Page 76 of The CEO and the Mountain Man

I was flown to the trauma one center in Denver, where I was sedated, my broken bone straightened, and my head sewn up. By the time I regained consciousness, I was in a private room, listening to a doctor tell River how lucky I’d been.

“Your father had a displaced distal fracture of the ulna, which we were able to reduce in the ER without surgery.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I was pretty out of it, but I nearly laughed at my son’s attitude. He may have been hyperventilating on the trail, but my healthcare team was about to get a crash course in dealing with a pissed-off River.

“It means your dad got very lucky.”

The nurse rolled her eyes at the doctor and held up her arm, tapping the long arm bone on the pinky side. “It means he broke this bone, but we were able to set it without having to take him to surgery.”

River leaned on his walking stick and focused on her. “What about his head wound?”

She took the doctor’s iPad and scrolled through a few screens. “Honestly? Head wounds are dramatic. He has, at best, a mild concussion.”

“He was unconscious almost for a full minute after he hit the ground,” River argued, “and he kept passing out until the helicopter got there.”

The doctor took back his iPad. “Ah. Well, that was a painful break, which probably explains the initial loss of consciousness, but…” More scrolling. “Oh. Dehydration and a blood glucose offorty-nine. Looks like metabolic collapse… He was given dextrose in the field and regained consciousness in the helicopter.”

“Could you please fuckin’ speak English?”

Get ’em, Riv.

“He didn’t have enough water or calories on board,” the nurse explained, then turned to me. “Mr. Jensen, have you been having trouble with your glucose? Or has your appetite been off?”

I blinked, surprised to be part of the conversation, and a little confused by her question. “No…?”

River rolled his eyes.

“Do you disagree?” I asked, now thoroughly confused.

“You stopped eating breakfast.”

“Because I woke up wanting to throw up.”

“You’ve been suffering from gastrointestinal distress?” the doctor asked.

“Not distress, per se.” I shifted and immediately regretted it. I stared at my casted arm. Fuckingouch.“I just don’t have much of an appetite in the morning anymore.”

“You hardly have any appetite at all, Dad,” River insisted.

“I tend to lose my appetite when I’m stressed out, son. But I’ve definitely been eating.”

“You pick at your food,” he argued. “You always leave a whole bunch of it behind. Just last night, all you had was a protein bar, and this morning all you had was coffee with a little bit of creamer in it.”

“Is this new?” the doctor asked, listening along.

“Yeah, ever since my mom died,” River answered for me.

“Your wife died?”

I shook my head.Ouch again. “No. My ex-wife died. But this one almost died right alongside her in the car accident last December, and this has been a horrible year for both of us.”

River shifted on his feet, and I hated the guilt in his expression.

“That’s completely understandable, Mr. Jensen, but it’s clear that you have not been getting enough calories. You’re a good ten to fifteen pounds underweight.”

I looked down at myself, maybe for the first time in six months. I was a lot bonier than I remembered being. I was certainly tired. And hadn’t slept well the night before. “So, not eating enough at dinner and then just having coffee for breakfast was enough to make me pass out?”