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“Ms. Abbott, I have the results of your CT and blood work,” Dr. Niles said, lifting the file in his hand. “You were brought in unconscious. How much do you remember from last night?”
“I was in and out. When I finally woke up, I was in the ER. There was a nurse taking care of me. I got poked and prodded. Before long, I was wheeled to wherever they did the x-rays of my head. You came in later and did an examination.”
“Yes. I’ve reviewed the CT images and the results of a Doppler scan, and they reveal that something very serious happened to you last night. You had what’s called a Transient Ischemic Attack, or TIA. Do you know what that is?”
Charley shook her head. She’d never heard of it, but she didn’t like how it sounded.
“Some people call them mini strokes, but I don’t like the term. TIAs are caused by a blood clot blocking an artery in your brain. They are called transient because of the short duration of the event and full recovery afterward. Your blood pressure was 190 over 120 when you were admitted. Have you been diagnosed with high blood pressure?”
Stroke. She’d had a mini stroke. How was that possible at her age? Strokes were a problem for older people, weren’t they?
Blood pressure. He’d asked her about blood pressure.
She swallowed around a knot in her throat before she spoke. “At my last physical, about six months ago, it was high. The doctor was concerned but I…well, I wasn’t.”
“You should have been.” His voice took an authoritarian tone. “High blood pressure is not to be ignored. They call it the ‘silent killer’ for a reason. We measured your cholesterol, and it is also high.”
Charley nodded. “Yes, he told me that, too.”
The doctor shook his head. “Ms. Abbott, you’ve been given a stern warning by your body. Change your lifestyle, or it’s going to change it for you, and I guarantee you won’t like the result. TIAs are an indicator you could have a major, debilitating stroke. You need to eat a low-fat diet, watch your salt intake, exercise regularly. But most importantly, you need to manage your stress. Meditate, practice yoga, whatever it takes to make your stress levels go down.”
Charley’s phone chimed a text ringtone and then a second one from the table next to the bed. She picked it up. Jennifer. She was concerned.
So was Charley. She put the phone on vibrate.
“Am I making myself clear, Ms. Abbott?”
Charley flicked her gaze back to the doctor. “Yes. I hear you. Change my lifestyle. I will.”
He opened the file and handed her a stack of papers. “I’ve printed out some information for you—a list of foods from the DASH diet, an explanation of TIAs and their treatment. I know you’re from Charlotte, so I’ve referred you to a neurologist there for a follow-up. You’re free to return to your normal activities—your ABCD2 score indicates you’re at low risk for a stroke in the next seventy-two hours—but I don’t want you driving during that time. I’d rather you not risk yourself or anyone else on the road. I’m going to discharge you. Do you have someone who can drive you home? Perhaps the man who was with you when I came in?”
Dog. Yes. Dog would help her.
Chapter Eight
Dog leaned on the wall in the surprisingly empty hospital hallway outside Charley’s room. He’d always thought hospitals were supposed to be busy, people carrying around medicine or bed pans or something. Not this one. It was almost dead quiet.
Dog snorted. Okay, not the best choice of words.
Like he’d summoned it with his thoughts, Dog’s phone rang, breaking the silence. He recognized the ringtone. Cutter.
“Yo.”
“Yo, yourself” Cutter said. “Where are you? You were MIA today. You tap that pretty lady with the flat last night?”
Dog wished that was how it had gone down. “Not exactly. She collapsed in the parking lot. Called an ambulance. Been at Mission with her since.”
“What the fuck, man. What happened?”
Dog straightened up and paced the empty hall. “Don’t know yet. She’s finding out right now. I’m outside her room.”
“Ain’t that the shit. I just called to tell you they admitted Jessie to the children’s wing last night. Fever was so high it took doctors to bring it down. I’m with Luke at the hospital.”
Shit. It just didn’t stop for that kid. Luke and Sophie couldn’t catch a break. “Jessie okay now?”
“Fever’s better but not gone. She needs the treatment soon. Good thing your fight is Saturday. Speakin’ of, I got your text about Nate at the Round. He’s up to something.”
“He always is. Don’t want him near Charley.”
