Page 68 of Doctorshipped
I nod. It’s a real godsend is what it is.
“You don’t seem to have enough symptoms to deem this carpal tunnel syndrome. You can ice your wrist after work anytime it bothers you—at twenty minute intervals. I’d use a wrist support if you notice it flaring up. And take ibuprofen or naproxen to reduce swelling and pain. If symptoms persist or worsen, come back.”
Meg thanks me and I usher her out of my office.
The morning patients are routine, a check-up for the toddler so she can go to preschool in the fall, possible sciatica for the gentleman.
After lunch, a man comes running through the front door, his pants are scorched to the point of being burnt away and blackened along the bottom. He’s carrying a pair of charred shoes in his hands. His legs appear to have some first-degree burns, the hair appears to be singed off in places.
“Hello?” he shouts as I come from the kitchen into the foyer.
“Oh, heya, Doc! I’m Cooter.” He smiles and wobbles.
Besides being a little unsteady on his feet, Cooter’s greeting is calm and cordial considering he looks like a human charcoal briquette from the waist down.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Well, sir. You see,” Cooter slurs just a little. “I’d been trying to use my propane-powered weed burner in my yard.”
“Propane powered weed burner?”
“It’s a bit like a flame thrower.”
Cooter laughs and holds his shoes up as evidence. “Well, things got a little out of control.”
“So it appears.”
Cooter’s laughter turns uproarious and he sways, but stabilizes himself on the wall before he falls. When I step closer to him, the smell of alcohol wafts off him in nauseating waves. He’s obviously drunk.
“Had you been drinking before starting your yard work?”
“No more than usual.”
I shake my head and lead Cooter in his bare feet into my office. Once I get him up onto the exam table, which is no small feat, I administer some antibiotic ointment and wrap the more serious burns in gauze. He got lucky and didn’t sustain anything beyond a first-degree burn anywhere.
“What happened to your property?” I ask.
“Oh. Well, sir.” Cooter hiccups. Then he covers his mouth and giggles like a schoolgirl when he realizes he hiccupped. “My neighbor called the fire department. That boy Brooks came over and sprayed everything down real good.”
Brooks. Shirtless Brooks. The man who made a point of going out of his way to welcome me to Bordeaux during my first week here. I’d like to find a reason to dislike him but I can’t. I wouldn’t blame Jayme for having an attraction to Brooks. They suit one another, I guess. He’s definitely charming and kind. She could do worse—like dating me. That would be way worse, at least for her it would.
I prescribe aloe vera cream, antibiotic ointment, and Tylenol for Cooter’s pain. Then I call the only thing close to an Uber in Bordeaux. This young man, Decker, doubles as the food delivery guy and the taxi service. Cooter obviously drove to my office under the influence and I’m not about to allow him to drive home intoxicated.
The bright spot in my day always starts at three thirty in the afternoon when Fiona comes bounding through the door. Since her talk with Jayme, Fiona’s been upbeat and taken any challenges in stride. She’s working on her homework alone today since Jayme has a writing deadline she’s working toward. The afternoon feels different with only the two of us here.
At dinner, Fiona makes an announcement.
“I get to bring home the class guinea pig this weekend!”
“You what?” I ask.
“Isn’t it amazing? Especially after you put lumps of Irish Spring in all the groundhog holes and Chuck decided to move away. I’ve needed someone to take the place of Chuck. Judy isn’t the same. We never bonded.”
“Like you did with Chuck?”
“Exactly.”
“Didn’t they stop having class pets sometime around first grade?”
