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“Okay, Mr. Alexander. Whenever you’re ready, go ahead and cough for me.”
He does, thankfully revealing a lack of hernia, and then I move my fingers to the other testes.
“Okay, one more time for me.”
No protrusions, no hernias. Thankfully, he seems fit to fight fires another day.
“Everything seems good, Mr. Alexander.”
Really, really good, my subconscious offers, and I swat her down with a mental bat.
“You can get dressed, and then I’ll have a nurse come take you down…” I start to say but pause when I realize that’s probably not a possibility. “Actually, do you know where the phlebotomy lab is?”
“Downstairs, right?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “Normally, I’d have a nurse lead the way, but we’re a little short-staffed. So, if you don’t mind heading downstairs for your blood work, that would be great.”
“Got it. No problem.”
“Once the office gets your blood work back, one of the nurses will follow up with you regarding the results later this week,” I explain. “But since your physical looked great, I don’t anticipate any issues.”
“Thanks, Dr. Lauren.”
I nod. “You’re welcome.”
Suddenly overcome with the need to say something, I tuck my clipboard in my chest and do it. “Stay safe out there, okay, Garrett?”
He smiles back at me for a longer than normal moment, his eyes searching mine for something. What, I’m not sure. But, eventually, he responds, “I will, Dr. Lauren.”
It’s strange. I’m always concerned with patient outcomes and always hoping for the best for the people who’ve been in my care.
But when it comes to Garrett Alexander, I inexplicably seem to care a little more, and it only took about twenty minutes to feel that way.
Once I’m out of the exam room and the door is safely shut behind me, I lean up against the wall for a brief moment, my mind tempted as hell to look at his chart again and make note of his phone number or his address. I even contemplate writing a quick message for reception that says the patient has requested to only see Dr. Lauren Carroll for future appointments.
But I don’t do any of those things because that’d be crazy.
With a shake of my head, I push myself off the wall and force my mind to focus on my next patient. Though, I can’t deny, I spent the rest of the day replaying my appointment with him one too many times in my head.
November 28th
Garrett
“Hayden, come on, bud!” I yell down the hall. “We gotta move!”
The doorway to the half bath in my townhouse pops open, and my twelve-year-old son—a dashing, smile-happy, dimple-sporting mini-version of me—walks out with a smile on his face.
“Hey, man, the poop does what the poop wants,” he tells me, just as my daughter Sarah makes the mistake of walking into the freshly vacated bathroom.
“Oh my God, Hayden!” she yells at her twin, and her dark, chocolate-brown hair fans out behind her with a dramatic flair. “Did you eat a decaying corpse for breakfast? Ugh! You’re so gross!”
I roll my eyes. “Sarah, don’t take forever in there. We’re already late.”
“It’s not like I’ll be able to survive in here for more than a freaking minute,” she snaps back, and Hayden chimes in with his two cents.
“So what if we’re late?” he remarks. “Mom doesn’t want us there anyway.”
“Yes,” I contest. “She does. You kids are important to both of us.”
Hayden rolls his eyes. “Right.”
“Hayden, you are.”
“Save it, Dad,” he tosses out over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the car.”
I heave a heavy sigh and let my head fall back on my shoulders. Divorce sure is fun sometimes. And since our divorce situation is fairly new, most days it feels like the obstacles just keep coming.
I pace the kitchen while Sarah appears to have adjusted to the awful aroma of shit her brother left behind in the bathroom and takes her sweet time.
After a quick glance to my watch, I realize that not only am I running late to drop off the kids to my ex-wife Bethanny, but I’m also running late to the captain’s house, at which I have been invited to Thanksgiving dinner. When he invited me last week, he gave me a huge spiel about San Diego’s Station 18—my firehouse—being like a big family, and you didn’t let your family spend Thanksgiving alone.
It also didn’t help that I’m only on call today for work, not scheduled. My typical three-days-on and three-days-off rotation just happened to give me Thanksgiving off this year.
And truth be told, I’m kind of dreading going to my boss’s house—I would’ve much rather spent Thanksgiving with my best friend Jake and his wife Holley and their girls—but when the captain asks, you don’t say no. Especially, since after welcoming me with open arms, he told one of the other guys, right in front of me, that the real reason he was inviting me was to keep me from getting in trouble like a fucking idiot.
