had to see a doctor.
Letting it go would only make it worse, and he wanted it to heal as soon
as possible. On the other hand, he
absolutely hated doctors. He
respected them for the job they did, but the thought of going to one terrified
him. He wasn’t sure what had caused it,
but he had absolutely dreaded going to the doctor’s office ever since he was a
little boy. He wasn’t big on needles,
blood, pain, or just the thought of being touched, poked, and prodded by a
stranger. And the smell… God, how he
hated that antiseptic, mediciney doctor’s office smell. It made him slightly nauseous even to think
about it.
Still, he was twenty-three, an adult,
and he knew this was something that had to be taken care of. And so, he promised himself that if his leg
didn’t feel better in a few days, he would go see his doctor about it.
***
Days passed, and Nick’s leg felt no
better. The bruises were healing, but
his whole lower leg was still puffy, and the pain was as bad as ever. It was getting harder and harder to walk, and
inwardly, Nick knew he was going to have to see someone about it. He was due to visit Brian and Leighanne that
weekend, and hobbling around Atlanta on a busted leg didn’t sound like much
fun. Besides, he knew if Brian saw what
a hard time he was having, he would whisk him off to the Emergency Room before
Nick even knew what was happening. Brian
could be so overprotective, especially now that he was a father.
So, on Thursday, two days before he was
scheduled to fly to Atlanta, Nick set off for the nearest first-care clinic, a
facility that would see walk-ins. He
didn’t have a doctor of his own in Tampa; he hadn’t been to one in years. Besides, he knew there was no way he’d get an
appointment anywhere; doctor’s offices always seemed to be booked. And so, dreading a long day of sitting in a
smelly doctor’s office, Nick drove to the clinic.
Luckily, the small waiting room was not
too crowded. There were mostly children
there with their parents, and he felt strangely out of place. However, he was relieved to find that no one
paid any attention to him when he signed in and sat down; he figured the
parents were too old to recognize or give a care about him, and the children
were too young. It was the teenagers and
twenty-somethings that caused problems, and there didn’t seem to be anyone in
that age group there. Relieved, Nick
picked up a dated issue of Sports Illustrated and thumbed through it,
absently looking at the pictures without really seeing them and ignoring the
articles altogether.
He finished with the Sports
Illustrated quickly and watched as a little girl who looked about six or
seven returned a Highlights magazine to the rack. When she had returned to her mother, Nick got
up, hobbled over to the magazine rack, and picked up the Highlights
himself. Sitting back down, he put his
hand over his mouth to hide his smile as he looked down at the magazine’s
cover. It brought back memories of
countless visits to the doctor and dentist when he was little; Highlights
seemed to be the most popular waiting room magazine. He opened it up and slowly began turning
pages, stopping to find the Hidden Pictures and read Goofus and Gallant, which
had always been his favorite section as a child.
After Highlights, he flipped
through a few crinkled issues of Reader’s Digest and then moved on to Woman’s
Day. Finally, as he was pouring over
the latest “how to drop a dress size” article, the door to the waiting room
opened, and he heard his name called. A
little relieved, but mostly nervous, Nick quickly stood up, dropping the
magazine back in its slot on his way across the room to the nurse who was
standing in the doorway.
“Nickolas?” she asked, giving him a
polite smile.
“Yes,” he replied, forcing one back.
“Good, come on back with me.” The nurse turned and led him through the door
and down a small hallway. “Right in
here,” she said, holding open a door for him.
He limped through the door and found himself in a small examining room
with one of those leathery tables covered in a roll of white paper. The room reeked of medicine, and his stomach
churned queasily as the pungent stench invaded his nostrils.
“Can you get onto the table for me?”
the nurse asked, watching in concern as Nick hobbled across the room.
“Sure.”
Trying his best to keep a brave face and not wince in front of her, Nick
hoisted himself onto the table and sat perched on the edge of it, his legs
hanging off.
“Great.
Now, what’s your complaint today, Nickolas?” the nurse asked, sitting down
on a stool across from him, her pen poised over a clipboard.
“It’s my leg,” said Nick. “Right here, at my shin.” He ran his hand lightly down his left
shin. “It’s been sort of aching off an
on for a few weeks, and I bumped it the other night and bruised it, and it
swelled up, and now I can barely walk on it.”
“I see.
Can you roll up your pant leg so I can take a look?”
Nodding, Nick pushed the leg of the
wind pants he was wearing up above his knee, exposing the lower part of his
leg.
“Mm-hm, I see,” said the nurse, leaning
forward to inspect his leg. “Looks like
a nasty bruise you had going there.”
“Yeah,” agreed Nick.
“How exactly did it happen? What did you hit it on?”
“Um… the edge of my bathtub, actually,”
Nick admitted, blushing.
The nurse smiled. “That’s okay, I’ve done that before too. Hurts like the dickens.”
Nick nodded and smiled weakly, feeling
slightly less humiliated.
“Well, you sit tight, and I’m going to
get a doctor to come in and have a look.
He’ll probably want to run an x-ray, just to make sure you didn’t crack
anything in there.”
Nick nodded, and the nurse went away,
leaving him alone in the room. He sat
and looked at the medical posters hung around the room until the door swung
open, and an elderly man strode briskly in, his white coat billowing out behind
him.
“Hello,” he said, taking a seat on the
stool the nurse had formerly occupied.
“So I hear you’re having some leg pain?”
“Yeah,” Nick said and explained what he
had told the nurse earlier, showing his leg to the doctor.
“Hm… I see…” the doctor murmured,
studying his leg. “Scoot back and prop
your leg up here for me so I can get a better look.”
Nick obeyed, scooting backwards on the
table so that his legs were stretched out in front of him. Gently, the doctor felt his leg, prodding it
and asking frequently, “Does this hurt?”
Clenching his jaw, Nick answered “yes” often.
When the doctor finally pushed his
stool back, Nick said, “I was thinking maybe I have a stress fracture. I’m a singer, and I’ve just been out on tour
for the past month, doing a lot on stage.
Could I have fractured my leg from overuse like that?”
The doctor frowned. “Maybe,” he said, stroking his chin. “I’d like to get an x-ray; I think a fracture
is definitely a possibility. If you
don’t mind, I’d like you to come with me down to x-ray.”
Nick nodded, his suspicions
confirmed. Mentally trying to prepare
himself for weeks on crutches, he climbed carefully off of the table and
followed the doctor slowly out of the room.
***