Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
It’s just a biopsy. Nothing huge. They’re just going to drill a freaking hole in my head and then rip a piece of the growth off.
Nothing to worry about at all.
Signing myself into the hospital, I hover over the question asking for my next of kin details.
My heart twists painfully as I think of which name to fill in. I don’t want my parents to find out something went wrong via a sudden phone call. Christopher just had a lot of his own trauma to deal with.
Pressing the pen to the paper I write, Tristan Hayes, thinking he’ll be able to handle the shock best out of everyone.
When I’m done with all the paperwork, I’m shown to a private room. VIP status has its perks. At least I don’t have to interact with other patients while I wait.
“The biopsy is scheduled for ten am. Make yourself comfortable,” the nurse says. I sit down on the bed and stare at the bedside table while she takes all my vitals and wraps hospital bands around my wrist. “There you go. Watch a little TV or take a nap.” She gives me an encouraging smile.
“Thank you.”
When she leaves, I kick off my shoes and lie back on the bed. I stare up at the ceiling for a couple of minutes.
Maybe I should’ve told Ryker.
I shun the idea as quickly as it came. I don’t want to cause any of my loved ones unnecessary worry.
My phone beeps, and after digging it out of my handbag, I see there’s a text from Ryker.
R: Enjoy the spa. Get a lot of rest. Love you.
A sad smile tugs at my lips.
D: I lied. I’m so sorry. I have a growth in my fucking head, and I’m scared to death. God, I wish you were here to hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay.
A tear sneaks from my eye as I press delete on what I typed.
D: I will. I love you so much. Thank you for putting up with my mood swings.
I wipe the tear away as Ryker replies.
R: I didn’t do much, but I’m here for whatever you need. You don’t have to carry everything on your own anymore. I know you’re badass, but you can lean on me whenever things become too much.
Another tear spills over my cheek as I soak in his words.
D: I need you. I can’t do this on my own.
D: See why I love you so much? There you go sweeping my feet from under me again. Talk to you on Sunday. xox
I turn off my phone and throw it back in my handbag, and then I focus on regaining control over my emotions.
You can do this, Danny.
You just have to.
“Ma’am… ma’am.”
A tapping on my arm has me blinking against the bright light above me.
“What’s your name?”
“Danny,” I grumble.
“Can you remember what day it is?” the voice asks again.
“Uh… Friday?” My sight comes into focus, and I see a nurse next to the bed.
“Can you move your left arm for me?” I do as she asks. “Wiggle your fingers.” We go through the same process with my other arm and legs as well.
“How do you feel? Any pain?” she asks.
“Just sleepy,” I mumble.
“Okay. Rest a while. Dr. Friedman will be with you shortly.”
Minutes later, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and when I open my eyes, Dr. Friedman says, “Hi, Danny. How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” I murmur, still a little out of it.
“You’re in the recovery room. We’ll move you to the ICU soon, where you’ll spend the night. It’s just for precaution. Okay?”
“Okay.” I wet my lips, then ask, “Did you get what you needed?”
Dr. Friedman places his hand on the bed, his eyes locking on mine. A weird sense of dread chases the last of the grogginess away.
“We manage to get a viable sample of the tumor, and I’ve already sent it to pathology. Everything went well. Get some rest. Okay?”
Slowly, I nod, and soon after the doctor leaves, I drift off to sleep.
I have to wait a couple of days for the results, and with a box of pain meds for the headaches, I’m discharged.
I got a ton of sleep at the hospital, but I’m still exhausted when I get home. I place my overnight bag in my bedroom, then sit down on the edge of the bed.
Somehow… I have to find a way to act as if nothing is wrong. My family and Ryker will pick up on the slightest thing.
I let out a sigh as I slump back on the mattress.
I close my eyes and rest my hands on my stomach, focusing on my breaths.
You don’t know if it’s bad.
It can be nothing, and with a quick surgery, it can be removed.
It doesn’t help you stress about something you have no control over.