Page 25 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

"Six?"

"Five."

One eyebrow rises. "Seven?"

I sigh.

"Does this usually work?"

"Every time."

"Fine." I lean my head back against the pillow. "Seven."

"There you are."

She makes another note. "I liked you better when you were unconscious."

"I've heard that before."

"I doubt it."

"So..." I nod toward the clipboard. "What's next?"

"Incentive spirometer."

I stare at the clear plastic device sitting on the tray.

"You're kidding."

"No."

"I hate that thing."

"I know."

"You don't even know me."

"I know patients."

She hands it to me anyway. "Ten deep breaths every hour."

"I've got broken ribs."

"Yes."

"It hurts."

"Yes."

"I'm sensing a theme."

"The theme is that pneumonia hurts more."

Well. That's difficult to argue with. So I wrap my fingers around the mouthpiece and take the deepest breath I can manage.

Halfway in, pain wraps around my ribs like a tightening vise. I stop.

Annette doesn't say anything. Doesn't encourage me. Doesn't cheerlead. She simply waits.