Page 2 of Risk

“Was it bad?” I croaked out.

“I’m not supposed to say,” she whispered. Straightening up, she wrapped her stethoscope around her neck. “Is there anyone you want me to call? I can do that.”

There was no one.

“No, that’s okay.”

“Okay, the doctor will be right in to check on you and can answer all the questions you might have.”

A feeling started to form deep in the pit of my stomach, making its way slowly up inside of me. I couldn’t identify what it was. All I knew was it was bad.

My team knew where I was, and they obviously hadn’t felt the need to be here when I woke up. I knew if the owner and his wife were at the race, they’d likely be here, but with them in the States, I was alone.

“Mr. Crew, I’m Dr. Howard. How are you feeling?” A big burly man said from beside my bed.

I must have fallen asleep.

“I’ve had better days,” I replied, blinking to make him come into focus.

“I’m sure you have. I’m going to look you over, and then I’ll tell you what’s going on and try to answer any questions you have.”

My questions were simple.

Could I drive again? And if that was a go, then when could I get back to training and racing?

I let him do his thing, but when his light hit my eyes, I nearly sunk through the bed, trying to get away from it.

“I know it hurts, but I’ve got to look.”

“I know, Doc, just get it over with,” I grumbled.

“Well, you gave us a bit of a scare, Mr. Crew. We had to put you into a medically induced coma to help with your brain swelling. Besides that, you’re all bruised up with a few scratches. One laceration to your leg was deep, and we had to give you stitches. You’re very lucky that you only have a concussion.”

“How long was I out for?”

“Twenty-three hours. We wanted to give your body time to heal.” He scribbled something on my chart.

Since I didn’t sound too bad, I asked. “When can I drive again?”

“Preferably never, but I know that won’t be the case, so I’d say a minimum of a month. When you get home, you need to make an appointment with your doctor in a couple of weeks and get checked out.”

“That’s it?” It seemed too easy.

“If everything checks out, you’ll be released tomorrow. Do you have a place to stay here in Melbourne?”

“I think I still have my hotel room,” I answered. I was planning on staying here for a week and then traveling to Bahrain for the next race, but now I guess I would be heading back to California until I was cleared.

* * *

LA

“Areyou sure the doctor cleared you?” Colton Donavan asked from his seat behind his desk. His fingers were steepled in front of him as his eyes assessed me. “And you didn’t pay him off to say you could race?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. I was sure there were plenty of athletes out there that had tried and succeeded in paying their doctors to clear them for their sport. Don’t get me wrong, I had thought about it as I sat in my house day after day staring out at the ocean. I wasn’t used to being idle. In fact, I was always on the go. At each location of our races, I went out and played the tourist. Formula One racing had taken me across the globe for the last five years, and I appreciated every moment of it. There weren’t many professions where you could do what you love, travel the world, and get paid millions of dollars while doing it. The only con was it was lonely at times.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I answered his question. “I wouldn’t think of it.”

The pain in my head when the light was bright and my swimming vision may have also been contenders as to why I’d stayed home to rest my brain and why I didn’t try to get back onto the track before I was ready. The only problem was with each passing day, the feeling that had started to bubble up in the hospital had risen higher and higher until it was nearly choking me.

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