Page 10 of Property of Mongrel

“You. Cannot. Drink. Or. Eat. Before. Surgery,” she snarls as she dumps the full cup into the sink. “How much did you drink, Mongrel?” she asks as she stomps back over to the table.

“Of?” I question, looking at her.

I hear a slight chuckle and glance over my shoulder to see Doc standing there, his hands crossed over his chest. I suspect he knows what I’m doing right now, but he’s playing along.

“Coffee!” she exclaims. “I swear to God, sometimes men are so dense! I just poured out a whole cup of coffee—” her voice falters and her eyes widen before she smacks me on the shoulder. “Dammit, Mongrel, you had me going for a minute there!”

I burst out laughing, Doc joining us as she turns a gimlet on the two of us. “If you could see your face,” I stammer through my chuckles. I might be a bit grumpy when I don’t get my morning hit, but when the idea for this prank came to me, it changed my perspective.

“Just see if I don’t find a new taste tester,” she threatens, tapping her toe.

“You wouldn’t,” I reply. “I’m the best one you’ve got!”

“I’m sure I can get one of the girls to do it. C’mon, we need to head to the hospital,” she commands as she walks toward Doc. Then, she shoulder checks him and goes through the door, leaving the two of us behind.

“You’re going to have to grovel,” he says as he stands upright. “I’m finding that she can hold a serious grudge.”

“I’ve got it,” I promise as I stand, my phone already in my hand. I show him what I’ve added to my cart and he nods.

“That should go a long way toward getting you back in her good graces,” he replies. “Now, let’s get this done so the healing can begin.”

We’re at the surgery center and I am glaring at Gretchen as she gleefully takes pictures of me in the stupid gown and hat that I had to put on. “Will you stop?” I growl out.

“But why? This is so much fun. Just wait until I video you while you’re high on the good stuff,” she teases.

“Whatever,” I grumble as I pick my phone up from where I set it on my chest. “Damn, I feel like we’ve been waiting forever.”

“It’s the hurry-up-and-wait syndrome,” Doc says. “The next one through the curtain will probably be the nurse to confirm, once again, what you’re having done and what body part is involved.”

“Again?” I ask. “I’ve already told the first nurse who did all this,” I add, waving my right arm with the IV. “Then, I told the anesthesiologist when he went over my medical history, plus the doctor!”

“It’s part of the process,” Doc replies. “This last one will actually mark your shoulder.”

“Dr. Albertson already initialed it,” I retort.

As predicted, a nurse comes through but she’s apparently one of the surgical nurses. Once again, I go over my medical history, what surgery I’m going to have and watch with a little bit of amusement as she also marks my shoulder. “We’ll be back in a few minutes to get you and get this party started,” she says as she heads back through the curtain.

“Joy,” I grumble, causing Doc and Gretchen to burst out laughing. Glaring at the two of them, I say, “I haven’t had coffee or breakfast, I’m lying here in a hospital gown that isn’t tied in the back and no underwear on, and these stupid ass bright yellow socks.” At this point, Gretchen is laughing so hard she’s crying and Doc is slapping his thigh. “You’re both assholes.”

“Alrighty, we’re going to add a little bit of happy juice to your IV, then once we’re sure you’re numb, we’ll do the nerve block, I’ll put you to sleep, and then Dr. Albertson will get started with fixing your shoulder,” the anesthesiologist informs me.

“Works for me,” I reply as whatever he just put in my IV hits. “Holy shit.”

I don’t remember much after that, to be honest, but it only feels like a few minutes before I’m in the recovery area, moving my head away from a misted spray that’s pointed at my face.

“Oh, goody, you’re awake,” Gretchen says, walking over to the hospital bed. “How do you feel?”

“Numb, sleepy, thirsty,” I reply.

She turns toward a table, and I see a cup with a straw in it. “The nurse will come back in a few minutes to get you a snack and something else to drink, but water will do in a pinch.”

As the cool water hits my throat, the soreness that was there slowly dissipates. “Tastes good.” Now that my initial thirst is slaked, I ask, “How did it go? Was he able to do the keyhole surgery?”

Doc, who’s been standing there watching without saying a word, nods. “He said it was a textbook surgery, Mongrel.”

“Thank fuck,” I reply. “How soon can we go home?”

“Well, you have to be able to piss on your own, first of all, then they’ll let you go,” Doc states.