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He’d had two uncles on his father’s side who’d suffered the same exact thing. It was a genetic weakness in the family, one he’d thought he’d escaped because his father hadn’t been affected. His old man had undergone CT scanning just after his uncles’ episodes and had been given a clean bill of head-health.
In retrospect, maybe he should have undergone scanning, too. And he was a supreme idiot for ignoring his headaches. But damned if he hadn’t gotten lucky. One of his uncles had died from his…rupture. The other was fine, but had suffered permanent impairment to his fine motor skills.
Fleet worked the fingers on his hands, mimicking having them on a keyboard, and found they responded to his prompting. That was good, right?
Next question.
“How did I get here?”
Because Talia was with him, Fleet could only assume she and SWAT had somehow rescued him off the mountain. But how had they known he was in trouble?
He didn’t have to explain his pondering.
“Ever went to your studio to help you out last night, but you weren’t there. Luckily, you’d told her where you were headed, and when you didn’t arrive back in what she considered an appropriate amount of time, she got Mason on the horn, and he rounded up my squad and an ambulance crew to come find you.”
Man, he’d been lucky. He’d read up on brain aneurysms back when his uncles had suffered their episodes, and he knew that if he hadn’t been found within a short window of time, his chances of survival would have been slim to none. That he’d lived was a testament to Everlee’s stellar intuition, and he’d never been happier to have taken her on as a helpmate in his studio. He’d have to give her a fucking huge raise.
“Well, it seems our patient is awake.” A new female voice sounded stridently from the door before footsteps moved closer. “How are you feeling, Mr. Eggers?”
Before he could answer, the surgeon was already poking and prodding different bits of his anatomy, shining a light into his beleaguered eyes, then bending down to have a look at his pupils.
“Everything is fuzzy,” Fleet managed to say succinctly. “My head hurts.”
“Well, since we cracked you open to clamp off that bleeder, I’m not surprised. As soon as I’m through with my exam, I’ll send the nurse in with some meds to help with your pain. You’ll probably have that headache off and on for a few weeks, but it’s perfectly normal. Your eyesight, we can hope, will improve with rest. Sometimes it takes a few days to regain your visual acuity, but since you’re responding to light and can see, albeit hazily, I have good reason to believe you’ll make a full recovery.”
Fleet let out a sigh of relief. That was all good news.
“We’ll be keeping you here for a few days to make sure your recuperation progresses appropriately, but I’ll give credit where credit is due. The reason this turned out well is because of your overall health. You’re young, you don’t smoke, and your blood pressure is thankfully, normally low according to your GP, with whom I’ve been in touch. He also mentioned you keep to a strict vegetarian diet, so that’s another plus, not having to warn you away from red meat in the future. Now, it’s your turn.” She stopped prodding his body. “Tell me how you feel?”
“Well…” Fleet became thoughtful for a moment and took note. “Besides my blurry vision, my head still hurts.”
“Which it will for a few weeks,” the surgeon told him for a second time. “Maybe longer. Some people get residuals for a month or more after being repaired.”
“And the top of my head is…sore,” he continued. Fleet winced as his good hand went up and encountered bandages.
“Metal plates,” was the immediate reply. “Those will stay in place for seven to ten days, along with your clamps, after which we’ll remove them before you’re discharged if we don’t feel you require any additional intercranial surgery. In the meantime, we’ll treat that topical tenderness with ice packs. You’ll also be very tired for the next couple weeks, but that’s normal, too.”
The surgeon’s voice became more serious. “I won’t beat around the bush, Mr. Eggers. These first twenty-four hours out of surgery are the most critical, so we’ve been monitoring you closely, and will continue to do so overnight. You’re almost there, so if all your vitals remain good, and your post-surgical conditions—like your blurry eyesight—continue to improve, I think we can have you in a non-ICU room and on your feet as early as tomorrow afternoon.”
“What…? How long have I been out?” He was clueless as to what day it was.
Talia’s voice soothed him. “We got to you last night, Sunday, around six. You were operated on just two hours later, and now it’s just after five PM on Monday.”
Wow.Way to lose a bunch of time. And shit. He’d missed a full day of work. His backlog wasn’t going to allow him to be incapacitated for long. He needed to get better, and fast.
“What can I do to expedite my recovery?” he turned to ask the outline of the surgeon. His words were coming easier now, and maybe, just maybe, he was getting a little more nuance of color in the shadows he perceived.
“Sleep, sleep, and more sleep,” the surgeon in front of him said. “As well as staying hydrated; which you can’t help because we’ve got you hooked up to an IV. The next thing you can do to keep things moving in the right direction is getting yourself up and mobile. That will happen tomorrow, as I’ve said, if your vitals behave. Movement, albeit slow to begin with, will help mitigate possible clotting and other complications like pneumonia. So right now, Mr. Eggers, close your eyes and relax.”
“Relax?” Fleet snorted, andta-dah, this time he was actually able to make the disgruntled sound. “I have a pile of work waiting for me at my studio that can’t wait. I can comply with the sleep thing right now, but don’t expect me to be chilling out for long.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” The surgeon used her most officious voice. “But it will take two to four weeks before you’ll be cleared to go back to work. And another warning,” she admonished. “Your friends have told me how you spend your leisure time, and it will be at least three months before you can begin bouldering again.”
Fleet had already figured the exercise thing would take a while. He could handle that inactivity. But two to four weeks before he could get back to work? No freaking way. He needed to hurry that timeline along. He’d find a way. He tuned into the surgeon again.
“Now I’ll leave you to chat with your girlfriend for a few minutes before the nurse comes in to administer your meds. After that, I expect you to head immediately back to la-la land,” she said with a cheeky edge to her voice.
So she knew he wasn’t exactly on board with the agenda she’d given him. He’d see about that.
