Page 29 of Smoke and Mirrors
The doctor opened a folder and flipped through some pages.
“Were you with Connor at the time of the accident?”
“Um, nearby,” I answered. “He fell while doing an act onstage, you see,” I gestured to my outfit. “I was backstage, watching. And I was with him right before.”
Dr. Harman leaned against the hospital bed, making the sheet of paper over it crinkle. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you some questions, miss Melody.”
I froze. “What kind of questions?”
“Questions that will help us give him the best treatment for when he leaves here.” He pulled a ballpoint pen from his coat pocket and clicked the top. “I promise you, anything you tell me will be confidential.”
“Okay,” I said hesitantly.
He hovered the pen over the papers in the folder. “Is Connor currently on any medications?”
“Um,” I chewed my lip. “He was taking some for pain.”
“What was he taking?”
“Vicodin, at first. Then something else, I’m not sure.”
“Did he have a prescription for this medication?”
I chewed my lip. “Um, no.”
He paused and looked up at me. “Where did he get it from?”
“I don’t know,” I answered firmly.
The doctor scribbled some notes but didn’t press any further. “Do you know what kind of pain he was having?”
“In his legs,” I answered. “He also, um…”
“It’s okay, Melody,” the doctor said in a soothing voice. “We’re trying to help Connor as best we can. It’s vitally important for his recovery that you tell me everything you can.”
“He has PTSD,” I admitted, looking down at my feet. “He’s been having flashbacks.”
“I see, thank you for telling me.” He jotted down more notes. “To your knowledge, has he received any treatment or therapy for his PTSD?”
“I’m not sure.”
“To your knowledge, does he have a history of substance abuse? Alcohol, pain medication, other illicit drugs?”
“No.”
The questions continued for another several minutes. My shoulders sagged with relief when the doctor closed the folder and returned the pen to his pocket.
“We’re going to keep Connor overnight to monitor his brain from the concussion. When he wakes up tomorrow, I’ll also work with him to find the source of pain in his legs and see what we can do for that.”
“Can I see him?” I asked eagerly.
“Of course,” he smiled. “He’s asleep but you can visit him briefly.”
He led me to another room with a hospital bed propped up and an unconscious man lying in it. I barely recognized Connor and it took everything in me to not burst into tears.
They shaved his head and placed those sticky monitoring nodes in several places. An IV was placed in his arm. Machines near him beeped and whirred. One of them showed what seemed to be a scan of his brain.
But he looked absolutely peaceful, eyes closed and breathing with deep, even breaths as if he was sleeping right next to me.
