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The doctor nodded. “Since you’ve been running around on this thing for as long as you have, my guess is you have a pretty high tolerance for pain. Your wife said you’d like to get home as soon as possible.”
“Yeah.”
“How do you feel?” the doctor asked.
“Fine,” Rapp lied. He had a splitting headache and was slightly nauseated.
“Your wife says you don’t want to take anything stronger than Tylenol Three.”
Rapp nodded.
“Good, but if you change your mind, call and we’ll get you something better.”
“The Tylenol will be fine.”
“I’ll get the nurse to give you a five-day supply. You’re in great shape, so I think you’re going to recover quickly.”
Rapp sat up a little more. “When can I start running again?”
“I’d like to see you give it up altogether, but since I know that isn’t going to happen, you should wait at least a month.”
“A month?” Rapp asked, obviously not hap
py with the answer.
The truth was two weeks, but the doctor dealt with guys like this all the time. No matter what he told them, they’d divide by two. “You can do some light biking in four days, and you can try swimming as long as it doesn’t hurt, but I really want you to lay off the running for at least four weeks. The first step though is to stay off it for the next forty-eight hours and you have to ice it every other hour.” He looked at Anna. “When he goes to bed tonight, elevate the knee with a couple of pillows and put ice on it. Try to get up at least once and change the ice pack. Above all, though, make sure he stays off it and he keeps it elevated.”
“When can I leave?” asked Rapp again.
“I’ll get the paperwork started, and we’ll get you out of here in no time.”
Rapp’s idea of no time was fifteen minutes. The doctor’s was an hour, so it was 12:07 by the time they wheeled him out the front door. He was dressed in a pair of workout shorts and a blue Syracuse T-shirt. His knee was bandaged and he noticed for the first time someone had placed a powder blue booty on his left foot. Anna had the car pulled up to the curb and was standing by the open passenger door. Before the orderly could help, Rapp pushed himself out of the chair and put one hand on the open door and the other on the car’s roof. He hopped into position and lowered himself into the seat. Anna helped him with the seatbelt and closed the door.
She got behind the wheel and pulled away from the hospital. “You must be starving.”
Rapp dug through the glove box and found an old pair of sunglasses he kept in her car. Even though it was a slightly overcast day, the light was really bugging him. “Not really,” he answered. “It must be the drugs.”
“Straight home then?”
“Yeah.”
They cruised through the light midday traffic and within ten minutes they were nearing the Beltway. Rapp was starting to feel better. Up ahead he spotted the golden arches and suddenly he was extremely hungry all over again.
“Let’s stop at this McDonald’s on the right.”
“McDonald’s?” she asked in a disapproving tone. Rielly was extremely health conscious.
“Honey, humor me. I’m starving.”
“All right.” She reluctantly hit the turn signal.
A few seconds later they were in the drive-through lane and Rapp was placing his order. When he was done he asked Anna if she wanted anything. She relented enough to order a Diet Coke and small fries.
Back on the road Rapp tore into his Big Mac with a fury. In between gulps of Coke and fistfuls of fries he finished the Big Mac in short order and moved on to a Quarter Pounder with cheese.
Anna sipped on her Diet Coke and frowned. “You might want to slow down, honey.”
Rapp kept eating and she kept driving. He’d finished every last scrap of food and was working on his large Coke when they turned onto their street. Rapp leaned back and said, “That really tasted good, but why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret eating it?”
